Touched By The Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 3)

The doubt vanishes instantly, replaced by a wide-eyed, joyous expression. “Oh my god, a girl? As in one you like? Who is it? Does she go here?” She buries a playful shove into my shoulder. “It’s about time you had a real girlfriend.”

I throw up a hand. “Woah, V, you’re getting way ahead of yourself. This is not about that.” I grimace, casting a look down each side of the hallway. “Come on, you know I don’t do girlfriends.”

She rolls her eyes but looks weirdly disappointed. “Of course you don’t. Neither does Emory.”

“Yeah, no,” I assure. “I’m not pussy-whipped like your brother. His problem is that he often has too many girlfriends.”

She makes a face at that. “Then what is so important that you need me to help you in the middle of class?”

“The thing is, there’s been this huge misunderstanding.” I pace back and forth. “I need to clear it up.”

“Well,” Vandy says, all long and drawn out, eyes casting around. “Where is she?”

I stop. “Huh.” I follow Vandy’s gaze around, like somehow Sugar is going to suddenly appear. “I dunno. I mean…shit. I really didn’t think this through.”

The final bell rings, and the hallway floods with students. I’m about to give up, and I should, because there’s no reason for me to be obsessing over this. I mean, who cares if some girl from the Briar Cliffs hates me? Why should she matter? But th

en I see a flash of red hair and say, “Come with me. Please?”

Vandy sighs. “Yeah, let me text Reyn. He was going to the weight room with Emory anyway.”

Students file out of the academic buildings and head in a variety of directions; toward the gym for basketball, the natatorium for swim, the parking lot to head home, or back to the dorms for residents. I take the most direct path toward Hayden and have to keep slowing my pace for Vandy.

“How’s the concussion?” she asks, once she’s finished her text.

“Better.” I instinctively touch the back of my neck. “Another month of rest and then I should be cleared for lacrosse.”

“And you’ve stayed away from the fights?”

“Yes, mom.” If the Devils were divided into positions, Vandy would definitely fall under the role of Den Mother. “I’m sticking to car stuff now.”

She frowns. “Do you think that’s any safer? I’ve seen the videos. It looks pretty dangerous.”

“It’s only dangerous if you’re bad at it.” I flash her a grin. “Fortunately, I’m an amazing driver.”

She gives me a look that’s full of steel and warning. “So was Reyn.”

Ouch. Walked into that one, didn’t I. “It’s not really the same,” I tell her, and although I want to make a comment about their accident having involved a deer—which isn’t likely to happen at a rowdy meet-up—it’ll just open her up to a million other possibilities. Instead, I pull ahead of her when we reach Hayden, putting in the code and opening the door.

“Where, exactly, are we going?” she asks, once we’re inside.

“Georgia’s room.”

It’s four flights to the senior hall. About halfway there, I realize this might have been a bad idea. Vandy and stairs aren’t the best mix. She’s almost a whole flight behind me and I double back, chest twinging at the grimace on her face.

She must see the look I give her, because she snaps, “I’m fine. I’ve just been out of PT because of the—” she snaps her mouth closed, but eventually mutters, “—holiday.”

Ah, right. Three weeks in rehab means she hasn’t been getting her physical therapy. Fuck. Knowing Vandy, if I offered to help, she’d probably bite my head off. Instead, I stick at her side, going her pace, trying to act more patient than I feel.

Once we’re on the fourth floor, I lead us to the familiar room. After the Stairway to Hell rite, Georgia and I hooked up a few more times. Nothing serious, just some oral here and there. Despite being one of the horniest people I know, Georgia’s got some weird hang-ups about sex, but I wasn’t about to complain. She’s hot, funny, and was completely down for no commitments.

When we reach her room, I bang on the door, sparing a red-faced Vandy a covert glance. A moment later, Georgia opens it, her expression turning to confusion when she sees the two of us together.

“Hey, what’s going—”

“Is your roommate here?” I ask, pushing into the room. Sugar’s sitting on the bed, legs crossed, an ancient laptop open on her thighs. Even from here, I can tell it’s a real junker, a lot like her car. It’s covered in stickers that are peeling at the edges, and I’m pretty sure her screen is being held together by duct tape.

The instant she sees me her entire body goes rigid. “Oh, hell no.” She spits, “Get out!”