Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,198

“I know Heston’s history here. I’m not a fan of it. But I’m glad to see him turning over a new leaf, and if I’m being quite honest, I’d be happy to see him take up the post in a more official capacity.”

Collins looks completely galled at the suggestion. “I beg your pardon?”

“We both know Columbia has been after me for the past couple years,” Coach explains, looking rueful. “I’d like to have someone to train up to take over for when I inevitably give in to their offers. Heston here would be my first choice.” After a beat, he adds, “And my second, and my third.”

“Well…” Collins gapes belligerently. “Who’s your fourth?”

“Headmaster,” Coach says, leveling him with a look. “Someone very wise once told me you can’t raise a child when you’re acting like one.” He holds up a hand at Collins’ visible desire to argue. “I realize that sounds excessively insolent. I only mean that we can’t teach maturity if we don’t demonstrate it. This is a teaching moment.”

“I agree,” Warren says, clapping me on the shoulder. “As a board alumnus, I think Heston’s earned his second chance here.”

Collins' jaw locks and he whips out the paperwork. “One thing at a time, gentlemen.”

I watch as they each jot down their signature, verifying that I’ve put in the complete number of service hours. It all goes too quickly for me to really grasp, but when I walk out of the office forty minutes later, I’m carrying the papers for my release along with a job offer.

I accept both.

31

Heston

For the first nineteen years of my life, Christmas was always a whirr of parties. There were the Chisholms, the patriarch having long been my father’s partner. Then the Nguyens, because anyone who was anyone went to the Nguyens’ Christmas party. There was always something going down at the Club. Most of it was networking, the tedious amassing social capital, and handing someone’s wife a gift without even knowing whether or not it was wine or some useless gadget she’d never touch, because someone else did the shopping and gift-wrapping.

Despite that, I always really liked Christmas at my house. For all the parties we ended up attending, the Wilcox tradition was to never throw one of our own. Fourth of July, sure. Halloween? Why not? But Christmas in our house was always spent with us in our separate worlds, barely passing one another by. For my mom, it was probably lonely—at least until Sebastian went to her. But the rest of us liked it that way—an evening carved out for nothing but ourselves. No obligations. No pretense.

Georgia shifts in her seat, letting loose a soft sigh. “Either we go in or we leave, but I’m not sitting in the car all night.”

I peer up at the McAllisters’ sleek condo, feeling my stomach fill with dismay. There’s a Christmas tree in the window and a big star hanging over the front door. Reynolds is having a Secret Santa party. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. Vandy is having a Secret Santa party, and Reyn and Warren agreed to host.

“You should go by yourself,” I tell her again. “I’m just going to fuck up everyone’s mood.”

Her fingers are cold on the back of my neck, but the way she’s looking at me when I turn is pure warmth. “We were invited.”

“You were invited.”

She rolls her eyes, elaborating, “It was heavily implied that you would be with me. Vandy knows. Reyn knows. Even your brother knows you’ll be there. With me.” Sighing, she adds, “Warren will be there. The two of you get along.”

It’s been a month since that night out on the lake, and things might be a little less murderously hostile between me and the Devils, but there’s no ignoring reality. None of them can stand me. Frankly, I can barely tolerate most of them myself.

It’s just this problem.

This problem where I’m hopelessly, stupidly, recklessly in love with their friend.

Lately, it’s been pushing me into more and more of these situations, and it’s the complete fucking opposite of fun. I’m used to not caring that people hate me. I don’t need friends. But now I’m spending all this time thinking about how they could drive Georgia away from me. Talk her into seeing sense. The only way to prove that I’m not out to hurt her is by doing shit like this.

Showing them.

Nevertheless, it’s a slog. I’m Heston fucking Wilcox, and even I have my limits on sitting around with people who hate my