Touched by the devil, p.29
Touched by the Devil, page 29
part #3 of Boys of Preston Prep Series
She just shakes her head. “Trust me, it does. You’re dating now, right? Like for real together?”
I feel myself flush at my stuttered confession, “Uh, yeah, we’re… together. Whatever that means around here.”
Vandy laughs. “Why? What does it mean where you come from?”
“A lot of sex, fighting, and statistically, an unplanned pregnancy?”
She pulls a face. “Well, for the record, anyone can get condoms at the health counselor’s office. Preston’s never been conservative where sex-ed is concerned. But usually, dating at Preston involves a lot of secrecy, because our parents are the biggest drama llamas of all. At least you and Bass don’t have to worry about that.”
Great, something else to worry about. “Yeah, I’m sure his rich parents will be thrilled to learn he’s dating Cliff trash.”
“Hey,” she says, frowning. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. And I’ve never known the Wilcoxes to interfere in their kids’ lives like that. They’re pretty hands-off.”
“That’s good to know.” The last thing I need is some ornery rich parent all up on my shit about their precious son. “So, any other tips for this dinner tonight?” I ask, nerves flaring up again.
She flaps a hand. “No, you’ll be fine. But word to the wise? Take your change of clothes with you, just in case.” She gives me a wink.
“Okay,” I say slowly, gathering my things. Just in case. Whatever that means. “I should probably go wait for him outside. The muffler on that Shelby is so loud we’ll be able to hear it two blocks away.”
When we get on the porch, the sound of a ball bouncing on the driveway greets us. Emory and Reyn are running around the driveway’s basketball court playing one-on-one. Emory glances over his shoulder at us, pausing for a double take when he sees me dressed up. It gives Reyn the opportunity to knock the orange ball out of his hands, but then he stops in his tracks, eyes fixed on the driveway. I turn to see what he’s looking at and notice a sleek silver car idling behind Emory’s big truck.
“The fuck is that?” Reyn says, no longer interested in the game. His eyes are glued to the car. “Is that a 911? If that bullshit HOA is on my nuts again, so fucking help me…”
But when the driver’s side door opens, the first thing I see is that trademark blond hair. Bass steps into the light, and he’s almost unrecognizable. He’s wearing a dark gray V-neck sweater with a white collared shirt underneath. My eyes travel down to the well-fitted dark jeans and brown lace-up shoes. It’s all topped off with a black wool coat.
“Damn,” Vandy mutters, voicing exactly what’s lodged in the back of my throat. Prep school Sebastian is pretty. Greasy, unkempt, race car-driving Sebastian is undeniably hot. But this? Date Sebastian? He’s so handsome it fucking hurts.
Micha is going to die.
“Man, where did you get that car?” Emory asks, as both boys approach him—well, approach his car. Sebastian lets them pass, eyes zeroed in on me. Despite the cold, I feel hot, prickly, overwhelmed. He strolls up, gaze raking over me. “Hey V,” he says without looking at her.
“Bass,” she says, sounding a little flustered herself. “I’ve never seen you looking so…”
“Appropriate?”
She gives a wry chuckle. “Sure, we can go with that.”
“You ready?” he asks, bending to pick up my bag for me. “I’m afraid if we wait any longer, McAllister’s drool is going to fuck with the paint on the car.”
He holds out his hand and I take it, glancing over at Vandy once more. “Thanks, again.”
She nods and mouths, “Call me later.”
Bass walks me to the car and opens the door for me. Once I’m inside, he crosses the front of the car, says something to the guys, and bumps their fists. I don’t miss something passing from Sebastian’s hand to Emory’s. Whatever it is, Emory gives a salute and they wander back down the driveway.
When we’re both inside, I ask, “What’s with the car? Where’s the Shelby?”
Sebastian’s jaw moves as he smacks on a piece of gum. “I ran home to get a change of clothes for tonight and figured my other car would be more suitable for the occasion. You know, less noise, a little more comfortable.”
