Touched by the devil, p.30
Touched by the Devil, page 30
part #3 of Boys of Preston Prep Series
I lean in to interrupt, “What’s SCAD?”
“Savannah College of Art and Design,” Sugar explains to me. “The campus is fu—reaking amazing.”
“Better than Preston’s,” Mrs. Adams says, “and that’s saying a lot.”
“What about you, son?” Mr. Adams asks. “Got your eyes set on a particular school?”
I answer easily. “Ah, the appeal of academia is lost on me. I’m going to spend a few years travelling the world instead.”
The Adamses don’t look the least bit put off by this, even if Sugar shoots me a curious glance. Mrs. Adams even raises her glass to me. “That’s an equally valid experience. Learning from the world, giving back what you take, living on your feet. I had a couple years abroad in South Asia before law school, myself.”
Maybe they could have a talk with my dad to that effect. He’s not as sold on that whole validity thing. He hasn’t forbidden me or anything, but he’s still set Preston’s counselor on me like an attack dog.
Sugar and I share an awkward smile, glossing right over the obvious implications of what those kinds of plans might mean for a relationship. It’s early—too early to start thinking a future together—but whatever is happening between us is also too intense to completely ignore it.
Nevertheless, we try.
The dinner goes well enough. Hamilton gives me his number before we depart, even though I’m not sure what I’d ever have to talk to him about. How much of a dick my brother is? I guess contacts have been built on less.
Sugar visibly deflates once she’s in the car. “That didn’t go so bad. Right? It didn’t seem like they hated me.”
“They didn’t seem to hate you,” I agree. “In fact, they seemed to really like you, and buckle up, because I’m pretty sure you might have more of these in your future.”
She groans, but then looks abashed about it. “It’s not that I don’t like them too, it was just a lot of work.”
We’re halfway across town before I finally begin, “So, hey. There’s this thing tonight.”
She looks instantly wary. “What kind of thing?” The way she says it makes it clear she’s expecting a race or something equally as sketchy.
I shake my head. “Nothing like that. Every now and then, we all like to get together at the lake. There’s usually a bonfire. Beer. Weed. Music. The usual. It’s really low-key, not crazy like the car shows.”
She chews on her lip for a moment. “And by ‘we’, you mean…?”
“The group,” I say, trying to find a way to sum up the Devils without outing us as being Devils. I’d already taken a chance of passing Emory what I’d stolen from Miss Weathers—Preston’s college counselor and holder of the keys to the drama department—right in front of Sugar earlier. I need to be careful. “Georgia, V, Em, Reyn, etcetera and so forth.”
“Oh.” She looks relieved, and then thoughtful. “Is that why Vandy told me to bring a change of clothes?”
“Probably.” I haven’t clued them in on her coming yet, but it’s probably obvious. These things are for Devils and their partners only. Sometimes Tyson brings his girlfriend, and Elana had a guy she was into for about five minutes. Ben’s too on the down-low about liking dick to ask whoever he’s been hooking up with, but everyone would be chill about it. Bringing Sugar tonight is an obvious move. “What do you think?”
I can sense her eyes on me, like she’s searching, wondering what the deal is. The truth is, I’ve never brought anyone to one of these things. Before Sugar, the closest I’d ever gotten to legit dating was probably attending a middle school dance with the daughter of someone my dad was chummy with. Asking Sugar to come with me to this is a bigger declaration than taking her to dinner tonight, or kissing her in the hall.
Which is why when she says, “Okay,” it’s a big freaking deal, even if she doesn’t know it.
Sugar changes on the ride up, right beside me in the passenger seat. It’s a bit of a struggle to watch the road instead of the increasing amount of bare skin that flashes in my periphery, but I do my best.
Still get a nice little glance at those tits. She rolls her eyes when I whistle, but goddamn. Her cleavage has been killing me all damn night.
Emory cheers when we arrive. “’Bout time, you fucker!” From the sound of it, plus the way Carlton has lost his shirt—plus the way Afton looks annoyed—it’s clear these guys are already in the thick of it.
