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

“Damn, girl.” It’s too dark to see his smile, but I can hear it in his voice. “Two-for-two on this shit.”

I don’t say that it’s just common sense that they’d have the same sort of lock, but it’s true. There is absolutely no basis for the swell of pleasure I feel at his words and the way he says them—like I’ve done som

ething impressive, special.

“Okay,” I say, “the trophy case is through the lobby.”

We stalk along the bleachers, and I don’t even try to contain my smile. He can’t see it, anyway. When we reach the lobby, there are lights shining right in the trophy case, and it’s like something out of a movie. The Viking helmet shines under the light, our illicit treasure.

But the trophy case is locked.

“Damn.” I jiggle it, but it’s no use. “He said there were only two locks.”

Reyn gives me a look, crouching down once again. “Please. A toddler could open one of these things.” He once again removes the flat-edged thing—tension wrench, he’d called it, although it looks nothing like a wrench—from his roll of tools. But this time, he extracts one of the cruder picks. He holds both tools out to me. “You were watching earlier, right? Put the tension wrench here.” He points to the bottom of the keyhole.

“Wait, me?” I punctuate this by jabbing a finger into my chest. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Just think, this will be the last time you can say that.” Reyn give the glass a tap. “Come on, we’ve got like thirty minutes to kill. You picking this thing will probably only kill five of them.”

I give him a dubious look, but crouch down beside him, slowly taking the tools. “This thing? Here?”

Reyn nods when I insert the wrench, his eyes watching me so closely that my neck prickles. “You’re going to put some light tension on the plug, like you’re turning the lock, but you’re not. Just kind of rest your fingers on it.”

“Like this?”

“Exactly.” He shifts a bit, so close that I can smell him, voice a rough murmur. “Now put the pick in, hook-side up. All the way to the back. Good, now…” He shifts impossibly closer, his shoulders almost curled around mine. “Drag it out, really slowly. Try to feel the pins. You feel them?”

I furrow my eyebrows, trying. “I don’t think—oh. Yeah, that little bump?” I can even kind of hear the click when the pick runs over it. “I feel two. No. Three.”

“Sounds about right. You’re going to press each of those pins in,” he explains, miming the action. “One at a time, click, click, click.” I do what he says, but it’s harder to catch the pins than he makes it sound—and look. “Just take your time, it’ll take a few tries, but—”

Click. “Oh, I got one.”

I can see his grin out of the corner of my eye. “Wicked. Do the next one.”

The second one is just as hard, but I have a better feel for it now. It only takes a handful of stabs before the click comes. I lose the third pin for a moment and have to kind of shift around. I feel more than hear Reyn’s silent puff of laughter.

“You’re out too much, go in a bit.”

Ah. There it is. I prod at it carefully, and I realize just how precise Reyn needs to be when doing this stuff. The smallest slip could mean starting over. No wonder he’s learned to be so still.

When I get the third pin, Reyn shifts again, and I can hear him lick his lips. “Okay, take the pick out, but not the wrench. There you go. Now you need to choose which way to turn it.”

I almost think of making him choose. It only seems fair. But I’m sort of weirdly attached to the idea of picking this lock all by myself now. I choose left, because it’s been such a pal tonight, and I’m nothing if not loyal.

The lock springs open.

“Sweet,” he says. “You’re a natural, Baby V.”

I look at Reyn and he graces me with another one of those dimpled smiles. You’d think if he showed me enough of them, I’d begin building a tolerance, but that is clearly not the case. Especially when he’s as close as he is now. Without my permission, my eyes glance down at his mouth, and it’s an idle thought—that it’d only take a few inches to clear the space—but it’s enough to make my cheeks heat. When my eyes flick back up to his, I find that his gaze is fixed on my lips, too.

It would be so easy, but...

We both quickly stand, shuffling away from one another. Reynolds McAllister doesn’t think about me like that. Even after our shared kiss. How many times has he called me ‘Baby V,’ tonight?

I’m just a kid, and bringing me along tonight was just another night of babysitting.

I gesture to the helmet. “You want to do the honors?”