I run my hand down the soft leather. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Nah,” he replies, reaching out to run a warm hand down my thigh, “you’re gorgeous. Fuck, Sugar, how the hell am I going to make it through dinner when you’re going to be sitting next to me like that?”
I breathe through the spike of anxiety that ebbs at his touch, but it’s a brief, mild thing. I don’t tell him, because his ego is already the size of the moon, but the feeling is entirely mutual. “Guess this night is going to be a challenge for both of us.”
“You have no idea,” he replies, pressing a button to start the ignition.
I look over at him in his nice, crisp clothes, hair flawless, jaw clean-shaven, and can’t help but ask, “Hey, could you do me a favor?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “In case I haven’t made it clear, I am completely down with favors.” His smirk is pure obnoxiousness. “Sexual or otherwise.”
Ah, there he is.
I roll my eyes, even though I’m fighting my own grin. “Just stay still for a second.” I twist in the seat to root around in my bag in the back, pulling my chain from the pocket. The thought if it sitting in this car—so far away from me all night—makes my stomach churn in the worst way. Sebastian does as he’s asked, remaining perfectly still as I lower it over his head, even if his eyes drop to watch it fall against his sweater. There’s a question in his eyes that he doesn’t voice. I answer anyway. “I can’t wear it with this fancy get-up. Just… keep it safe?”
He blinks in surprise. “Yeah, I can do that.” Giving me a pointed look, he even lifts it, tucking it securely into his sweater. It’s not the same as it being against my own chest—it’s not the same as always knowing it’s there—but it’s almost as good.
Sebastian protects what’s important.
21
Sebastian
I chose to drive the Porsche on a whim, snagging the keys out of the drawer by the garage on the way out. I’d really only gone home to get a clean sweater and a pair of shoes that weren’t covered in grease, but I’d doubled back at the last second. It’s not like I stole it or anything. It’s technically my car—the one my father bought me last year—the nice, flashy, approved vehicle that represents our family’s status. It’s not that I don’t like the car. It’s a fucking Porsche. It’s a nice fucking Porsche. What’s not to like? But it’s just so easy. Driving it always makes me feel like a pampered, spoiled little brat. That’s more Heston’s gig.
But I chose to drive it anyway, because if there’s one thing I can do, it’s level the playing field for Sugar. Driving this car and wearing these clothes is one way to do that. She doesn’t come from money like me, which is something I like about her. But in this town, that has a way of setting you apart.
But now that we’re pulling into the restaurant parking lot, I begin wishing I’d driven the Shelby, self-inflicted dents and all. The Adamses aren’t like other Preston families. For one, they actually want their kids. Secondly, they believe in good causes and genuine people. The fancy clothes and car, all my money, it’s a part of me, but it’s not who I am. I’d rather be getting down and dirty below the hood of a car than sitting on Italian leather. They’d probably appreciate that, not shun it. Chances are, flashing my status around the Adamses will probably make them like me less.
“You okay?” Sugar asks, squeezing my hand. “You look worried.”
“Yeah, I just…I hope coming with you wasn’t a bad idea.” Somehow, I’ve become more nervous about this dinner than she is. I just want them to like her, like I do. God knows why.
“Why would it be a bad idea?”
“I told you there was some bad blood between Heston and their kids. He pulled a pretty mean prank on Micha last year. I just hope they don’t think I’m like him. I don’t want them to judge you for being with me.”
She just snorts a laugh. “Bass, Micha is your number one fan, and Michaela is a creepily close second. I don’t think either of them are holding a grudge against you for whatever dumb shit your brother pulled.”
Which of course is half the problem. The Adamses don’t hold grudges. They’re too good for that. And even if the twins are Team Bass, my charms do have limits. Fuck. I scrub my face and nod, “Well, it’s too late to turn back now anyway. I’m starving and you look hot as fuck. No way I’m letting you go in that restaurant without me.”
She gives me a sour look. “What exactly do you think is going to happen? Like men are just going to start jumping me or something?”
“Maybe,” I say, shooting her a grin. “Or maybe I just need everyone to know that I’m scoring with the hottest girl in the room.”
