Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,157

is in full swing and Tara has it under control, I send Georgia a text.

H: meet me at the lookout. 10pm

G: K

There are a lot of things I can’t be, like a good guy with no criminal record, or the second richest Wilcox, or a business owner with capital and working soundboards. But I can be the kind of guy who takes Georgia out. Why the fuck not? What do idiots like Oswald Collins and Reynolds McAllister have that I don’t?

I grab a bottle of champagne from behind the bar and thirty bucks from the till.

“Hey!” Tara says, batting away my hand. I grin and shove the money in my pocket, heading toward the door. Annoyed, she calls, “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got a date.”

Blanket: Check.

Booze: Check.

Fancy Dessert: Check.

Fully charged phone with sexy music: Check.

Once I’m all set up, I glance at the time. 10:03. She’s either late, or she’s just not coming. The longer I wait, the more sweat pebbles on the back of my neck. This looks fucking ridiculous. Georgia and I don’t date—we fuck. We fight. Then we fuck some more. And the thing is, we’re good at it. The chemistry between the sheets is scorching hot. But dating? Talking without the goal of getting naked and horizontal? That’s outside of our wheelhouse. Why am I messing with a good thing?

She’ll probably get here, take one look at everything, and laugh in my fucking face. How many dates have I been on, anyway? A grand total of none.

I know exactly what I was thinking; Caroline and her annoying little nerd voice.

“This guy must be pretty crappy if he doesn’t even take her on dates.”

Since when I do give a fuck whether or not I’m crappy?

I bend over to pick everything back up, hoping to stash it in my car before anyone comes up here and finds me looking like an idiot.

That’s when I hear the sound of a car crunching up the gravel road, causing my insides to twist unhappily. Her little convertible pulls into a parking spot and she turns off the lights.

Too late to pull out now.

“Hey,” she says, hopping out of the car. “What’s going on?”

How do I even begin to explain this? “Well,” I run my hand through my hair, scowling at the blanket I’ve spread over the ground. “I thought—”

“Did you set all this up?” She looks from the blanket out over the overlook. Recognition clicks into place. “To watch the fireworks?”

It’s easy to exhale at the hopeful joy in her voice. “I thought maybe we could.” Lamely, I add, “I got snacks.”

It isn’t totally without precedent. Every Monday evening, I watch Lakevale with her and Micha in the deserted natatorium. We long ago gave up pretending anything productive was going to happen on those nights. Lately, we each bring a bag of chips and something to drink and huddle around Micha’s tablet, booing Vivian when she does something incredibly fucking stupid. They aren’t dates, though.

She brings her hands together, looking happily surprised. “Did you bring chocolate?”

“Who am I?” I bend and pick up the box I got at the grocery store bakery. “Candy, cookies, a doughnut, three macaroons, a cupcake…” The randomness is the result of low stock, but only because of a pleasant discovery; the bakery lowers prices at the end of the day.

She peers inside, eyes lighting up at what’s inside. Without waiting, she plucks out a macaroon, popping it in her mouth. “Oh god, it’s melting on my tongue. So good.”

I snake my arm around her waist and pull her in for a kiss, tasting the sweet chocolate for myself. Her tits press into my side and it’d be so easy to get her down on the blanket and bury myself inside her sweet cunt.

Not yet.

She pulls away, batting her lashes. “Is this how you butter girls up?”

I get this flash of memory from the night we did anal; her in my lap, tits in my face. I reach down to adjust myself. “Give me some credit.” I pick up the champagne, raising an eyebrow. “It’s much easier to get you drunk.”

She immediately takes the bottle, eyes flashing in delight. “Damn, so fancy. You realize I’m a sure thing, right?”

“Well, I know you’re a lady and all, but I didn’t actually bring glasses,” I offer, snorting when she lifts the bottle to take a drink.

Across the lake, the first zing of a firework sputters against the dark.

“Oooh,” she breathes, dropping to sit on the blanket, giving it a