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

I’m in a booth, wedged between Vandy and my dad. The rest of the Halls are sitting across from us. I’m so tired that the idea of this being some strange lucid dream isn’t even entirely out of the question.

I get a cup of coffee and sip it gratefully, because I might be tense enough to feel muscle aches at the strain of sitting so straight, but I’ve also been in jail for twenty-two hours.

Rob is scanning the menu when the waitress walks up. “I think I’ll have the trad

itional breakfast platter.”

Em flings the menu aside, agreeing, “Same.”

My dad says, “I’ll have the pancake platter.”

Vandy smiles tightly at the waitress. “I’m not having anything.”

Her mom makes a sharp sound of disapproval. “Vandy, I haven’t seen you eat anything in days.”

Vandy’s jaw goes rigid. “Mom. Leave it. I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat something.”

“And you need to get off my back!”

The waitress shifts uncomfortably.

I bump my shoulder against hers, leaning in close. Quietly, I say, “Get something, and whatever you don’t eat, I will.”

Vandy’s lips are all puckered angrily, but she squishes them to the side, abruptly pensive. “Maybe… maybe just the ham platter.”

When I shift my gaze to her mom, she’s watching me with an astonished expression. I send her a brittle smile, because she is so clueless. Anyone who knows Vandy at all understands that she hates wasting food. I should know, being the recipient of their household’s leftovers for quite some time now.

When the waitress eventually leaves, we fall into a tense silence. It’s missed by Emory, who’s focused on his phone, thumbs flying over the screen. Vandy’s got her thigh pressed to mine and she kicks her leg back, hooking our ankles together.

“No,” her mom suddenly says. She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but no. You’re not ready for a boyfriend, Vandy.”

I carefully put down my coffee.

Vandy doesn’t look up from the menu she’s still reading. “I wasn’t asking, was I?”

“Vandy, tone,” her dad warns, but it’s halfhearted. He looks like maybe this is more the middle of a discussion than the beginning of one.

I share an awkward look with my dad, who seems like he’s just trying to stay out of it.

Her mom continues, “Reynolds, this has nothing to do with you. We understand and appreciate that you were just helping her. But Vandy isn’t ready to be with a boy, especially not one with your…” She chews on an aborted word before settling for, “Special background.”

My dad finally looks up, eyes sharp. “Watch it.”

“Now Warren, you know I don’t mean—”

“I think you do mean,” he argues. “And I think I’m done hearing all your presumptions about my son. Reynolds is a good man. He’s not a boy. I don’t treat my kid like a child, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t either.”

Emory and I look at each other, both cringing. There’s no missing that jab. This could get ugly.

Mrs. Hall gives him a look. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” To my surprise, she actually addresses me directly. “You’ve been through a lot, and although you’re not a child, you’re still young and figuring things out.”

“Who isn’t?” Shockingly, it’s Emory who butts in. “Unless you want her dating a thirty-year-old, you should seriously reassess your expectations.”

Mrs. Hall shifts her aggressive gaze to him. “On board now, are you? So, there’ll be no more ‘pick-up games’ between the two of you?”

Emory pulls a face, flinging a hand toward me. “Fine! I beat him up a little, but I can hold my own against Reyn. What about the next one, hm?” He lazily sips his straw, eyebrow raised. “Think about that.”