Touched by the devil, p.17
Touched by the Devil, page 17
part #3 of Boys of Preston Prep Series
I blink in surprise, realizing that glare isn’t even about the guys with the video. “Wanna be specific?” I ease my other arm into my jacket and zip up the front.
Georgia rolls her eyes. “I know she came to see you last night. She was really pissed about that little gift you sent.”
“Yeah, she came to the garage. We discussed it and agreed to put the emblem on the ‘Stang. So what?”
Her eyes narrow at the word ‘agreed.’ “Then why did she come back more upset than she left?”
Oh.
That.
Question of the century, obviously. I’d been right about Sugar all along. Something about her is broken. More specifically, someone did the breaking. It was so fucking hard to keep my temper in check when she admitted that someone hurt her. I’m not an idiot. Whatever happened, it was bad. Bad enough that now she can’t even stand being touched, and how fucked up is that? I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to kill them. If she ever tells me who did it, I’ll stop at fucking nothing to make them pay. People think I’m all about the violence because I’m a restless, aggressive, fucked-up rich boy. They aren’t wrong, they just aren’t completely right, either.
The thought of someone hurting a person who doesn’t deserve it always gets my hackles up. It makes this tense, red-hot thing in my chest roar to life like a screaming engine. There’s a reason I was so hard on myself after hitting Sugar.
But there’s only one answer to Georgia’s question. I rake my hair back in frustration, pitching my voice so the others don’t hear. “I don’t know what’s up with that girl, G. She’s so damn hot and cold. She hates me, but she’s always around. She’s always telling me to be better, but gets mad when I do something nice for her. She’s fucking exhausting.”
Even Georgia can’t argue with that, shoulders drooping. “Look, I don’t know her that well yet, but one thing is obvious. Sugar acts strong and mean, but she’s hiding some serious baggage.”
I look around at my fellow Devils and Playthings, gesturing. “Who isn’t, right?”
“I think hers might be a little more sensitive than what you’re used to, is all.” She touches my arm, pleading, “Just be careful, okay?”
I cut through the remaining Devils, passing Reyn and Vandy, and head upstairs. At the top I pause, bending down on one knee, fussing with my shoelace. This uncomfortable, shitty idea is brewing in my head. I hear heavy footsteps on the stairs and look down to see Reyn. I stand and push the door open. “You headed out or waiting for Vandy?”
“I’m leaving,” he says, striding forward. “She’s going to ride with Em.”
“Cool.” I look both ways and make sure no one is around to see us leave. Worst case, Dewey sees us and starts snooping around, but anyone spotting Reyn and I exiting the Devil’s tower together will start the rumor mill. Luckily, the coast is clear.
Halfway across the quad, he says, “So what’s got you in such a pissy mood tonight?”
“Nothing.” I clench my fists inside my jacket pockets. I know Reyn and Vandy had to work through a lot of shit to really get together. Baggage, jealousy, a psychotically overprotective brother and parents. This dude had to work for his girl. I respect the hell out of that, and right now I need his advice. “Can I ask you something?”
He cuts his eyes my way. “You can try.”
Squinting into the distance, I try, “There’s this girl…”
“Sugar, right.” He gives a sharp nod. “I think all of us know by now that there’s ‘this girl’, Bass.”
“Well, you know we have that history. Beyond Preston shit,” I elaborate, raising my eyebrows meaningfully. “It’s not a great situation, what happened with her over the summer. I’ve tried to apologize but it doesn’t seem like it helped much.”
He glances at me, chuckling. “Is that what an apology looks like these days? Shoving your tongue down a girl’s throat?”
“Seeing as how she wants my dick, I figured it couldn’t hurt. Minor miscalculation on my part.”
“She wants your dick?” He looks at me like I’m crazy. “She acts like she wants to decapitate you and put your severed head on a spike in front of Hayden as a warning to the others.”
“I know, right?” I can’t help the dopey grin I give him. “Be still my beating heart.”
