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

“What are you talking about?” She shakes her head, exasperated. “We’ve given you every support you’ve ever needed. Every resource!”

“You have.” I nod, laughing bitterly. “And each and every one of those is built to enable and keep me under control. But Reyn? He’s the only one who doesn’t treat me like an infant.”

Her mouth purses angrily. “Because he’s careless.”

“No,” I say, backing away.

She insists, “He’s a careless, angry, confused boy.”

“That’s not true! You don’t know anything about him.”

Her eyes narrow. “How much are you seeing of him? Because it’s one thing for him to be Emory’s friend, it’s another for him—”

I know then and there that I can’t tell her the truth, and it hurts. Any other girl my age could talk to her mother about this feeling growing inside of her chest, so big that it can’t be contained. She’d be able to be happy about it, to share that joy.

Reyn and I are alone in this.

My mom and Emory will never understand what we are to one another.

“I’m not,” I say quietly, voice flat. “Just… just with Em. I just wanted to make it clear that he’s not bothering me.”

She blinks, the cognitive dissonance, the false reality she’s created where I’m happy being alone and protected, shifts back into place. And with the same ease, I do the same thing. “You know, maybe I do feel a little worn out. I think I’ll head to bed.”

“Good idea,” she says with a tight, approving grin. My mother may want to dig out the truth in her reporting, but she definitely doesn’t want it at home.

I go to my room like a good girl, but that’s not me anymore. Honestly it never was me, but the last few weeks have made that simple fact real. Concrete. I try to think back to that nervous girl who started the school year, but it’s as fuzzy as back when I was using. It’s lost to the life I lead now, the one filled with shine, excitement, and a touch of danger.

The one that gives me the courage to sneak out of my room on a Thursday night and break into my neighbor’s house.

I’m a pro now, grabbing the letterman jacket, locking my bedroom door, and then slipping out the window to the small overhang. My heart pounds as I ease off the edge and I drop to the ground, but even though my landing is stumbling and sloppy, I still have both my feet beneath me. There are so many things I didn’t think I could do—or would ever do—yet here I am, creeping across the space between our houses, digging the McAllisters' spare key out of the wilted, potted fern beside the door.

Fall is officially here and the night air is cold. I tug Reyn’s jacket around my shoulders. I’d worn it all day, feeling bold in my outfit that matched the other girls. It’s an antiquated notion, but it still holds up. Wearing the jacket is a visible sign of Reyn marking me as his own. People definitely noticed. Emory waved off questions at the lunch table, grumbling about my outfit and Reyn doing me a service, but I think almost everyone, save my brother, knows what’s going on. Sydney’s eyes followed me across the cafeteria. She was dying to know why I was wearing it, but her bitterness is what drove us apart. Let her keep guessing.

Suddenly I’m out of fucks to give.

I enter the side door, into the dimly lit house. I know I could have just called, and Reyn would have happily invited me in, but as it turns out, like him and my brother, I have a thing for risk. Maybe that’s why I got into the car all those years ago. I’d wanted to taste what they tasted. I wanted to feel that thrill.

Crossing the kitchen, I see a suit jacket on the back of a kitchen chair and a woman’s purse. Reyn’s father must be here—with a date. I’ve seen the cars come and go, the women entering in the evening and out the next day. My pulse quickens, knowing there are other people in the house. For a minute, I consider backing out and running back home, but stop myself.

Laughter floats in off the back patio and I notice the flicker of the fire pit. I stay away from the windows and sneak up the stairs. At the landing, I orient myself, figuring out which closed door would match up with my own bedroom. I pick the one at the end and try the knob. It opens, and I step into Reyn’s room.

It’s the first time I’ve been here, and a wildly different view from my window across the way. The room is smaller than mine, but he also has a bigger bed, one more suited to his long arms and legs. I’m a little surprised to see the bed covers straight, the pillows flat and smooth. His shoes are lined up against the wall next to this closet and the open door shows me a clean line of shirts hanging in a row.

I guess those military school habits are hard to break.

Shutting the door behind me, I notice that the bathroom door is closed and hear the sound of the shower running. I sit on the bed, feeling the adrenaline from the altercation with my mom waning, and wonder if showing up here was the dumb thing to do.

The shower cuts off and yeah, this was a mistake. What am I doing? Sitting in his room, wearing his jacket. Desperate much?

The door swings open. Steam spills out, billowing forth until it clears, and then there he is. Reyn stands in the doorway, towel slung low around his hips. Water drips down his neck, traveling over his chest and torso. His hair is a wild tangle of damp chaos, still being rubbed with the towel he’s holding in his hand.

When he sees me, he goes still. Eyes boring into mine, his mouth parts in surprise, but he doesn’t speak.

I wait for him to ask why I’m here—to ask what’s wrong.

He doesn’t. His mouth pulls into that sexy, dimpled smirk, and he doesn’t look confused to see me sitting on his bed. He just looks pleased.

Maybe this wasn’t a mistake after all.