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

His expression turns sympathetic. “Look, dude, I’m sorry I saddled you with a chick who won’t put out. But she’s dating that gross old guy, and I figured you would at least respect her decision not to go too far. I don’t trust the other guys not to throw down about it and cause a problem.”

He’s worried about Afton all the sudden?

“What,” I say, struggling to keep an even tone, “about your sister? I thought maybe since you’d put us together for the other challenges, you’d do that again.”

He pats me on the shoulder. “Yeah, well, I let you off the hook for this one. Way too awkward.” He snorts and grabs his practice jersey. “It’d be like you hooking up with your little sister, right?”

My teeth hurt from all the grinding. “Was Afton the only one who put down my name?”

Emory barks a laugh. “The funny thing is that Afton put down Tyson, and Vandy chose you. I guess she didn’t know who else to write.”

The relief is short-lived. “So, you changed it,” I say slowly.

“Yeah, I gave her Tyson instead. He’s dating that religious girl, so he’s used to playing it safe.” His jaw goes tense. “I don’t like the idea of her with anyone, but I know he’ll keep it in his pants. I threatened to chop that fucker’s balls off if he did anything besides give her a hickey, so I think all is safe on that front.”

He’s oblivious of my stare, continuing on with dressing-out. Mechanically, I open my own locker, thinking of what it’s going to be like giving Afton Cross a hickey. Thinking of seeing Tyson’s mark on my fucking girl. I’m halfway through unbuttoning my shirt when I turn to him and say, “She deserves to have a choice.”

He looks up from where he’s adjusting his cup. “What?”

“Vandy,” I say, shutting my locker too hard. I know I’m probably being obvious here. I don’t care. “She deserves a choice in who she marks and who marks her.”

“Hey, I’m just doing you a solid here. The idea of her being involved in this at all makes me want to puke. None of these guys are worthy of her.” He eyes sweep over me. “She just picked you because she had no idea who else to put down. She has zero experience, dude. None.”

Emory is such a fucking idiot that it’s a physical battle not to fly over the bench and throttle him. So utterly damn clueless. He has no idea that not only has his sister kissed a guy before, she’s sucked the brains out through one’s dick. And, also? She’s good at it. My cock twitches just thinking about her hot mouth and tight pussy.

If I thought I was horny all the time before, I was wrong. Knowing how good her mouth feels, what she looks like staring up at me as I come? It makes my dick hard and my brain foggy. That has to be why I don’t hesitate to say, “I’ve learned a few things about Vandy over the last few weeks, Em, and it’s time for you to stop interfering with her life. She’s smart and strong. She knows what she’s doing and she knows what she wants. She’s done every single one of the challenges you’ve thrown at her and if she wants to go up in that tower with me, or,” I swallow, “anyone else, you should let her.”

“What’s it to you, anyway?” He says, eyes narrowing.

“Maybe she put my name down because I’m the only one she feels that comfortable with, did you ever think of that? It’s not about me, it’s about Vandy.” And truthfully, I mean it. If Vandy had chosen Tyson, it’d fuck me up inside, but I’d find a way to deal.

“It sure seems like it’s about you.” His eyes flash angrily and he steps over the bench, chest puffed out. “You want to be the one who marks her? Trust me, you’ve already done that. You left the only mark on her that can’t be taken away. Even the fucking tattoo can be removed, but not the scars. Not the limp. Not the surgeries that apparently turned her into a fucking junkie. Now you want to add another one?”

If he’d punched me, it would have hurt less.

It isn’t that he’s wrong. We both know he’s right. Can’t argue with that, can I? I take and take and take from that girl and she just keeps giving. But it isn’t that he’s right, either.

No, what hurts is the realization that Emory had never really forgiven me for what happened. That it could be years and years down the line, no matter what, and he’d still have that old wound to hang over my head, to use against me.

And if it means keeping me away from his sister, he will.

I’m rendered speechless for so long that the sharp burn of anger begins fading from his eyes. It’s replaced with something cold, but wary. “Dude, look—”

I cut him off. “Do you think I care about this

juvenile Devil bullshit? Do you? Do you really think for one second I’m in this for the legacy and prestige of being pinned by some rich cocksuckers as worthy?” My nostrils flare and I meet him over the bench. “No, we were supposed to be doing this so that, next year, some high and mighty asshole doesn’t get put in the position to tell Vandy that what she wants doesn’t matter.” My nostrils flare, voice low and hard. “If you’re that asshole, then what the fuck am I doing here?”

He’s watching me, face gone shuttered, but I’m ripping off my shirt. I never change with the guys, too ashamed of my scars to let them become something whispered about between jocks. I don’t even fucking care anymore.

Vandy isn’t the only one who’s been marked for life, and I might have been the one driving, but Emory wanted me to do it.

I turn to my locker, shoving my shirt inside, and I know he’s staring at my scars. After a suspended moment, I hear some of the other guys go quiet, too. It makes my stomach roll painfully, but I thrust my arms into my gym shirt and yank it harshly over my head like it’s not making me sick to be seen like this.

When I slam my locker, turning around, Emory’s back on his side of the bench, pulling a roll of tape from his locker.

We don’t speak to each other for the rest of the day.

I’ve never been so tired as I am walking across campus toward the tower. It’s early evening, which means there are a lot of people around. Kids are walking to and from the dorms for dinner. Homecoming week begins Monday, which adds a new dynamic to the climate. The cheerleaders spent the afternoon painting giant banners for the game and are just now walking to their cars. Coach Morris wants a blow-out and he kept us late, running a million fucking suicide sprints. Vandy could probably out-run me at the moment. With a quick glance around, I duck into the tower when no one is looking and head up the stairs.