Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,135

bring my handheld over, possibly tomorrow. “I’ll take care of it. Only seems fair.”

“Whatever,” he mutters, running his fingers through his hair as he looks at me, considering. “You need it?” He doesn’t sound like he did yesterday when I went looking for it, tight and frustrated. Tonight, he sounds like he’d probably be down.

“No,” I say, but at his raised eyebrow, concede, “I mean, yes, okay, I always need it, but…” I lock up, wondering what’s worse; me being here for something other than sex, or expecting anything after the last couple days he’s had. I settle on, “This isn’t just a booty call. It’s urgent self-care.”

His forehead screws up. “The fuck does that mean?”

Undeterred, I unload my bags. “Since I didn’t see you at breakfast, lunch, or dinner, I’ve got Chinese—which will need to be reheated—and extra egg rolls, because I noticed before that you become a vacuum when they’re around. Plus,” I add, taking out my laptop with a flourish, “essential Lakevale viewing equipment. I already have last night’s episode queued up and ready to rock.” I pull out two cans of soda, which I’d gotten at the vending machine. “Drinks, and then grapes for dessert, just to give us the illusion of nutrition.” Quieter, I mutter, “Also, they were all I had in my fridge.” There’s something else in the bottom of my bag, but I rub my palms nervously on my thighs and decide to feel that out.

One of my group counselors used to say that whenever we were feeling out of sorts, we should try taking a nap, eating a filling meal, and taking some time off, which was much more sophisticated advice than Afton had once offered to the Playthings about dealing with their respective men.

“Feed him and fuck his brains out, and he’ll be right as rain.”

He gives me a slow blink before his eyes slide to the things I’ve unpacked. “You came all the way out here, in the dead of the night, to eat and watch Lakevale with me?”

I pointedly do not remind him that I’d arrived hours ago. “Is that okay?”

“Why?” he asks, looking at the grapes suspiciously.

Okay, I guess he’s going to make me do this. I cross my arms over my chest and explain, “I think I put my foot in my mouth yesterday. I really didn’t mean you should be looked down on or anything. I just—” Frustrated, I shift my feet, ignoring the dark look he’s giving me. “There are some things money can’t solve. That’s all I was trying to say.”

After a moment, he drawls, “Okay,” in a way that seems like he doesn’t believe me, but maybe doesn’t feel like talking about it. His gaze goes to the cartons of food I laid on the rickety little coffee table. “I prefer my Chinese cold.”

Some of the tension falls from my shoulders. “Grab some forks while I use the bathroom?” I don’t wait for a response, strolling to the bathroom like this—being here for something other than sex—isn’t incredibly weird. When I turn to shut the door, I can see him still standing there, unmoving, staring at the food.

Inside, I do my business and wash my hands, looking around the space. The bathroom is tidier than I might have expected Heston Wilcox to be capable of. No towels on the floor. No facial hair in the sink. Feeling nosey, I inch open the medicine cabinet and gawk at five bottles of Mylanta. Excessive. Maybe there was a sale or something.

When I emerge, he’s sitting on the couch, holding two forks like they’re mystifying instruments, forehead creased as he looks at them. The wrinkle in his brow smooths when he looks up to find me. “Ready?” he asks, voice wary.

I take off my shoes before joining him, setting up the laptop on the table and folding my feet beneath me when I sit back, carton in hand. “You have to get comfy,” I demand, nodding at the way he’s sitting, curled over with his forearms propped on his knees.

“Comfy?” He tosses me a derisive look. “What were you expecting? Boy shorts and bunny slippers? I’m not one of your Plaything buddies inviting you over for a slumber party.”

I roll my eyes. “Take off your shoes and your sweater, and relax. That’s the whole point of this self-care thing.” Thinking, I add, “And you should be so lucky to know the comfiness of Plaything slumber parties. We do it up right.”

As he’s kicking off his shoes