Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,162

checks off the boxes and scribbles his name on the bottom. “Can I ask you a personal question? One Devil to another.”

He hums, folding the form back up and handing it to me. “Of course.”

I put it back into my pocket and decide I only know one way to exist. Bluntly, I ask, “What’s the deal with this whole sex addiction thing?”

His forehead wrinkles. “What about it?” The absolute last thing I want to know about is Warren McAllister’s unfathomable levels of horniness, and yet…

I fold my arms, jaw working around my question. “I guess I don’t get it. Why’s it so bad if you like to fuck a lot? Are you trying to cure it? Do you just never fuck anyone now? Is that the answer? Do you just quit cold turkey?”

“Heston, slow down.” He looks taken aback, eyes growing wide at the avalanche of questions. “My god, when you say ‘personal’, you really just go for it, don’t you?”

I shrug, not caring. “You know more about my gambling habits than most people. I don’t see what the issue is.”

His mouth slants into a droll expression. “I care about your problems. Something tells me you don’t care about mine.”

“That’s not—” I start, but find that I don’t have the energy to keep it up. “Okay, yeah, that’s true.”

He doesn’t look insulted. “So why the sudden interest?”

I watch him pour a cup of coffee into a Styrofoam cup. “I’m kind of seeing someone.”

Warren pauses, giving me a curious look. “Really? Is this the girl you wouldn’t go down on before?”

I hold up a finger. “First of all, I ate this girl’s pussy like it was fine dining. She has zero complaints in that department, trust me. Second of all, it’s not…like, serious.” Only that doesn’t seem entirely honest. Whatever this is with Georgia, it doesn’t feel not serious.

He must sense this, because he insists, “It must be something for you to be bringing her up like this. Which is good,” he rushes to say. “The opposite of addiction isn’t sobriety. It’s connection.”

Pulling a face at the platitude, I wonder, “And what’s the outlook on two addicts getting connected?” I grapple for a second on how to approach this without giving too much away. “I think she might be like you. A nympho, you know?”

Warren holds up a hand. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t ‘think’ it,” I say, giving him a look. “She doesn’t just like sex. She needs it. She has this whole reputation because of it. Something tells me she’d get rid of it if she could.” Narrowing my eyes, I’m quick to add, “Despite the fact I satisfy her in every fucking way possible. I just want to make that clear.”

Warren scratches his forehead, looking as though he’s choosing his words carefully. “Look, no two addicts are alike, but if you follow the breadcrumbs, we’re all chasing the same chemical high. Oxytocin, dopamine, endorphins. To go back to your earlier questions, there’s no ‘cure’ for addiction. And you just gave an example of how it can be so destructive. The social implications of—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I wave a hand impatiently. “But say you were with someone and you just fucked them a lot. What’s so bad about that?”

“Realistically?” he wagers, raising an eyebrow. “It doesn’t always pan out, because some sex addicts get that chemical high from seeking new sexual experiences. New partners. New places. New risks.”

Deadpan, I ask, “You’re saying she’ll fuck around on me.”

“No,” he answers, sighing. “I’m saying that’s a possible way that a sex addiction can be destructive.”

“Hm.” I look at him, guessing, “Cheated on your wife, huh?” Before he can answer—not that he needs to, I’ve got this guy pegged—I continue, “I don’t think that’s her preferred type of self-destructive behavior, and trust me when I say she has one. God, she used to do this thing. She’d wear a rubber band around her wrist and snap it every time she—”

The color suddenly drains out of his face, and when he says, “Stop!” I unthinkingly go silent. Warren reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, nostrils flaring with his inhale. “Please tell me you’re not talking about who I think we’re talking about.”

I go still, mouth parted on a denial that I can’t voice. Is she really that obvious to everyone else?

Guess so.

When he drops his hand, his expression is tight with displeasure. “Jesus Christ, Heston, what the fuck are you thinking?”

My limbs feel a little too stiff to pull