Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,196

even though I have his balls in a vice when it comes to the Devils, he’s going to go out of his way to compensate in other areas.

I watch Warren climb the stands and greet Vandy and the others, taking a seat at their side. He throws me a wave and I scowl back, squaring my shoulders.

Georgia’s standing by the side of the pool, hands balled into fists at her side. To everyone else, she probably just looks intent on the task at hand, but I can see her tells. There’s a fine tremor running through the muscle in her outer thigh. She keeps rhythmically clenching her hands. There’s a subtle shadow beneath her eyes, evidence that she hadn’t slept well last night.

I get this flash of terror that this is one of those moments she’d be most inclined to reach for something sharp.

Coach James leans toward Collins, whispering. “Georgia Haynes, senior. As I understand it, there may be a bit of a phobia. She couldn’t even go into the deep end…”

I’m doing the math in my head—wondering what I’d need to call the whole thing off, just let her off the hook—when her focus shifts to Collins. The apprehension hardens into a grim resolve, shoulders pushed back, chin lifting.

“Can we get started?” she asks.

“You’ll each have to swim a full length and back,” Coach James says, reading out the list of requirements. “It’s the stroke of your choice, although I need to see that you can float on your backs. You may not touch the bottom, and you have to tread water for twenty-seconds in the deep end before turning back. Your entire face must go underwater.” He looks between them. “Understood?”

“Yep,” Micha says, looking warily out at the water. “You said twenty-seconds?”

“Yes.”

Georgia’s eyes are traveling the distance of the pool, and even though she’s still wearing that brave mask, the color has seeped from her face.

“Sir,” I say, stepping forward, “Ms. Haynes is still struggling with—”

“No. I’m ready,” she says, pulling off her sweatshirt. “I can do it. No struggling.”

I will her to meet my gaze, mouth pressing into a tense line once she does. I promise her, “I’ve got you, Haynes,” and am relieved to see a little of the tension falling from her frame.

“Go, Georgia!” the girls shout, the cheer echoing off the metal roof.

Some of the color comes back to her face at the ruckus and she flaps a hand at them, visibly battling a smile as she toes up to the edge of the pool.

Coach James hands me the stopwatch and I ask, “Are you ready?” She nods and stares out at the water, all game face. I hold my thumb over the timer button. “Ready, set, go!”

I start the time.

She jumps in artlessly, splashing water across the deck. Micha bends over and cheers her on, “You’ve got this! Get it, girl!” Her movements are messy and spastic, more like a dog-paddle than a formal stroke, but she hits each beat, submerging her head and getting to the marker at the middle of the pool. She stops and takes a breath before sinking all the way under. I drop to a crouch at the edge, heart pounding as I search the water, prepared to jump in after her.

She bobs back up with a loud gasp, eyes wide and panicked, searching the deck. They stop on me, and I can’t read the question there, but I answer it with a dip of my head.

“Tread water! Twenty-seconds!”

She nods, thrusting her chin into the air. Her arms flail and I’m not sure how much her legs are moving, but the time ticks by. My eyes ping back and forth from the watch to her bobbing head, forcing myself not to freak out at the way she’s gasping for air. Sweat beads on my forehead as the time ticks away, until finally, it ends.

“Back float!”

At least this one, she has more than the usual experience in. She tips up onto her back, body looking stiff as a board as she stares up at the ceiling, puffing these small, anxious breaths.

“That’s it! You’re done. Swim back!”

The little group of spectators cheer like they’re watching the goddamn Olympics. Frantically, she paddles over, panting, with those wide, terrified eyes, and I’m there to meet her, reaching out across the water. Her hand slaps against mine, clutching on tight, and I yank her out in one swift move.

“Did I do it?” she breathlessly asks, checking over her shoulder like she’s afraid the