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

Together we climb the narrow stairs, my hand settling on Vandy’s lower back, fingers slipping under her shirt to touch her skin. This need to touch her all the time, it’s even more intense than my compulsion to take. The only thing I want to take from Vandy is something she wants to give—and that has to be on her terms.

I thought it was going to happen in her room the other night. It felt right, but then fucking Em had to barge in and interrupt us. He’d probably be proud of his cockblocking efforts if he knew about it. Right after he skinned me alive, that is.

I’ve sneaked into her room twice since then, but aside from some heavy kissing, I’ve managed to keep things PG-13. Pretty easy thing to do with the possibility of Emory knocking on her door again hanging like an axe over my libido.

The truth is that I need to slow down, anyway. Vandy is more into all this than I really expected her to be, but sex is a big step. You don’t get that back. There are too many ways for her to get hurt.

The stairs spill into a wide landing, decorated in more antiques. She turns left, heading down a hall with thick, carpeted runners that muffle our footsteps. Vandy reaches the first door and peers at the small sign next to it. “Hamilton,” it says. Clearly, this room was named after the headmaster, Bates’ great-grandfather. Her fingers are paused against the crystal doorknob and she lifts them, ready to walk on, but a thud comes from inside and she jumps back, slamming into me. Over the sound of my heartbeat I hear a giggle, followed by a too-loud, “Shhhh.”

I reach past Vandy and slowly open the door. Two figures stand by a dresser. The light of the flashlight reveals Caroline and Tyson. Caroline’s eyes widen when she sees us, and Tyson shrinks back a little. “Fuck,” he mutters, “you scared the hell out of us.”

“Maybe don’t make so much noise?” Vandy hisses, echoing my thoughts. These idiots in here are going to get us caught.

Caroline’s gaze darts down, and I realize she sees our clasped hands. Instinctively, we both drop one another’s hand and step away. Stupid. So fucking obvious. “This isn’t the room we’re looking for.”

I forge ahead, flashing my phone light on the sign by each door. Langford is at the end and I open it quickly, stepping inside. The room is big, with a massive four poster bed in the center. Marble-topped tables sit on either side of the bed, and I don’t hesitate to search the frames for the one we’re looking for. Hearing the soft click of the door closing behind me, I glance up and see Vandy’s eyes looking everywhere but at me.

“Do you think they saw?”

I sigh, trying to shove down the wild anxiety at knowing they did. “We can probably play it off.” Maybe I was just helping her up the stairs. Maybe it could be like that night at the lake—just brotherly.

She says, “I wish…” but trails off, eyes wistful and averted.

“Yeah,” I agree, knowing what she’s thinking.

“Are we just going to keep this a secret forever?” When she finally meets my gaze, she doesn’t look angry. She just looks disappointed. “If this is real—”

“It’s real,” I assure her, tilting her chin so I can brush my lips across hers. “Very real.” There’s a long silence where we watch each other, the air heavy and charged with all the things we won’t say. I try to get us back on track. “It’s probably one of these.” I flash my phone over the photos by the bed. “Any chance that history lesson told you what Martha looked—”

The words die on my tongue when my light flashes over something hazy and solid. It’s sitting on the antique dresser, angled just-so, a crystal devil a lot like the one on Headmaster Collins’ desk. Only now that I’m seeing this one—old, veined, flawed—I’m realizing that his is a lackluster replica.

I want it so bad, I’m fucking shaking with it.

“What?” she asks, sensing my shift.

I clear my throat. “Nothing. I was just wondering what she looked like.”

But her eyes follow the beam of light before I can jerk it away. “Oh.”

“I wasn’t going to take it,” I burst, my shoulders feeling tight and tense with the defense.

“But you want to.” She studies me carefully, curiously. “It’d make you feel… better. Good.”

I give a shrug that looks looser than I feel. “Yeah, sure. It’s not a big deal.”

“Does that mean something to you? Like, symbolically?”

“No,” I scoff, but deep down, I know that’s not the whole truth. I’m just not sure how I’d explain seeing it on the headmaster’s desk that day, and the way I’d felt then—wild and uncertain and sick inside with all the change happening.

Softly, she says, “Reyn,” and I deflate.

“Fuck, V, I don’t know.” I drag a hand roughly down my face. “Maybe, okay?”

“Okay,” she replies, like that’s enough of an answer. “But you know that’s not the only thing, right?” She steps in front of me, the backs of her knuckles grazing over the front of my pants. “It’s not the only thing that can make you feel good.”

And then she kisses me. It’s one of those slow, deep, sexual things that fuzzes my mind out enough that it takes me an absurdly long time to understand why she’s suddenly trying to unbutton my fly.

“What?” I breathe, grabbing her wrists.