Touched By The Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 3)

Slowly, she deflates. “I’m not going to punch you, Sebastian.”

I deflate, too. “Why the hell not? I’ve got it coming. No one could blame you.”

She pushes off the bench and walks to the Mustang, running a hand over the edge of the hood. “The girls all came to our room last night.” She spares me a quick glance to elaborate, “Vandy, Afton, Caroline, Elana… the other one, Vandy’s brother’s girl—”

“Aubrey.”

She nods. “They were mad at me for hitting you, but they seemed kind of pissed off at you, too.”

I have no fucking idea where this is going. “Sounds about right.”

She crosses her arm, eyes fixed on the toes of her scuffed boots. “They really care about you. Even when you’re being a complete bastard, they still want to protect you. I don’t really get it.”

“Neither do I,” I say honestly.

“I think maybe…” She makes a face, like whatever’s about to come out of her mouth has a sour taste. “I think you must have some kind of redeeming qualities, to get so many good people on your side like that. God knows what they are.”

I’ll be damned. That almost sounded like a compliment.

“Well,” I reason, “I am very pretty.”

“That’s the thing.” She gives me a baffled look. “I don’t think any of them even want to fuck you.”

Sighing, I say, “I know. The curse of platonic female friendships. They won’t even show me their tits. Kind of makes you wonder what the point is.”

Sugar must sense that I don’t

mean it, because she gives me an exasperated look. “They seem to think you’re someone worth standing up for. Maybe you could show me a little of why that is sometime.”

I blink in surprise. “Provided you’d actually let me? I really could.”

She stares at me, jaw working around her response. “To be clear, this is me letting you off the hook for hitting me—not all the other shit.”

I raise an eyebrow. “So what is this, like a ceasefire?”

Her eyes narrow threateningly. “Only because you have some very convincing friends.”

“Noted.” Look at that. Team Bass finally coming in clutch. I’m going to have to buy my girls something shiny. I offer her my hand. “Truce?”

But she just stares at it, inching back half a step. “Sure.”

Jesus Christ, this ‘sure’ shit again. “Sugar,” I start, leveling her with a look. “Basic rules of engagement here. Shake on a truce.”

Her gaze flits back and forth between my eyes and my hand, shoulders rising tightly. She’s suddenly radiating tension, and even though it’s cold in here, I can still see a fine sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead.

She lets out a gusty, frustrated exhale. “I can’t.”

I drop my hand. “You can’t.”

“Yeah, I fucking can’t, okay?” She says it all belligerently, looking like she’s waiting for me fight her on this.

I don’t.

Instead, I reach for her, ignoring her flinch, and carefully pluck that pair of dog tags from her chest. I close them in a fist and give it two pointed shakes.

They fall noisily against her when I let them go. “Good?”

She looks down at them for a long moment, then at me, face blank. Her responding, “Good,” sounds rough and wrung out, but she exits the shop without brandishing her knife even once.