“You’re a freak,” he says, head shaking. “I’ve seen my share of trainwreck relationships, but whatever you two have going on is toxic. My advice? Run.”
Yeah, I’m not the runner in this relationship. “Come on, Reyn. I’m pretty sure no one thought you and Vandy could get past your history, but you did it anyway.”
“Fair enough.” He pauses. “I’m just giving you a hard time, anyway. I guess I get it. Sugar seems tough. Those are the best ones. Makes everything sweeter when it works out.”
We’re nearing the fork in the path. He’s going to his car, but I’ve got to go back to the dorms before I can escape to the shop for a few hours. “Yeah, Sugar is definitely tough. No doubt about that.” I rub the back of my head. “I figure you, uh, have some experience with winning over a girl who had every right to tell you to fuck off for good. Any real advice you want to offer a fellow Devil?”
Reyn exhales, a puff of fog streaming from his lips. “Fuck, I don’t know, man. Me and V are different. But I think…” He looks down at his keys pensively. “The main thing is that you’ve got to show her that she can trust you. It took V a long time to get there. We took things slow.” He grimaces. “And when I say slow, I mean two-snails-fucking slow. I let all the physical stuff be on her terms. It was up to her when we kissed or fooled around, when we fucked. I just gave her the reins.”
“So you let her grab you by the balls, huh?”
“Sure did.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and doesn’t look embarrassed to admit it.
“You’re telling me I have to back off, basically,” I grumpily conclude, “and wait for-fucking-ever.”
Reynolds leans back against his Jeep, tilting his head toward where Em and Vandy are hopping into Em’s truck. “You know, when me and V were first messing around, we couldn’t be together yet—not really. We had to keep it a secret and a bunch of other bullshit. I think we were both worried we wouldn’t wait on each other. So we made these promises.”
“That you’d wait,” I guess.
He shakes his head. “I think we both realized this thing we were doing would just be too hard, you know? Sydney was just starting to sniff around, and I guess V was kind of torn up about it. Because Syd would have been easy for me.”
I counter, “Syd’s easy for anyone,” and Reyn just laughs.
“Yeah. So Vandy made me promise.” He holds out a palm, sweeping it across the campus in the distance. “Anyone but Sydney.”
I wince. “Yikes.”
He nods. “Yeah, I was kind of fucked up about it. But I had her make a promise, too.” He gives me a long, meaningful look. “Anyone but you.”
“Hey!” I playfully shove his shoulder. “Fuck you, I would have treated that girl like a queen.”
He snorts, but there’s a smile flirting at his lips. “I know. That’s exactly why I made her promise. But the more I think about it, the more I know you and Vandy wouldn’t have lasted a week.”
I argue, “I don’t want Vandy, dude. She’s like my sister.”
But Reyn ignores it. “Because you wouldn’t have had the patience. Not for her. So I need you to really ask yourself if this girl is different. Is this just about trying to get under her skirt, or is this something you’re actually willing to commit to? Is she worth it to you?”
I don’t even have to pause to think about it. “She is.”
Reyn shrugs. “Then if she’s worth it, you’ve got to be patient—especially if you’ve fucked up already. Let her set the rules here. Let her drive this thing. Stop making it all about your dick, Wilcox. I know you. You never back down from a fight. But you can’t fight something like this into submission.” He ticks off, “Don’t jerk her around. Don’t play games. Don’t bail when shit gets rough. Don’t keep shit from her. Christ, they do not like it when you keep shit from them.”
I nod, thinking. “I can probably do that.” He arches his eyebrow and gives me a look that says he definitely does not think I can do that, but whatever. “Thanks, man,” I say, holding out my fist.
“No problem.” He bumps his knuckles against mine. “Good luck with not thinking about your dick for five minutes.”
I walk backwards, holding out my arms. “Bet I could manage ten.”
“Oh yeah,” he replies. “Get used to cold showers.”
I flip him off, but he just laughs and walks off.
I’m almost back at my dorm when I text Georgia.
S: Is Sugar in your room?
G: Why?