Reyn tosses me a beer, giving me a nod. “All good?”
I nod, knowing he’s asking about the dinner. “Ran into Bates, actually.”
Emory nods. “Where Gwen goes, he goes. Guy’s got it bad.”
They all laugh about it, but I know better. To people like me and Hamilton—guys who come from fucked-up, dysfunctional families—the Adamses are a real nice picture. I can see why they took him in, and I can see why he let them.
We settle into a spot in front of the fire, and Sugar warms her hands. “They were nice. Really normal.” She stares into the flames, and there’s a sadness there. I’m pretty sure it’s reflected back at her when I nudge her shoulder, finding her gaze.
“Want a beer?”
Her nose wrinkles. “Not a fan.” To the group, she asks, “Hey, is it cool for me to snap some candids? I promise to avoid any legal proof of contributions made to the delinquency of minors.”
Carlton instantly starts flexing. “Yeah, gotta document this!”
Sugar gives him an exasperated look that almost makes me jealous. I’m used to seeing that directed at me. “It’s not candid if you’re posing, jackass.”
Despite getting everyone’s permission, she mostly spends the next ten minutes pointing her camera at the fire itself, even walking around it to get different angles. I watch her like that, transfixed at the way she seems to disappear in it, hair hanging around the camera like a veil as she presses the shutter in random intervals that make me wonder what she’s seeing. Jealousy flares again as she points it at the others. Ben, in the middle of a story that involves way too many lewd gestures. Emory as he and Vandy share a whispered discussion across the fire. Reynolds, as he watches them. Afton and Elana as they play a game of rock, paper, scissors for designated driver.
When her lens finally gravitates to me, she’s on the opposite side of the fire. Her figure is distorted with the heat of the flames, but I can see her freeze, surprised that I’m looking back at her.
The way she presses the shutter just then is slow, full of intent.
She returns to my side and puts the camera away. “Do you do that?” she asks, nodding to the blunt being passed from Caroline to Tyson.
I shrug. “Yeah. Why?”
“Just curious.” Her dark eyes spark with the reflection of the fire when she turns them on me. “I’m kind of different when I’m high.”
I reach over to sweep her hair away from her neck, delighting in her responding shiver when I scoot closer. “Different how?”
“Looser, I guess. Less anxious.” She gives me a meaningful look. “Touchable.”
I search her eyes, finally catching on. “Really?” At her nod, I raise a hand, snapping my fingers. “Ty, puff puff pass!” Everyone bitches about me fucking with rotation, but he hands it over, because he knows what’s good for him. I take a long drag from the blunt before nudging Sugar’s chin with a gentle knuckle.
She rolls her eyes when she realizes why I’m holding it in. “I know how to hit a blunt, you giant dork.” Despite that, she purses her lips, sucking in the smoke as I exhale it. She’s such a trooper too, doesn’t even cough. I guess girls in the Briar Cliffs aren’t exactly sheltered little princesses.
On the third shotgun, Carlton must give up on the blunt, because he starts rolling another one. Sugar and I are happy to share what’s left of this one, and I can tell when it hits her, because she starts to get really floppy, head lolled back on her shoulders.
“That’s some good shit,” she says. Luckily Carlton doesn’t overhear, otherwise we’d be subjected to his Ted Talk on why loud is overrated. “Back home, we don’t usually get the good stuff until all you rich fuckers show up for the summer.”
I take one last drag of the blunt, throwing the roach into the fire. “At least we share.”
“Mmm,” she moans. “You know what would be sweet as fuck? A back rub.” When she finally opens her eyes, bloodshot and glazed, she bats her lashes at me, mouth curling into a wicked grin.
I gesture at the space between my legs. “Your wish is my inevitable blue balls.”
She snorts a laugh, but clumsily scoots herself in front of me, settling between my bent knees. Even though I’d caught her drift about weed making her all touchable, I still wait a moment after resting my hands on her shoulders, anticipating her going stiff.