Her sour expression flattens into something vaguely amused. “That, I can actually buy.”
I exit the car and walk around to open the door for her. She looks so pretty, so perfect, the last thing I want to do is fuck this night up for her. I help her out of the car and give her a kiss, but don’t let my touch linger. I’m starting to learn that there are times and places to make my testing touches. She’s probably got enough nerves as it is.
“Sebastian?”
My fingers tighten around Sugar’s and I turn toward the familiar voice.
“Hamilton.” I’m genuinely surprised to see him, but there he is, in all his bitchy glory. I offer my hand, fighting the urge to wipe my palm on my pants before I do. Instead, I flash a grin at his date. “Gwendolyn, nice to see you.”
Gwen looks pretty—not as pretty as Sugar, but just… better. Better than she had last year, back when she was always stone-faced and dead-eyed and avoiding everyone. Not that she was at fault for that. When the head of the Devils tells everyone to pretend you don’t exist, that’s exactly what happens. And then, apparently, you end up dating him.
Weird fucking place, Preston.
Gwen narrows her eyes like she’s trying to place who I am. In that moment, if I could wipe my genes away, I would.
“Babe,” Hamilton says, arm slung casually around Gwen’s shoulder, “you probably never met Sebastian. He’s Heston’s younger brother.”
“Oh,” she says, recognition clicking in. “Right. Wilcox.”
“Same last name,” I assure her, “but the similarities stop there.” His eyes dart over to Sugar and I turn to her, smiling. “So, believe it or not, we’re here to meet your family. This is Sugar Voss, recipient of your parents’ scholarship.”
“Oh, you’re Sugar!” Gwen’s expression softens. “I really love your work. The black and white one of the cemetery with the flags was really provoking.”
“Thank you,” Sugar replies, tucking her hair behind an ear in an uncharacteristically shy gesture. Despite that, I can still see the spark of overwhelmed pride in her eyes.
Gwen’s phone chimes and she looks down. “I think the rest of the family is already inside. I hear you’ve already made an impression on the twins. You can meet everyone else, too.”
I peek into the large front window, internally cringing at what awaits us inside. The whole fucking family came. Even the older brother. Even Skylar. At least that’s one sin that’s not hanging around my neck.
“Sugar, walk with me. We can talk art while the guys catch up.”
I release Sugar’s hand and watch her walk off. I drag my eyes away from her and look at Hamilton, who’s watching me closely.
“How’s lacrosse?” he asks in a clear display of shooting the shit.
“Starts in a few weeks. I’m waiting to get cleared from a concussion.”
“Ah, right. I won two hundred bucks at one of your fights.” He looks me over, assessing me. On anyone else, it’d look like an attempt at intimidation, but I know Hamilton better than that. “Guess that’s how you got the concussion.”
“Yeah, something like that.” I take a stab at the elephant lurking in the parking lot. “Look, I know we never really hung out or anything. Heston pretty much preferred me to be as far from his orbit as possible. But just so you know, I’m not anything like him. You seem to have a pretty good grasp on Gwen’s family, so if you think that me being here will damage Sugar’s reputation with them, I should bail now.” I rake my hair back, blowing out a hard breath. “I really like this girl, so the last thing I want is her being judged on an association with my asshole brother that doesn’t even exist.”
“They’re not like that,” he says, twisting at the waist to peer in the window. “I mean, fuck, I’m petty as hell, but Gwen’s family? They even forgave me, and you know how much of a shit I was to Gwen. They’ll probably just see any association with Heston as another reason to take her under their wing. They love adding a new wayward soul to their flock.” He laughs, dark eyes flashing. “Hell, why do you think they like me so much?”
“Okay.” I nod, feeling a little bit of the tension easing. “Okay, good. That’s a relief.”
“How is your brother, anyway?”
“The same,” I reply, giving a bitter, tight-lipped smile. “I avoid him as much as possible, truthfully.”
He looks toward the door where the girls just walked in, face set into a pensive frown. “Have you told him about her?”
“Fuck no,” I reply quickly. Maybe too quickly. “You know how he is. First sign of a weakness and he grabs hold.”
