A Deal With the Devil (Boys of Preston Prep 2)

But the accident had to have made it worse. It’s a question that nags at me, this sense that I have one more sin to add to my pile. Of course, Vandy is bored out of her mind, and why wouldn’t she be? She’s living in the land of gluttony at Preston. Everyone else is off partying, getting laid, spending mommy and daddy’s money, making memories, and leaving a mark in that long corridor of glass trophy cases. And here Vandy Hall just wants to write some dumb fucking article—that’s her pinnacle of significance here—and she can’t even do that.

Instead, she wants to shut Emory’s whole plan down.

I already know I can’t talk Emory out of it—not if he’s doing it for her. At the same time, I know I can't talk her out of getting in the way—not if she’s doing it for him.

Goddamn siblings, man.

I thank God for making me an only child, but something begins brewing in my mind—some connecting factor. Emory needs the Devils. Vandy needs a project. I need to stop getting caught between it.

Maybe, if I handle this exactly right, all three of us can get what we need out of Preston Prep.

You’d think it would be easier to talk to the girl next door, but no dice. It’s not exactly like I can go over, knock on the door, and ask her out for a chat. I don’t have her cell number, and she hasn’t touched the closed curtains on her bedroom window once. She has a couple social media profiles, but they’re sparse enough that I figure she doesn’t bother with them much.

At a loss for anything better, I do what all guys do when trying to catch a girl’s attention; pretend to be doing something else, while lying in wait.

My chance comes after dinner. For me, that means a sad cheese pizza from whatever joint the HOA allows through their gate. And if the smells wafting from next door are any indication, then for Vandy, that means an actual home-cooked meal. The scent of it makes my stomach churn in longing as I take my empty, greasy pizza box to the trash can just outside the garage.

Cat.

The cat is clearly stalking something, crouched low to the ground in front of the bushes. Its fluffy tail flicks to the left and right, ears pointed forward as it listens intently.

“So we meet again,” I tell Firefly, interrupting the cat’s focus. “Come here, kitty-kitty.” I bend down, fully expecting it to either hesitate or book it. It is a cat after all—they’re suspicious as hell—but instead, it strolls right over and rubs a whiskered cheek across my outstretched hand. “What’cha doing out here, huh? Stalking chipmunks?”

The cat purrs greedily and stretches its front paws out, giving me space to scratch under its chin. Firefly is so pleased by the affection that it doesn’t move when its owner comes outside.

“Firefly,” Vandy coos. “Where’s my sweet boy?”

“Over here,” is my soft reply, knowing that I’m breaking all the rules by engaging her like this. School rules, house rules, best friend rules. At least what happened at school wasn’t my fault. This is something else altogether, and it makes me antsy, nervous.

I hear the sound of her stilted footfalls before I see her. Vandy eventually appears around Emory’s massive truck, and crouched as I

am, the first thing I see is the creamy skin revealed by a pair of lounging shorts.

“Oh,” she says, sounding vaguely startled.

I can’t help the way my eyes slide up her calves, skitter over her delicate knees, and land on the pale expanse of her smooth thighs. I tear my gaze away to look up at her, jaw flexing. “He was on the hunt, again.”

She chews on her lip for a moment while she regards the way I’m petting her cat. “It’s dusk. The zombie hour. The best time to kill.”

It’s an odd, aloof statement, but I’m starting to think Vandy may be both of those things.

“So, uh.” I pull my hand away from Firefly to scratch at the back of my own neck now. The cat looks vaguely put out about it. “Can we talk?”

Vandy eyes the driveway shiftily, peering over her shoulder to check her house. “You make a decision?”

I finally rise, glancing around in much the same way, neck prickling as I shove my fists into my pockets. “Is there somewhere we can go to talk?"

She points to the path between our houses. It leads up a hill and into a wooded area that we spent a lot of time in when we were kids, playing games and exploring. She says, “Meet me back there in fifteen minutes?”

Without further explanation, she lunges for the cat, grabs him, and vanishes back in the house.

Ten minutes pass, taking with it the soft glow of evening sunset as I watch from my kitchen window. Putting on my sneakers, I head out first, not wanting to be seen following her like some fucking creeper. One minute I’m on the well-manicured lawn, and the next I’m in the thicket of trees. I use my phone for a flashlight and wonder exactly where I’m supposed to go. Just then, the beam of my phone’s light illuminates something old, familiar. I take a few steps forward and touch the weathered strips of wood attached to the big oak that straddles the property line. I point the light upward and see the tree house our dads had built when we were in elementary school.

A twig snaps behind me and I spin. Vandy stands a few feet away, the light from her own phone blinding me. I shield my eyes with my hand, glancing back to the tree house. “I can’t believe this is still here.”

She watches me for a long moment before her blue eyes follow my gaze. “I’m pretty sure they forgot about it.”

We stand there for a suspended moment, just looking at the structure, before the sounds of her shuffling steps pass me. I watch as she tests the first rung of the ladder with her toe, eventually putting her weight on it and beginning to ascend.