Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,117

this day around.

My first class isn’t until ten, which gives me a little time. There’s no food in my kitchen, which is why I’ve taken to getting up early enough to hit breakfast on campus. My stomach is apparently quick to mutiny at even the hint of a delayed meal, so my plan had been to get breakfast and head to my office early.

I dress quickly, scowling in the mirror at a rogue piece of hair that refuses to lie flat. I bolt out of the apartment and start across to the dining hall, texting along the way.

H: Where are you?

G: Getting on the bus.

H: Are you joking?

G: Nope. Field trip to the battlefield. AP history.

My cock wilts in disappointment.

G: Why?

H: I require your cock-sucking acumen.

G: YOU require? That’s not how this arrangement works.

H: Don’t pretend you aren’t down.

G: I’m not.

Frustrated, I try:

H: I’ll eat you out again.

Why not? Fingering Georgia’s ass has suddenly reached the top of my erotic itinerary. It’s not just because I want to fuck her ass—although I really fucking do—it’s just the way it drives her crazy. Makes her beg. Turns her all frantic and desperate, like a completely different person, stripped of all pride and awareness. Nothing has ever gotten my dick harder.

I stop outside the dining hall to finish the text and bound up the steps. Reaching for the door, I yank it back only to have it bang against the lock. I try again, confused why it’s not opening, until I realize that it’s four minutes past the closing time.

“Fucking seriously?” I bang a fist into the door, my stomach already beginning its song and dance of stabbing pain. I stare at the clock, trying to determine if there’s enough time to run to The Nerd for an egg and bacon biscuit. It’ll have to be the fastest fucking order in the history of bad diner fare.

My stomach does a somersault full of acid and agony, which leaves me fighting the urge to double over, hand pressed against a pillar in front of the courtyard. That’s when I notice the black and red Preston bus. It’s parked in the front drop-off cut, a cluster of students all standing around it, waiting to board. My eyes skim over the plaid skirts and black and white saddle oxfords, over the pimpled faces of teenage boys with their crooked ties and ill-fitting uniforms.

My gaze hones in on a familiar head of red hair. Without really meaning to, I watch her amongst her classmates. She looks different during swim class, always so wary around the pool, like it’s some sentient being that could reach out and grab her at any moment. Here, in the harsh light of day, she fits in seamlessly, just another mindless Preston drone in the mass of uniformity.

It’s not real.

From this vantage, an outsider would never know about the way she deflates when she thinks no one is looking, like she can relax for a moment. They’d never know the way she looks when she comes, face contorted with tortured relief. They’d never know what she looks like when she needs it—like really, colossally, fucked-up with this frantic, unhinged energy. They’d never see the fading marks on her thigh, the rubber band around her wrist, or the other ways she hurts herself that she thinks no one knows about. Hell, the ways she doesn’t even know about yet.

That’s what I am. I’m the snap of the rubber band. The stab of the pen. The five strands of hair she’s yanking out when no one’s looking.

I’m the blade she’ll probably end up turning to.

I watch as her head tilts down to Vandy, and she says something in her ear, the corners of her mouth turned down. Those bright green eyes dart to Caroline, who has her nose in a book, a deep line slashes across her forehead. Guess they never smoothed over their little spat over the Collins kid.

Speak of the potential-Devil. He walks up to them, all dark hair and innocent smile. Oh look, good ole’ Oswald showed up just in time for the field trip. I have this unwelcome thought that he’ll make a good escort with all those boyish good looks, parading her around on his arm like a trophy. Collins, for all his father’s prickishness, is pedigree. No doubt he’ll be set up at a nice college next year, set on the path to greatness provided by his very accommodating father.

I remember having one of those.

Georgia’s frown vanishes when