S: I need to talk to her.
G: She’s not here. I don’t know where she is.
If she’s really not in her room, then I suspect I know where to find her. I detour from my dorm and head across campus. My phone buzzes again as I walk toward the dining hall.
G: Stop poking, Bass.
Yeah, that’s like asking a dog to leave a bone.
G: She doesn’t need your shit.
Sugar may not need my shit, but she wants it, just as much as I want hers.
Or fuck it—I need her. Whatever this thing is always pulling me toward her, I’m not going to cast it aside. It’s not in my nature. I tuck the phone away and walk around the side of the brick building. Sure enough, in the faint light of the sunset, Sugar sits on the stump, quietly trying to coax the cats to come to her.
I hang back for a minute, watching her interact with the cats. There’s a bag of treats hanging in the hammock of her plaid skirt. Lucy, the most at ease, eats a treat right out of her fingers, while Abby circles closer and closer. Even Hades has made his way near, sniffing around the treats she’s tossed in the grass. The longer I watch, the more it starts to click. Patience. Building trust. Letting them take the lead.
Abby’s getting a little closer now. I’m watching the way the light is playing against the soft curves of Sugar’s lips when they slowly quirk, a small half-smile slanting her mouth. I thought she wore sharp fury well, but this—a small, secret thread of happiness brightening her face—is what she should always look like.
Fuck, she’s gorgeous.
I take a deep breath, trying to settle this itch to go and do and have, and stride across the grass. The cats see me first, Hades jumping back a few feet and running to the closest bush. Abby starts in my direction, undoubtedly hoping for a can of food. Sugar looks up, startled, the smile instantly twisting into the hard, flat line of a grimace.
By the time I’m a few feet away, the cats have scattered, and Sugar is standing, looping her backpack over her shoulders.
We stare at each other for a bit. Too long. Desperate for something to do, I take my pack of cigarettes from my pocket and light one, tossing the pack over the distance between us.
Just like last time, she catches it easily, regarding it with a blank stare. Reluctantly, she lights her own.
“So,” I start, but she just shakes her head.
“Yesterday was my fault. I don’t even know how to explain my behavior, or what the hell even…” she searches for the words and lands on, “I don’t know what came over me, but it was my fault. It never should have happened.”
“I disagree,” I tell her, blowing a stream of smoke from the side of my mouth. “I think it was awesome, and I want it to happen again. Preferably pantsless, but, you know. However I can get it, count me in.”
Her cheeks turn pink and she ducks her head, eyes fixed to the toes of her boots. “It can’t.”
I force my feet to stay where they are, shoving a fist deep into my pocket. “But what if it can?”
Emotion flickers across her face and it’s too much—too fast—to catalogue it all, but there’s definitely conflict. Irritation. And if I’m not mistaken, sadness. “Trust me, Bass.” So softly that it’s almost a whisper, she says, “If I could, I would.”
My insides clench and I replay her words in my head to make sure I heard them right. “You would?” I clarify.
“Yeah.” She says this like it’s something grim and sad, but when her eyes flick up to mine, all I see is loss. “I think so.”
It takes everything, every ounce of strength and impulse control I have, not to lunge at her and take. If any other girl gave me a green light like that, no matter how muted, I’d be all over them. All. Fucking. Over. But I count in my head, mentally chanting ‘patience, trust, control’ over and over. When I feel like I’ve got it together, I ask, “What would it take to get you to trust me? To let me prove myself to you? To get another kiss like that?”
Her laugh is bitter, laced with the smoke that swirls around her head. “A fucking miracle, Wilcox.”
In an effort to lighten the mood, I try, “Well, I have been known to make a few girls feel like they’re walking on water.” She rolls her eyes, but I see it. It’s happening. Her lips curve just slightly, a small, exasperated smile that makes my chest feel utterly weightless. “You know, for someone who doesn’t like to be touched, you’re pretty good at it yourself.”
The smile disappears. “That’s different.”
“How?”
She shrugs, flicking her cigarette and watching the ashes tumble to the ground. “Because it just is.”