“Yeah, I know.” He shakes his head. “Your girl looks tough on the outside—I guess she’d have to be to deal with the assholes at Preston—but bro. Bro.” He gives me a significant look. “Underneath that, she’s really got that fragile, lost thing going on, you know?”
Irritation at him sussing out Sugar so quickly puts me on edge. “The fuck does that mean?”
“Gwen’s family is the least of your worries. Your brother will sniff that shit out in a heartbeat.” He holds my eye. “If you know what’s good, you’ll keep him away from her.”
I already know this. It’s why I kept him away from her at the car show. But hearing Hamilton say it—Hamilton Bates, who was such a terrible bastard that he was the only one at Preston who could keep my brother in line—just cements my determination.
I exhale and nod. “Yeah, of course. Thanks for the advice. And look, not that it’s worth much, but I’m sorry about what he did to Gwen and Micha.”
Hamilton holds up a hand. “Don’t apologize for that sack of shit. That’s his baggage, not yours.”
By the time we walk into the restaurant, I’m seeing Hamilton Bates in a whole new light. He still seems like the same prissy little shit he always was, but he’s grown up a lot since high school. He doesn’t even mock me when I hold the door for an elderly couple exiting.
Meeting the rest of the family is a bit of a whirlwind. Sugar, seated to my right, looks like she’s already been caught in the storm of it. There’s a tightness around her eyes that tells me someone touched her—probably a handshake, maybe even several. And I was outside dicking around with Hamilton Bates. Fuck.
She just gives me a thin smile when I take my seat though, having given my own handshakes. Being so focused on her discomfort does have the advantage of taking my mind off everyone realizing I’m a Wilcox.
Micha reaches across the table to tap the table in front of me. “I told them not to touch her.”
His mom’s eyes widen. “Oh goodness gracious. You know that I completely forgot?”
“We weren’t supposed to touch her?” the oldest son—Brayden—asks.
Michaela offers, “Everyone at school knows it.”
Sugar looks like she wants to crawl into a hole and die. “No, it’s fine. I’m okay.”
I jump in, “So Micha, Michaela, you’re in the photography club too, right? I haven’t really given Sugar the chance to talk about it much. What all do you do?”
Michaela tilts her head, voice a perfect deadpan. “We take pictures.”
Her twin scoffs. “No, we do more than that. Critical theory, color theory, you name it. Mr. Lee has been on this wild composite photography kick lately. Sugar’s stuff has been really good this week. Not as good as mine,” he clarifies, making sure everyone at the table has ample opportunity to roll their eyes. “But still really good. I’m guessing because she has that fancy new laptop.”
I raise an eyebrow at her, not even trying to hide my smugness. “Yeah, she’s really good, right? There’s this one picture she took of our cat—I mean, not our cat, but one of the cats we feed. I wanted to buy the print for my mom because she’s always hassling me to send her pictures of the strays at Preston. But Sugar totally shot me down. Probably smart. I’m sure it’ll be worth like tens of thousands of dollars one day.”
Sugar blinks back at me, face slack with surprise. “You never told me you wanted that for your mom.”
I just shrug, shaking it off. “I have a camera on my phone. It’ll do, even if it’s not ‘true art’.”
Gwen and her mom go off on some tangent about a wildlife photographer they met in Africa. Sugar seems appropriately engaged in that—he’s apparently a big name in the industry—so I dig into my salad, trying my best to follow along.
It isn’t until Skylar asks, “So do you know where you want to study next year?” that I start to worry for her again.
Apparently, I don’t need to. “Well my absolute dream would be Yale. Their fine arts program is second to none. But my more realistic dream is probably SCAD. The counselor at Preston helped me apply to a lot, though, just in case.”
Mrs. Adams’s face lights up. “Oh, SCAD is lovely. Such a beautiful city. But I wouldn’t sell yourself short on Yale. They’d be lucky to have you.”
Sugar shrugs. “It’s a really competitive school, so I doubt it. Can’t hurt to try, though. SCAD is still—”
