17: Tristan.
My hand balls into a shaking fist as I look around and realize
every man in the place is staring at her. Ogling that hot little tush
and adjusting themselves.
“Damn, is that really Amarie’s kid?” one of them says to his
friend, smacking his lips. “She grew up nice.”
“Jesus, you’re not kidding. Too bad she isn’t poor or I’d be
shelling out six figures for a ride of that.”
“Hell yeah, man. Twice on Sunday.”
I
They dissolve into laughter and the rage in my blood boils over. I
push back from my table, upsetting my scotch and grip the closest asshole by his collar. “Watch your fucking mouths,” I
growl, yanking the offender to his feet, watching the color drain
from his face when he sees who was within earshot. A family
friend of the Amaries, yes, but also the man who could buy and sell the entire club without blinking an eye. “Don’t look at her. Don’t ever speak about her again or I’ll end you.”
The man starts to apologize, but changes his mind when he realizes several men are witnessing his humiliation, forcing him to double down. “Right. Like you wouldn’t pay to hit that,
- Tristan
Hemsworth.”
It burns worse, because he’s right.
Not only would I pay, but I did. Eagerly. Anything she wanted.
All so she would give me her perfect touch. Her time and
attention.
And God, I would do it all over again, wouldn’t I?
Still, there’s no way I’m letting this pissant get away with talking
about Lia in public like she’s an object. That’s not happening.
But just as I rear back with a fist, intending to plow it into his
smug face, I hear Lia’s voice behind me.
“Tristan!” I glance back over my shoulder to find her visibly
alarmed, standing among the patio lechers, pool water dripping
down her young body. “S–stop. What are you doing?”
“Go back to the pool,” I growl through my teeth.
“No.” She pads closer, barefoot, attempting to pry me and the
man apart, no idea that she’s being gawked at in her sorry
excuse for a bathing suit. “Stop this, Tristan. No fighting.” Her
breath hitches, tears turning her eyes to twin blue pools. “Y–your
promised you were managing your stress-
“Don’t do that,” I snap. “Don’t pretend like you give a shit. That
17: Tristan.
ship has sailed.”
Lia flinches and drops her hands, bottom lip trembling as she backs away. What the hell? Is she playing mind games with me? This girl made me believe she cared, then ripped the rug out from under my feet. And she has the nerve to appear hurt by my
harshness?
Still, when she turns and runs off, around the side of the clubhouse, my pounding heart gives me no choice but to follow.
I don’t care that she broke me in half, I loathe seeing her upset
and I refuse to be the cause.
I let go of the pissant and start to follow Lia, until he says,
“Damn, maybe Hemsworth is already hitting that?” His face is bright red from being manhandled, but he’s not listening to his
friend’s advice about not provoking me. “Making the Forbes list
gets you the best pussy, I guess.”
Without missing a beat, I take one step and headbutt him,
breaking his nose and dropping him to the ground, unconscious.
“Anyone else have something to say?” I roar.
“No, Hemsworth.”
“He was out of line, Hemsworth.”
“I don’t even know him very well.”
17: Tristan.
Disgusted by the utter cowardice, I shake off the whole situation
and follow after Lia, desperate to see her and apologize for
snapping. She doesn’t deserve that. She must have been
terrified at the prospect of not attending college with all of her
friends. Forget what that would have done to her reputation.
How can I blame her for finding a way to pay tuition? How can I
blame her for taking aim at an easy target?
17: Tristan
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