Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,128

me a sad smile in response. “I understand.”

After a long beat of heavy silence, I try, “If you asked me to, I’d find another escort. You know that, right?”

She gives a short laugh. “No, I’m not that pathetic.” More solemnly, she adds, “Or at least I’m trying not to be.”

“Caroline—”

She cuts me off, putting on a brave face. “It’d be a lousy first date, anyway. I still don’t know how to walk in heels, and I’ll probably spend the whole night feeling awkward and lost. Emory said he’d take me, and he’ll make it fun. You know how he is.”

I smile sadly. “Big brother to all.”

Caroline’s eyes go wistful. “He’s really smart, you know.” At first, I think she’s talking about Emory, which is comically inaccurate. But then she explains, “We’re in the programming club together and he can code circles around me. You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but he’s got some serious skills.”

Well, that’s something to consider for the Devil spreadsheet.

“What about your guy?”

“My guy?” I ask, startled. “What about him?”

She rolls her eyes, laughing. “What’s he like? Is he nice? Cute?” She snorts. “Okay, he’s obviously cute if you’re with him. But is it, like, serious?”

I hold up my hands. “Whoa, no. No way. We are so not like that. This is a purely physical thing.”

“Oh.” She blinks, clearly having expected some kind of love story.

“It’s just way too complicated for anything like that.”

“Because he’s older,” she guesses.

I re-phrase, “He’s complicated. Like a Rubik’s cube that’s also a grenade.”

She studies me for a moment and then says, “Well, as long as he makes you happy, then I’m glad. I know you’ve had some shitty relationships in the past. You deserve someone that treats you well.”

“As long as it’s not Ozzy,” I add.

She laughs uncomfortably. “Yeah.”

Things feel lighter when I leave the lair, and I can’t help but think about what she said, that I deserve someone who treats me well. How likely is it that I find someone that treats me well and gives me what I want? Zero percent from what I’ve seen.

But when I get to swim class, Coach James is there. “Heston is out for the day,” he tells me and Micha, “so I’ll be instructing you this evening.”

I know I’m in trouble when I look for him and realize he’s not here.

Because it feels like my chest is caving in.

20

Heston

“No.” I climb out of Georgia’s car, but then lean back down, not meeting her eyes. “Thanks for trying.”

I slam the door and walk away, desperate for a drink and anything else to dull how shitty I feel. That turns out to be a nap, which I take in my office, on the old sofa where I used to sleep, before the crappy apartment at Preston. It’s a fitful, unproductive sort of doze, full of too many half-formed thoughts, nothing concrete enough to give me any sense of purpose. But that’s the way it is always is now. Floating from problem to problem, grasping for anything solid and finding nothing but air.

I end up spending most of it staring up at the ceiling, replaying her words in my head, over and over. It’s nothing I didn’t already know. It’s just different hearing it said aloud like that, like letting it free gives it form and substance—the only thing I can grasp.

I’m nothing.

Not to my family, my friends, the people at Preston, and certainly not to Georgia fucking Haynes.

Gene arrives earlier than I expect. I’m not even two thumbs deep into my self-pity when he slides up to the bar, giving me that smarmy grin.

“Why so down, champ?”

This isn’t a bush I feel like beating around. “I need an advance on that ten grand.”

He laughs in my face, which isn’t exactly unexpected, but still makes my teeth gnash. “An advance on what? You haven’t given me a single thing, Wilcox. What kind of fool do you take me for?”

I push my glass away. My stomach passed agonizing pain hours ago. I can barely feel it anymore. It’s just another shitty part of my shitty life. “I’m going to get what you want, Gene. It’s only been a few weeks. I told you, her family’s not around. But we’re closer now, seriously.”

“Seriously,” he mocks, scoffing. “You owe me ninety grand and you’re expecting an advance on—”

“It’s fifty grand,” I remind him, voice hard. “I won the bet. You cut my debt in half.”

He nods, taking a drink from Tara. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.