I knead my thumbs into the muscles, thankful for Carlton’s personal stash more than ever when she melts back into me instead. The curve of her jaw is loose and I can just barely make out the silhouette of her lips parting as I work the muscle. She’s got a lot of knots back here, carrying way more tension than she should. I take to the task just like I might to working on the Mustang. Methodical. Careful. Uncaring of time or space, just setting out to make something better.
She sinks back, her head finally falling on my shoulder, eyes dropping closed. “Oh my god, that feels good.” She makes this little moan that, as predicted, makes me hard as a rock. The others aren’t really paying attention beyond the occasional glance when something funny happens, gauging our reaction, so I start moving lower, digging my fingertips into her middle back. She writhes with the motion, feeling soft and serpentine against the cradle of my body. It’s reminding me of that night in the backseat of my car, and without really thinking about it, I move to her lower back, dipping beneath her jacket and shirt.
The fire is nice and toasty—Caroline always builds the best fires, and shit around here got a lot better when all the guys finally accepted it—but I can still feel Sugar’s shiver at the lick of cold wind across her back. I peel off my wool coat and drape it over her front, and for once, she doesn’t fight. She just curls her fingers in it and lets me make her feel good.
She doesn’t even resist when I wind my arms around her middle, arms warm against her narrow, bare waist. It’s nice, not having to worry about touching her as little as possible. She’s pliant like this, a soft, malleable thing in my arms. I watch her face, the way the fire cuts against her cheekbones, eyelashes fluttering above them, when I reach for her tits. I know she’d taken that bra off in the car. I caught more than a flash of glowing skin and dark nipple as she shed it.
They’re soft and heavy in my hands, warmer than the rest of her, and when her eyes blink open, catching mine, I’m expecting her to give me a little smile before saying something vaguely violent.
Instead, she just says, “Your hands are nice.”
I give her tits a little squeeze. “Yeah?”
“I always thought so.” She hums in response to my hands’ massaging. “When they’re not hurting, that is.”
I frown, ducking my head to press my lips to her temple. “I wouldn’t hurt you again.”
“I know.” She arches her back into my palms, seeming uncaring that I’m just sitting here playing with her tits in front of everyone, squeezing them together. “Vandy told me. She said you’ve been different.”
“Different?”
Her nipples are hard, but she doesn’t have that heavy-eyed, horny look. When her eyes meet mine, they’re just curious. “Because you aren’t always angling for a fight with other guys anymore.”
“Oh.” I stare thoughtfully into the fire as my hands work her over. “Yeah, I guess I haven’t been feeling that itch as much.”
“She thinks it’s because of me.”
I give her tits a little squeeze. “It is because of you.” At her confused look, I quietly elaborate, “It feels like… having a stuck throttle. I’m always trying to find a place to point the car, trying like hell to decelerate for a bit. I usually end up crashing, which technically works. The car stops, but it’s this split moment of chaos and twisted metal and destruction. But being with you is like having a wide open, uphill road.” I sweep my thumbs over her pebbled nipples, watching her closely. “Deceleration without the crash.”
That shit sounded like the deepest, most profound thing I’ve ever said.
For about five seconds.
Then I bury a laugh into her hair. “That sounded stupid as fuck. Ignore it.”
“No,” she just says, brows knitting together. “Is it weird that it actually made perfect sense?”
“Not if you’re as stoned as we are.”
She sends me the loosest, most beautiful smile. “I’m glad to be your uphill road, Sebastian Wilcox.”
I press a soft kiss into the skin beneath her ear. “Thank you.”
Mom’s having a good day.
I can tell when I walk into her rooms, package shoved beneath my arm. I’d come to drop off the Porsche and pick up the Shelby before heading over to the garage for the day. I’ve just about finished with the mechanical repairs on the Mustang and need to get started with the interior. I’ve already set up a date with the best upholsterer I know, fully prepared to pay out of pocket. There’s no avoiding it.
“Sebastian!” Mom says, rising to greet me. Her eyes are wide and clear, smile coming easy today. “I was hoping you’d drop by soon. Everything’s so quiet around here without you kids kicking around.”
