Touched By The Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 3)

I pull back to give her a quizzical look. “What did you mean?”

“That morning.” She looks away, cheeks blooming a soft pink. “After we… when I woke up. You were gone.”

“Oh,” I realize, sitting back on my heels to rub her sheet-covered knees. “I was just making you breakfast.”

Her eyes flash angrily when they meet mine again. “You fucked me. I woke up alone, in a strange place, not knowing what—” Her jaw tightens. “And every moment after, right up until fucking yesterday, you treated me like… like someone you were done with. Like your old, discarded lay.”

I blink back at her, mouth parted in a defense that I already know I don’t deserve to make. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Well, it felt like that,’ she bites out, and residing alongside the angry eyes and set jaw, there’s the hunched, vulnerable curve of her shoulders. There’s no mistaking the fissure of hurt in her eyes.

I scrub a hand over my face, so goddamn frustrated with myself, I don’t even care that it hurts. “Fuck, I’m an idiot.” She doesn’t push me away when I reach for her, sending us both tumbling back into the bed. She lays there against my shoulder, shoulders still tight. “I’m a dick.”

“Yep,” is her terse reply. But she throws an arm around my middle, holding me down.

For the thousandth time, I offer, “Sorry,” fingers threading in her hair. “I don’t know if it’s occurred to you yet, but I actually have no fucking idea what I’m doing. I’ve never had a girlfriend before.” I push a kiss into her hair. “You might have to tell me when I’m messing up. It might be a lot.”

Instantly, she says, “Trust me, I will.”

Well.

That’s something.

“So, no leaving the bed the morning after. Anything else I need to know?”

She sighs, the stiffness of her body leaving with her long exhale. “I don’t really like pancakes.”

I frown into her hair. “Oh.”

“French toast, sur

e. Waffles are fine, too. I wouldn’t say no to—” She shifts, tilting her head to look back at me, immediately wincing. “Shit, you actually really need that Advil, don’t you?”

I guess I don’t need to wonder how bad I look. “Nah,” I lie, wrapping my arms around her shoulders.

She rolls her eyes, breaking away. “I think I remember hearing something about a cigarette and a toothbrush. Let me in on the ground floor of that and we’re all good.”

That’s how we find ourselves back in my bathroom. I’m trying not to think about that mess in the main suite, or about how Sugar is looking really damn fine in one of my uniform button downs. That gets a little harder when she crowds me back against the counter, forehead creasing as her fingers run over my face.

“You’re sure nothing’s really bad here?” she asks, voice skeptical.

Now that my teeth are brushed, I’m free to answer with a kiss, arms winding around her waist. “Everything’s perfect,” I answer.

It’s only a little bullshit. There’s a lot of work to be done. Somehow, I have to convince the coach to let me back on the team. I have to start planning for school next year and getting used to my dad’s constant presence over my shoulder.

That’s confirmed when my phone rings from the other room.

Groaning, I break away, giving myself a moment to enjoy the way she’s gazing up at me, all dazed and pink-cheeked. “Hold that thought. It’s my dad.”

Of course it is. Who else would legit fucking voice-call me at seven on a Sunday morning? I flop back on my bed as he yaps in my ear about making myself ‘available’ next weekend for a dinner with some boring old venture capitalist he’s buddied up with this month. In truth, I probably got off lucky. My college applications are already in, so I don’t even have to worry about his manic attempts at making me look like an ‘attractive candidate’.

Yet.

I don’t really tune in until he mentions that Liesel is loading the car for his flight to Tucson. I can hear my mom in the background—something about a boarding pass—and I can tell just from the way she sounds annoyed that she’s having a good day.

When I hang up, I already have a plan brewing.

“Hey,” Sugar says when I return to the bathroom, finishing up the end of her braid. “You never told me about the kittens. How are they doing?”