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

“True,” she says, twisting her hair around her finger. “I’m not gonna lie, I’d had my eye on being a certain Devil’s Plaything this year. But it looks like someone got there first.” She shoves the phone in my face and this time I see Emory and Aubrey in a selfie together. I can’t tell where they are from the photo, but I already know regardless. Emory told me this morning that they’d successfully removed the Sparrowood shield from the stadium and mounted it over the front door of the Academy.

Not wanting to get into another conversation with Sydney about Emory’s lack of interest in her, I offer to get us some drinks from the kitchen. My brother has his head in the refrigerator when I get down there.

“Did you see the picture on ChattySnap from Thistle Cove?” I ask, getting two glasses out of the cabinet.

“Yep.” He straightens, holding an armful of food. “Gotta hand it to you, V. You guys killed it.”

It’s almost embarrassing how much pride I feel in getting his approval. “Any word from the others?”

“As far as I know, everyone pulled it off.” He shrugs. “I think Georgia and Tyson may have had a hang up at Northridge, but since Tyson used to go there, they smoothed it out.”

“Good.” I fill the cups with sparkling water. “Sydney’s in my room. She already speculated that this had the Devils' ‘hoofprints’ all over it.”

He laughs. “I dare her to prove it.”

“I’m just saying.” I return the water bottle to the refrigerator and grab the glasses. “People are going to ask questions.”

“Let them, V.” He rolls his eyes, propping his arms on the counter. “You know I don’t care, and you shouldn’t either. If no one squeals—and they won’t, because then we’ll be forced to reveal the secrets they recorded—then we’re fine.”

I have no doubt that the threat is real. There’s someone else pulling these strings—someone I’d love to find out the name of—who is obviously mega-invested in the Devils' reinstatement at Preston Prep. Whoever that person is, I wouldn’t put it past them to ruin a life or two along the way.

Back upstairs, I walk into my room. I look for Sydney on the bed, but she’s over by my computer instead. My first thought is a frantic attempt to remember whether or not I’d left up the exposé file.

“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “Here’s your drink.”

“Thanks,” she says, stepping away from the desk. “I was just trying to check my email real quick. My stupid phone has stopped loading emails. I think it’s because I have like sixty-thousand that need to be deleted.”

“Sure,” I say, assessing her expression to see if she saw something. There’s nothing there, and she just takes a sip from her drink, but I’m not altogether settled. “Anything else show up about the prank?”

“A bunch of comments. Everyone’s dying over it and trying to speculate who’s behind it. Apparently, whoever got the Viking helmet had to break into the school, because there wasn’t a single thing out of place. No sign of forced entry. Not an easy feat.” With her eyes glued to her phone, she sits back on my bed and crosses her legs. “Oh damn, see? Now they’re dragging me into it! I swear they can never leave me alone.” She shakes her head, sighing long-sufferingly. “See Vandy, this is why it’s good that you don’t go out. Now I’m going to have to prove where I was last night.”

I slide back over to my desk, discreetly clicking the screen over from Sydney’s email account to the Devils file. When I open it, I’m happy to see that the file itself is closed. I slouch back in my seat, marveling over the fact that while Sydney is trying to insert herself into the current drama at Preston, for once I actually am part of something big at the school.

It feels better to be included, even secretly, than I’d ever imagined.

16

Reyn

Before this weekend, the hottest thing I’d ever seen was Kaylee Killian laying on a pool chair at The Club, spreading her thighs open for me. Underneath her yellow sundress, Kaylee hadn’t been wearing her bikini bottom. To be fair, I was fourteen that summer, and Kaylee Killian was the sixteen-year-old goddess of the Junior class, so it was like the height of eroticism. That moment has taken up some prime real estate in my fantasies for almost four years now. Like any other memory, however, the allure of it started to fade after so long, like a photograph that’s been handled a few too many times. It’s only natural that my libido is looking to step shit up.

Why it’s decided to laser-focus on Vandy Hall is beyond me.

Only that’s not so true, is it?

I look across our driveway as I dump my school bag into my backseat. She’s standing over there, waiting for Emory at his truck. The thing about Vandy is that she’s just so fucking cute. Always was, honestly. Really sweet-looking. Pretty. V looks like the type of girl you take out on a date only after impressing her parents. She is no Kaylee Killian. She looks like the kind of girl who doesn’t put out until she finds ‘the one’.

She doesn’t look like the kind of girl who can pick a furniture lock in four minutes flat, either.

That’s the real stain on my sheets.

At the time, I was just thinking that thirty minutes in that gym was probably going to be boring. I was not thinking of her crouched down in the dark, diligently following my instruction, and deftly breaking a lock. I wasn’t thinking of the way she looked, with her lip between her teeth, nibbling. I definitely wasn’t thinking that the way she looked at my mouth, eyes all hooded, cheeks blooming red, would make my dick rock hard.

Suddenly, that moment in the gym, corrupting cute Baby V and knowing for a fact that she was down for it—ready to get messy and anything but sweet—had overtaken Kaylee’s spread legs by a landslide. Isn’t even close.

Vandy meets my eyes then, over the distance. Her smile is a slow, knowing thing, and it’s doing nothing to help the issue currently coming up in my pants. The thing is, I could have taken it. She wanted me to kiss her. No experiment this time, just two people in the same place, high off adrenaline, falling into place like a clicked pin. I can see it so clearly, the way I would have taken it—mine now—grabbed her by the back of her head and thrust my tongue into her willing mouth. It would have been scorching fucking hot, so much better than the first one.

I give her a nod and wrench my door open, because that’s the real problem here. It was just the heat of the moment, and it’d be too easy to push something on her that she’d regret. I’ve never been on a date in my life, I’ll certainly never impress her parents, and I’m not ‘the one’.