I want to know why, although I think I already do. It’s got to be a control thing. She wants it—maybe even needs it—and this is something neither she nor Reyn really get about me. They think I can’t handle not being in control—that I can’t hold back—but they’re wrong. I’ve held back for way lesser people than the girl currently standing across from of me.
“Sugar,” I say, willing her to meet my eyes. When she does, I hold her gaze, because I need her to know that this isn’t a fight. “Please, give me a chance. One chance.”
She looks up at the sky, groaning, “Sebastian, you don’t—”
“We can do it on your terms. We can play by your rules. If I fail, then I’ll leave you alone forever. Promise.”
She shifts on her feet, swaying back and forth, and my heart leaps into my throat at the awareness she’s considering it. I don’t push. I don’t beg. I suck a drag from my cigarette and play it cool—at least on the outside. On the inside, I feel like I’m either going to vomit or run like hell and pretend this never happened.
She finally sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll think about it.”
“Fuck, really?” I blurt, before instantly tamping it down.
“But if I let this happen,” she adds, pointing her cigarette at me, “and you screw up, then I’m holding you to that promise. And it has to be real. No more of this pushing and prodding bullshit. You’ll have to really fuck off.”
I nod, sure that she means it. One fuck up and I’m done—we’re done—and I’ll have to accept it. I watch as she walks away, turning the corner around the building. I’m aware that there’s only one option here; not screwing up.
14
Sugar
“What do you think of this?” Georgia asks, holding the poster up to the wall.
I’m on her bed, munching on a slice from the pizza we’d ordered. I tilt my head, scrutinizing. “Maybe a little to the left.”
She slides it over a little before securing it, nodding. “Yeah, that’s better.”
We’re staying in tonight, which isn’t a surprise. Georgia’s been a lot better since that night Emory and Aubrey came to cheer her up, but she’s still laying low. After the shitshow I witnessed in Dr. Ross’s class yesterday, I think I might understand why.
I’d never ask. If it’s true—if some absolute asshole recorded them having sex and then leaked it for the whole world to see—then chances are, she’s a stickler for privacy.
It makes sense, though.
A couple weeks back, I’d been trying out a new lens Mr. Lee had loaned me. I was in here snapping some random test shots and decided to get one of her. She was at her desk, mirror propped up on a stack of books, sweeping a shimmery green eyeshadow over an eyelid. When she heard the click of the shutter, she completely freaked out.
It’s not like she was naked. In her tank top and skimpy little sleep shorts, she was still wearing more than she had been the day she took me swimming. But she still wrapped her blanket around herself, pale-faced and wide-eyed, and told me in no uncertain terms that I’m to never, ever, take pictures of her.
She wasn’t mean about it. She just looked scared shitless. So I pulled out the film, effectively ruining every shot in it, and threw it in the trash, right in front of her, no questions asked.
Now, I get it.
“Okay, now you need something soft,” she says, stepping back to admire my side of the room. Apparently, I hadn’t been putting in enough effort to make my mark on it. I could frankly give a shit, either way. This dorm room is nice. It has nice people and it’s safe. But it’s not really home. I’m not sure I have one of those at all.
I suspect, however, that this is just a project she’s taking on to stay distracted, so I’ve been playing along. “What do you mean?”
“You know, textures,” she says, flopping down belly-first onto my bed. “Maybe some plushy pillows, or you could drape a sheer curtain over your headboard. Lots of options.”
I look to my left, and then my right. Georgia’s bed has eight pillows. Some are pink. Others are fluffy. One has sparkly sequins. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but do I look like the kind of girl who has decorative pillows and sheer curtains?”
She pauses with her slice of pizza halfway to her mouth. “Hm. Good point. Maybe some razor blades, then.” When I take one of her decorative pillows and throw it at her, she ducks, laughing. “I don’t know, punk isn’t really my aesthetic. I like soft pillows. They’re good for a lot of things.” She wiggles her eyebrows and I snort in response.
