Touched By The Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 3)

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

Still holding my pencil, I look up into Sugar’s face—her blood-red, pinched, and totally pissed-the-fuck-off face. She’s looming in the aisle, having thrown herself violently out of her seat. Her eyes are an inferno, chest heaving in these sharp little jerks that make zero sense to me. It’s like she’s having a problem breathing. There’s this vein on her neck that I’m pretty sure I can see throbbing.

I sit here, stunned speechless as I look back at her.

Please don’t scream.

“Miss Voss,” Dr. Ross says, standing wide-eyed at the front of the room. “Calm yourself right now.”

“This guy touched me!” Sugar spits, thrusting an accusatory finger at me. I don’t miss the way it trembles. “He grabbed my hair!”

I gape, my baffled gaze pinging between her fiery eyes and Dr. Ross. “I did not!”

Dr. Ross looks more concerned than pissed. She takes a step toward Sugar, who reacts by grabbing her backpack and promptly sprinting for the door. It closes with a sharp click behind her when she flies from the room without a second look.

The whole class is stunned silent, although a few people are definitely looking at me. Aubrey, Elana, and Afton, for sure. I shrug, all ‘hell if I know’, and Afton narrows her eyes.

“I’ll go find her,” Afton offers, standing quickly.

“Take her to the infirmary.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Afton grabs her own bag and walks out of the room. This time, every guy watches her go.

I exhale and sink into my seat, tapping my pencil on the desk. I’m thinking that, this time at least, I’m wrong. Maybe everything isn’t about me. Whatever is going on with that girl, it has to be something else. I mean, that shit was straight up coconuts, wasn’t it?

For some reason, I look back at Reyn for confirmation of this.

He looks just as confused.

I shift my gaze to the front of the room and realize Dr. Ross is staring at me. “Mr. Wilcox.”

I straighten in my seat, pulling a polite expression over my features. “Yes, ma

’am?”

She peers over her glasses at me. “I don’t know what you did to that girl, but make sure you apologize.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And prepare for two days of detention for interrupting my class.”

Annoyance flickers in my chest. Two days? What the fucking fuck? I don’t argue back. I know she’ll make it five in a heartbeat. Maybe longer. I bite back the anger and nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

6

Sugar

Keep your hands to yourself.

There’s one rule.

One.

Keep your goddamn, motherfucking hands to yourself. It can’t be that hard. Kindergartners grasp this shit the first week of school.

That’s what I keep saying to myself as I roam the hallways of this massive, godforsaken place trying to find the bathroom. I’d bolted from the room like a complete lunatic, running down two different halls before I came to my senses and realized I’m completely turned around. The halls are eerily quiet, void of the nonstop disruption at my old public school. Finally, I see a small marker on the door that says ‘women’ and duck inside. A quick look around makes it obvious that the higher quality of private school education extends to bathroom accommodations, too.

I mean, not one broken sink or mirror in sight, and every stall has a door.