Touched By The Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 3)

I deflate, even though I know it’s for the best. “So I’ve heard.”

We walk down the stairs and she finishes up her tour, jerking her thumb at her mom and Doug’s room. Across the hall, there’s a second bedroom that has the words ‘Man Cave’ burned into a wooden plaque hanging from the door.

“Ah,” Doug says, creeping up behind us, “best room in the house.”

Sugar somehow manages to go more still than she has been. Her hands fidget at her sides, like maybe she’s looking for something to cling to. Something like a knife.

If she’s planning on responding to Doug, it’s caught in her throat. It makes my own fists clench, just knowing that this girl beside me—this girl who I’ve never seen scared to let her own thoughts known—is too scared to even reply to him.

“Sugar,” Marie calls, voice reaching down the hall. “Why don’t you come help us serve this.”

Sugar gives me a wary look, but Doug clasps me on the shoulder and says, “Don’t worry, I can entertain your friend.”

“It’s cool,” I tell her, flashing her a grin that’s probably not reassuring in the least. “I need to hear more about what happens in the man cave, anyway. I may need one of these one day.”

Sugar’s glare could peel paint, but she turns and shuffles down the short hallway to the kitchen.

“Holy moley, I need a drink after all that.” He lumbers past me to a small bar set up under the window. It’s hard to even look at him, his big frame and imposing height. The thought of a man this size hitting on someone like Sugar…

Forget the fact that she’s my girl.

Any man who wails on a woman—a fucking kid—like that deserves for hell to be a real place. I watch on, teeth gnashed as he pours scotch into a tumbler and takes a long sip.

“Would you like one?”

Doug’s not so mysterious. It’s a trick question. If I say yes, I’m an irresponsible, underage drinker. If I say no, I’m some little pussy who’s scared of drinking like a man. I’ve navigated these waters before. “Thank you, but no. I’m in training—for lacrosse. The season starts next week.”

“Lacrosse.” He mulls that over as I picture my foot slamming into his face. “That’s the one with the sticks, right? I played baseball, myself. Catcher.”

Of course, he did. Lacrosse players are cocky assholes, but baseball players? They’re dumb and full of themselves. As a catcher, he probably took more knocks to the head than I have. I shift my gaze to the plaque on the wall, the one that commemorates his MVP status. “Any good?”

I already know he thinks he was.

“All-State,” he replies, mustache twitching with his smirk. “I figured I’d have a slew of boys one day to pass my skills onto, but life doesn’t always work out the way you want it.”

“My mother has two sons,” I say, only just managing not to sneer it at him. “I assure you that she’d much rather have a couple of daughters.”

Doug pours himself another drink and carries it over to a well-worn chair. He sits down with a long grunt. “A little advice, son, never marry a woman who already has children. She’ll put them first every time.”

The pounding of my pulse echoes in my ears. “Come again?”

He swirls his drink and flicks his cold eyes at me. “How well do you know Sugar?”

“Well enough,” I reply, desperately trying to hold in my temper. I hear the sound of laughter in the kitchen, hoping that Sugar is included. “Why?”

“Word to the wise on that one,” he says, tipping his glass toward the door. “Get out now. Nothing but trouble with her.”

My voice is deceptively even. “What do you mean?”

He tips his drink back, mustache grazing the glass. “She’s an unreliable, selfish little brat. Abandoned her own mother, for one. Probably just to get out of helping around the house. And to go to that fancy school, of all places.” He gives me a meaningful look. “Girl thinks she’s better than she is, is what I’m saying. You seem like an alright young man. You come from money, right? Yeah, I can tell.” He shakes his head. “She’ll drag you down.”

“Will she?” I grind out, nails digging divots into my palm.

Fucker’s already too buzzed to read my tone. “Always was an ugly, mouthy little shit. I’m telling you now, keeping her in line is a full-time job, so unless you’ve got nothing else to do…” He waves a hand dismissively, like he’s talking about the weather or something. “Not really worth the hassle, though. She’s bringing nothin’ to the table, unless maybe…” He gives me a slimy look, chest bouncing with a laugh. “Maybe she’s good in bed. Can’t imagine she would be, those twiggy little legs of hers. Got a nice set, I guess. You’re lucky she got her mom’s tits.” He raises his glass to me like a congratulations, but I can see in his eyes that he knows just what he’s doing.

This motherfucker is trying to get a rise out of me.

He has no idea just how well it’s working.