Devil May Care (Boys of Preston Prep 1)

I pause, stomach sinking. Of course. He only came in that day because he wanted something. He was probably hoping for a different kind of sweaty moaning than the one he found. I take a controlled breath and pick up my phone, determined to be civil despite the fact he’s not being very nice.

G: Well thanks anyway. I hope you have a good Thanksgiving. I’m sticking around here for a few days in quarantine to keep my family from getting sick.

I wait for a reply, phone held limply in my hand, but nothing comes. I curse myself for getting too familiar, too invested. Hamilton’s obviously not one for small talk or friendly banter. And even if he were, it’s not like we’re friends. We’re something way less easily defined than that. Enemies who occasionally hook up? Sex enemies? Sexemies?

I toss the phone aside and close my eyes, hoping another nap can provide a distraction from that humiliation. I’m giving him too much, showing him parts of myself that can be used to hurt me, intentionally or not.

Sleep comes easily. I’m not even sure how long I’ve dozed off when I’m awoken by a quick rap at my door. I squint down at my phone and blearily determine that it’s only been fifteen minutes. I also can’t help but notice the screaming lack of any reply from Hamilton.

The knock comes again, so I begrudgingly heave myself ou

t of bed. Either the resident has more schoolwork for me, or Mom took it upon herself to order me some food, assuming I wouldn’t do it on my own. She knows me almost too well.

I’m still clumsily smoothing down my hair when I swing the door open, my eyes falling on a nonchalant and achingly good-looking Hamilton. He has a paper bag in his hand and a backpack slung over his shoulder.

I almost stumble back a step at the sight of him. “What are you doing here?”

From his tight jaw, he looks as though he doesn’t know how to answer that question. His mouth works around an aborted reply before he just thrusts the bag in my direction. “The delivery guy said this was for you. I told him I’d bring it up.”

This doesn’t actually tell me anything about what he’s doing at my dorm in the first place, but I reluctantly take the bag and don’t protest when he follows me in the room. I dump the bag on my desk, peeking inside briefly enough to confirm that it’s from the pho restaurant in town. Just a whiff of it makes my stomach clench in hunger.

When I face Hamilton, his eyes sweep over me, and I can’t even imagine how I look. There he is with his perfect hair and nice clothes, and I’m standing here looking like a zombie in a low-budget horror flick. I’m too worn out to work up the appropriate amount of embarrassment at this.

In fact, I’m too worn out to even stand here locked in some weird power struggle with him at all, so I cross the room and fall back into bed.

“So, really, what are you doing here?” I ask, tugging my blanket back over my legs.

He leans against my dresser, all long and assured. He lowers the backpack to the floor. “You kind of freaked me out the other day, Adams.” He says this without any outward sign of self-consciousness, his gaze sweeping over my plague nest. “Guess I wanted to see with my own two eyes that you haven’t perished like a wilting Victorian heroine or whatever.”

My first instinct is to send him a weak glare. I’ll fucking show him a wilting Victorian heroine. Asshole. But then I realize that Hamilton Bates basically just admitted to being worried about me.

I chew on my lip for a moment, watching him. “You ready to tell me why you were looking for me in the first place?”

He shrugs, fidgeting with some of the papers on my desk, glancing over them. “You looked off in first period. At first, I thought it was because of the night before, like maybe you were...” His eyes flick to mine. “You know, having regrets. Then you didn’t show for lunch and Tyson didn’t know where you were either. Your sister told me you were sick, so I came up here and found you on the floor.”

“You talked to Michaela?” I ask in surprise, hugging the blankets around me. That makes twice now.

“She was on the quad. I didn’t seek her out or anything.” His gaze slides over to the pho, something tight and restless in the shift of his feet. “You want some of that? I can, like... get it for you?” He says this like he’s rolling around in his head, testing it, like a question he’s asking himself.

I open my mouth on an instinctual refusal, but instantly close it. The weirdness of his awkward attempt at, like... tending to me, is tempered by the deep pang of hunger clutching my stomach. I ultimately exhale, shoulders drooping. “That would be awesome, actually. Thanks.”

He shuffles over to the desk and approaches the bag like it might bite him, fingers reluctantly pulling it open. He pulls out a plastic container of soup, movements growing more sure. I watch as he removes the lid, then takes out a spoon, chopsticks, and napkins. He carries it over and hands it to me. “It’s really hot.”

“I like it hot,” I reply, smiling awkwardly. “Thank you.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and stands over me, watching. I can’t quite place the look in his eyes—it’s not something I’ve ever seen directed at me—but if I had to guess, it nearly seems as if he’s seeking some sort of approval.

It’s more than a little unnerving.

“If you’re going to stay, you should sit.” I point to the desk chair. After a suspended moment of hesitation, he reaches for it, pulling it out. I twirl the chopsticks around the noodles, blow on it, and take a bite. I moan gratefully. “Oh god, this is so good. I haven’t eaten anything in two days.” I eye him, lacking the energy to feel embarrassed about the pornographic eating sounds. “So, what did you mean before? About ‘taking care’ of detention?”

“I told Dewey you were sick,” he explains, leaning back more casually in the chair, “then I just did the work myself.”

My chopsticks freeze halfway to my mouth, broth dripping from the noodles. “You mean you did the basecoat alone?”

“Yes.” His mouth curves into a grin that’s more boastful than it has any right to be.

While eating another mouthful of noodles, I glance at his soft, elegant hands. “And you managed to do it without any major injuries?”