“Feeling good today?” I ask, pleasantly surprised.
“Fantastic,” she replies, patting my cheeks. “Here on business?”
“Just swapping cars. And I wanted to give you something.” It’d been propped against my door this morning, no note.
Mom looks appropriately surprised when I hand it to her, turning it over in her hands. “Oh, I hope you didn’t buy me anything. You know I have enough—”
“It didn’t cost a single dime,” I assure, dropping onto the sofa. “It was actually a gift from someone else.”
She opens the paper with a curious expression that instantly softens when she sees the contents. “Sebastian, it’s lovely! Is this…?”
“Abbadon,” I explain. “Might finally get to catch her soon.”
“My word, look at this!” She holds up the framed photograph. “It’s such a good picture. So professional-looking!”
I was worried at first it might make her sad. Abby is a hungry, pregnant, scared stray. But the photo really is that good. It perfectly captures her warrior spirit, the strength and survival. “It was taken by an actual photographer,” I explain.
“You know where this would go perfectly? The bedroom.” Mom has a whole wall full of black and white photographs in there, which is exactly what I was thinking of when I saw it. “How are the other ferals doing? Has this one had her litter yet?”
“Not yet,” I say. “But I suspect it’ll be pretty soon. Sugar and I are checking on them every day.”
“Sugar?”
I point to the frame. “The girl who took the photo. She feeds them too.”
“And her name is Sugar?” Her smile is bright and delighted. “What a beautifully unique name.”
“It fits the owner,” I offer.
Mom tilts her head, studying me for a moment. I do my best to keep my expression noncommittal. I hate it, but no one in this house needs to know about Sugar. My conversation with Hamilton confirmed that last night.
“And how are you doing?” she asks as she sits on the loveseat in the sun. A stack of paperbacks and an ashtray sit on the end table. She reaches for her pack of cigarettes. “How are your classes? Your last report card looked good.”
“I’m holding on. Dr. Ross is a hardass, but I should get an A.” As much as I hate academics, I’m still good at it.
She frowns at the language but says nothing, tapping out a cigarette. “And lacrosse?”
“Still waiting for the all-clear.” I lever myself to my feet, rocking back on my heels. “Tell Dad if he wants to donate to the athletic association, now would be a good time.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t need your father’s money to get back on the team. Just take care of yourself.”
“I will,” I say, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I need to run, though.”
Her smile wavers, but doesn’t disappear. “Okay, sweetheart, but you bring that girl around when you’re ready.”
“What girl?” I ask, blankly.
She shakes her head, more observant than I give her credit for, and opens her novel.
I head down the hall and duck into my room to grab a pair of boots out of my closet. As I step back out and shut the door I hear, “Hey there, little brother.”
The hair on my neck stands on end at just the voice alone. The sight of him standing in my doorway makes my stomach want to turn inside out. “Heston. What are you doing here?”
“My mini-mester isn’t over for a few more weeks. Just chilling here until the frat house opens back up.” He gives me a weird grin and the resulting paranoia makes me wonder if he heard me talking about Sugar to mom. Luckily, he just says, “Anyway, I found something to entertain me while I’m in town.”
“Oh yeah?” I mutter, grabbing my keys off the dresser. “What’s that?”
“That sweet little thing you were flirting with at the car show.” My stomach drops, mouth turning bone dry. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Sydney Rakestraw.”
I frown, even though it feels like my heart just restarted. “Sydney? Dude, I told you. Jailbait. She’s a junior.”
He shrugs, uncaring. “Seventeen’s legal. And hey, she doesn’t fuck like she’s a junior.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, tossing the clothes from last night in the laundry. “Sydney is a mess. I don’t know if that’s really who you want to get involved with. She’s always causing a shit-ton of drama. She tried to stir shit up with Vandy and Reyn last fall.”
He narrows his eyes. “What, you jealous I got to her first?”
I snort, biting back the response that I actually had been there first. I’m not proud of that drunken hookup, though. “Fuck who you want. I’m not jealous.”
