A Deal with the Devil - Angel Lawson Page 0,69

prize, testing the weight of it in my hand, when the door falls open and a girl stumbles in.

Not just any girl.

Vandy turns around, her long hair falling over her shoulder, and our eyes meet. I know instantly that something’s wrong. Her eyes are big and wild, and when she reaches up to push her hair behind her ear, I can see a little tremor.

We silently take each other in. She’s wearing a clingy little jumpsuit with thigh-grazing short-shorts, and I don’t even know what it is about this place. It’s like every bit of female clothing in this town was designed to torture me.

Her eyes flick down to the object in my hand and back up to my face, but I’m focused solely on her expression. Her face is drawn and ashen, and I know the way she’s breathing. I’d know that shit anywhere. It’s the same way I used to breathe when Melanie first started setting shit on fire in front of me. All I can think is that the last person she was seen with was George.

“Are you stealing that?” she asks, the judgment thick in her question.

“Just browsing.” I don’t miss her knitted eyebrows, but at least she’s being distracted from her panic. “What? That’s not a crime.”

“Picking through people’s personal belongings without their permission is pretty damn close to a crime, Reynolds.”

“Close, but not quite.” I pick up the cigar cutter and balance the two in my hands. “I’m wavering between the guillotine and the torch. What do you think?”

She stares at me, aghast, unaware that I’m successfully drawing her out of her panic attack. Her arms cross over her chest. “I think you and every other guy in this place should start keeping your hands to yourself.

I hold her eyes as I lean forward, carefully setting the items back on the desk. “Is someone bothering you?” There’s a threat in my voice that I’m all too ready to deliver on.

“No.” She visibly struggles to take a deep breath. “Yes. No. Well… it’s less about the guy and more about me. I told you before, I don’t do things like this.” She gestures wildly, babbling, “I don’t go to parties. I don’t mingle and drink and not embarrass myself. Elana only invited me because,” she gives me a significant look, “well, you know why she invited me. But I’m sure she’s regretting it. I’m clumsy and slow, and I spilled my drink, and everyone is watching me, and I don’t know how to talk to people, and George didn’t even do anything wrong, except… except pick the worst girl in school to try to kiss, and god, this would all be so much easier if I’d taken an oxy tonight.” She punctuates this by rattling the door when her head bangs back against it, nostrils flared out with her breaths.

That may be the most I’ve ever heard Vandy say in her life.

“Hey.” I keep my voice low, waiting for her eyes to meet mine. “Hey, come on. Parties suck. Why do you think I’m in here?” I stand from the chair, burying my hands into my pockets. “And look, everyone does embarrassing stuff. Fucking ChattySnap will be full of hormonal teenage regret by tomorrow. And George?” I swallow back rising irritation and try to come up with the right words to say. “George is a fucking idiot, but I’m pretty sure you’re not the worst girl in school to try to kiss.”

Her cheeks turn the most delightful shade of pink, spreading down her neck and to the V of her shirt. I notice the black cord and instinctively feel for the one in my pocket. I’d spent half the bus ride to and from the game wondering what it goes to.

Now I’m wondering if hers is the same.

Vandy shakes her head, eyes dropping. “He’s an idiot because he picked the one girl at this party with zero experience.” She presses her palms to her cheeks, giving me a wincing look. “I completely panicked when he tried. I didn’t even have time to think about if I wanted it or not. I mean, god, it would have been my first kiss, and I just shoved him off and ran away like a coward.”

I let out a slow, relieved breath. Halle-fucking-lujah, I won’t have to pummel that kid.

Her face turns inexplicably red and I try to come up with an appropriate answer for that. Appropriate in the way her brother’s best friend might be, an answer that

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