Corrupt Me

Chapter 6

Dinner was the longest meal of my life and uneventful, at least by the latest standards of my life. The conversation was lively, swirling around me like a cyclone, but the problem lay in that I was distracted, only picking up bits and pieces, nodding when necessary.

I lost track of the number of times Mr. Malone took jabs at Tristan. Not surprising. And not that I cared. I was starting to think perhaps his family was right about him after all, yet Tristan didn't seem fazed by his father.

It was all normal for the Malone's.

Nothing ever got to Tristan, not that he showed. He had this shield about him that made him untouchable. In high school, Tristan had ruled our school. He was three years older than Preston and me, and even as freshman we knew no one screwed with Tristan, or Preston for that matter. And because I was Preston's girlfriend, that circle of protection had always extended to me.

No one dared to look twice at me or corner me in the girl's bathroom. Just the opposite. Girls lined up to be my friend for a chance to date Tristan or at least the opportunity to bang his brains out. It used to annoy the shit out of me, and just thinking about it, that irritation flared to life.

Why was I suddenly losing that protection? It didn't make sense why Tristan suddenly changed the rules and made me an outsider. Since he'd gone off to college, things had been different. We'd hung out less and lost touch, but that was expected, and we hadn't been super close before, so I thought nothing of it. I always noticed Tristan way more than he ever took notice of me.

My hands fidgeted under the table on my lap, twisting and twining my fingers as my knee bounced. I hadn't eaten much, and Anna noticed, but kindly kept it to herself. She sensed something was up with me.

God, I couldn't wait to get to college, away from both the Malone brothers. I'd have a fresh start. It would be good for me. I needed it after everything—to step away from the 30A. Perhaps this was all for the best. Deep down, I knew that I wasn't going to marry Preston. I loved him but in truth, I wasn't in love with him. I might never have been, but when you dated someone for as long as we had, there was a comfort neither of us was ready to let go of.

I wasn't entirely convinced Preston was in love with me either. He loved the idea of us. The showing me off and having me on his arm when we went places, but beyond that...

I sucked in a breath at the realization that I was a decoration for Preston's arm.

Frown lines gathered on my forehead as I stared hard at my plate. Preston's hand covering my knee under the table jolted me out of my head. He was used to me drifting away and understood I had wounds barely beginning to heal—a joke. For any healing to occur, I would have had to face what happened and I wasn't ready to do that.

Not yet.

With him gone, I would have to rely on Sam to keep me from spiraling, a scary thought.

I offered to clear the table to avoid the looks of concern and pity. As well as the questions I saw brimming in Anna's worrisome eyes. Big mistake. Tristan cornered me in the kitchen, a stack of plates in his hands. I didn't bother to glance up at him, a sea of anger and humiliation simmering under the surface of my skin.

He set the dishes into the sink and propped a hip on the counter, his body too close. I could feel the heat seeping off him and smell the combination of woodsy cologne and sea on his skin. He'd spent some time out on the beach, the color of his skin bronzed from the sun. Another day, that scent would have gone straight between my legs. Tonight, I refused to be seduced by his roguish grin and bedroom eyes, so I clamped my legs together, focusing on the rage rising within me, a safer bet. Never again would I trust Tristan. Never. That trust was broken. He had done that to me—to us. Not that there had been an us, but that was beside the point. I had been stupid enough to believe he was a friend.