Devil May Care (Boys of Preston Prep 1)

We’re both quiet for a moment, my outburst settling into a heavy silence between us. I’ve never spoken so freely to him about anything, let alone my very personal baggage, and I instantly regret doing it now—more than any of the other things I’ve done with him, by far. I try to unlace our fingers, to move away, but he doesn’t let me.

“Hey, no,” he says coaxingly, gently pulling my hands back. “I get it. That’s some really heavy shit, and yours is the only opinion that matters. I’m no expert or anything, but I don’t think there’s a wrong answer there.”

I shrug, trying to sniffle covertly. “It’s a whole complicated thing.”

His steel gray eyes bore into mine. “Look at that, we do have things in common other than sex.”

I let out a surprised laugh. “What? Parents we can’t please?”

“That,” he lists, fingers playing between mine, “our love of swim, and our unrelenting desire to win.” His lips tug in a tentative smile. “Oh, and we both like artichokes and feta, the weirdest combination.” He picks up the last piece and pushes it toward my mouth, like he wants me to take a bite.

It’s goofy and strange, but so is everything about this moment, so I lean forward. But before I can get to the pizza, he pitches toward me, eyes locked on my mouth. He blindly throws the pizza back to the box, hand coming up to cup my neck. I can’t help the staggered, shuddery breath I release as my eyes drop to his lips in anticipation.

He whispers, “Okay?”

I press a palm to his chest to hold him at bay. “We shouldn’t,” I say.

He licks his lips. “Because you’re sick? We already went over that.”

“No, because...” I meet his gaze, heart hammering. “Because it’s getting really confusing.”

His gaze darts between my eyes and my mouth, and I swear I can feel his heart beat faster beneath my hand when he replies, “I’m not confused, Gwendolyn. I know exactly what I want.”

I look at him, really look at him, and he’s a different Hamilton Bates entirely. And maybe some part of me, buried deep inside, still has doubts about this, but in this moment, my heart is running the show. I drop my hand and he ducks his head, finally brushing my lips with a soft, lingering kiss. He pulls back far enough to meet my gaze, assessing my reaction, and I feel the ghost of his kiss like a blaze of heat.

I press forward, returning the kiss, and then climb into his lap. His hands grab my hips and pull me against him, tongue licking into my mouth. I settle in the curve of his hips, and it’s nothing like it was. Something’s changed. I know, because I can still feel the bright spark of want for him in my belly, but I feel something else, too: The bloom of a breathless swoop in my chest. I knit my fingers into his hair and deepen the kiss, as if I could push the wild swooping feeling into him, share it with him, even though a dark, frightened part of me wants to keep it safe and hidden.

22

Hamilton

Surreal.

That’s how I would describe the next 24 hours.

Who knew that eating, sleeping, and binging Netflix while cuddled up next to Gwendolyn Adams would be the best day of my life?

Gwen frowns at the closed laptop. “I can’t believe Hopper’s dead.”

“You did see the extended scene, didn’t you?” I reach out to push a strand of hair behind her ear. I’ve been touching her constantly; I just can’t help it. “Because I’m pretty sure you were sitting right next to me when I watched it.”

Ever since that kiss on her floor, feeling the weight of her in my lap, I’ve been perpetually hard. We spent a few long minutes doing that—just trading kisses—but we didn’t go any further. And the weird thing is, I don’t even mind. I’ve been enjoying the low-key closeness all the same.

She turns to me and her eyes are so wide and guileless that it’s all I can do not to smile. “I did, but what if it’s a trick! What if Hopper really is dead? What if Will and his family are moving away, and Johnathan and Nancy are going long distance and Elle… oh my god, poor Elle.”

Truthfully, it had completely escaped my mind that watching that plot point would likely be upsetting to someone who’s both adopted and currently entangled in a bunch of emotional stuff surrounding it all. I watch shows like that for the monsters and cool fight scenes, what can I say? It just didn’t occur to me. She tried to hide her tears when Elle read the letter from her ‘adopted’ dad, but I could tell. It didn’t feel good. I had no idea what to do.

When she’d revealed her feelings about her birth mother to me, I felt it like a punch in the gut.

Who wants to foster a relationship with someone who sees them as easily disposable garbage? With someone who’s been nothing but a source of toxicity and hurt?

The parallels were nauseatingly impossible to miss. How many times have I called her trash? A reject? Tainted blood? How many times have I sneered at her, laughed at her, been a toxic asshole to her? I couldn’t count them if I tried, and I sure as hell can’t make up for any of it. Which is a hell of a thing to realize just as I began feeling like...

Like maybe we could be something?

Only now, I’m not so sure. It’s not like I could blame her. Aside from the parentage stuff, I basically fit the same bill as her mom. I’d thrown her away, discarded her, and then rubbed it in for... Jesus.

For years.