Devil May Care (Boys of Preston Prep 1)

“Well, he stared at the ground for a second, and then glanced over here. Now he’s walking down the steps.”

I bite my lip. “Is he gone?”

“Yes.”

I look back, needing to know for my own sanity that he’s not just lurking in the corner or something. If something did go down with him and Reagan, I’m not sure I want to deal with the possibility of him lashing out. His tantrums are a thing of absolute lege

nd, and I know that from first-hand experience. Despite that, I can’t fight the impulse, the niggling need, to make sure he’s okay. I don’t do anything, not until Tyson comes back over and plants a sloppy kiss on Presley, effectively distracting her. I cross the porch toward the railing and tuck my hand in my back pocket, pulling out my phone.

G: You okay?

I wait, thinking he may ignore me. Who knows where he went, or who he’s with. My phone quickly buzzes with his response, however.

H: Yeah, although I’m surprised to see you here.

G: Tyson talked me into it.

There’s another long moment that’s filled with my racing heart and surreptitious, paranoid glances around the porch, as if someone might be able to determine who I’m texting with. Truthfully, no one is paying me much attention. I suppose, like Skylar said on the phone, not everything is about me.

H: Can you get away?

I peek over to where Tyson and Presley have joined in a game of cards around the fire pit. I can see Reagan inside talking to Campbell, and Emory’s expression is irritated. Because he’s mad at Hamilton? Or because he’s annoyed the party is disrupted by Reagan’s upset?

G: Yeah.

H: Come find me. There’s a door off the downstairs porch.

My stomach flip-flops, and never before in my life have I been so happy to be invisible. I slowly make my way over to the staircase and follow it down. Fairy lights brighten the way, and when I get down to the landing to another small porch, I search and find the only door. I turn the knob and walk inside.

Hamilton’s leaning on the back of a couch that sits just a few feet away. The room is on the dark side, illuminated only by a single lamp. He’s holding a plastic cup to his chest, watching me enter the room with shadowed, hooded eyes. Every inch of my body sears with heat, but I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do, or what he asked me down here for.

“So,” I say, taking a step into the room, “Reagan? She looked pretty upset.”

“I broke it off with her.” He sets the cup aside, eyes scanning my body, perhaps noticing his hoodie. “I couldn’t put it off any longer. It was time.”

There’s nothing in there to indicate what made this ‘the time’—the thing he has going on with me, or just because he wanted to anyway. I find myself desperately wanting to know the answer, but unsure how to ask.

I hedge, “I’m sorry?”

He breathes a low laugh, lips curving into a smile. “I’d like to think you aren’t that sorry.” He gestures for me to come closer and I do, heart hammering in my chest as his hands hook into the pouch of the hoodie, pulling me into the space between his legs. His heavy-lidded gaze flicks from my mouth to my eyes. “Just to be clear, I never fucked Reagan.”

I blink at him, caught off guard. “Seriously?”

He nods. “We never got anywhere near that far. No chemistry.”

I’m not sure believing him is the wisest thing I’ve done—he could totally be lying—but there’s no reason for him to bother. He’s already gotten into my pants. “Well, I know she liked you.”

His pulls a face. “I’m not really sure she did. I think she liked the idea of me, but she’s obviously still been playing the field.”

My eyebrows hike up in surprise. “How can you be sure?”

“Because,” he explains, reaching out to push my hair off my neck, his gray gaze locked to the skin there, “someone keeps giving her a Devil’s mark and it sure as hell isn’t me.”

I swallow loudly when his fingers press to my neck. “She’s been cheating on you?”

“Ironic, huh?” He finally ducks his head, planting a soft, teasing kiss under my ear. “Guess that makes me a free man.”

A shiver runs down my spine, spreading goosebumps over my skin. I run my hands down his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt. Whatever tension he’d had upstairs seems to be gone now, replaced by the languorous line of his body as he mouths lazily at my neck. This isn’t the Hamilton Bates from upstairs, at all. This is the boy who spent days taking care of me in my dorm room, and god, I’ve missed him.