Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,203

a bolt, which is when the girls emerge from the house again.

Both of us turn to glance at them—Georgia and Sugar, standing beneath the glow of the star.

Without really meaning to, I muse, “She’s kind of like mom, isn’t she?” Realizing how that sounds, I rush to say, “Not in a gross, Oedipal way.”

“Because she’s more fragile than she looks,” he says, understanding.

Neither of us specify which girl we’re talking about.

The front door slams and the pair of them tentatively walk down the steps, eyeing the two of us. “Everything okay here?”

Bass taps the newly installed alternator with the head of his wrench. “We’re good.” He could be talking about the car, but when he tosses the wrench in the toolbox, closing the hood with a thud, he turns to me. “Bring it by the garage this week and I’ll give it a tune-up. Merle hates it when I have extra cars in there. It’s hilarious.”

I blink at him, feeling caught off guard. “Yeah?”

“Sure.” He shrugs, bumping his shoulder into mine when he passes. “You can hold my flashlight.”

I roll my eyes at his retreat, lugging that toolbox back to his trunk as Sugar follows. “Douchebag.”

Georgia wraps her arms around me, nestling against my side in a way that makes it impossible not to pull her close. “Well, that seemed…civil.”

I push my nose into her hair, inhaling her scent. “It was.”

“I guess there are Christmas miracles, after all.” Despite the joke, her voice grows quiet and serious. “Thank you. For trying.”

Everyone filters out of the house just then, Devils and their ilk, birds of a feather. I watch as their eyes find us, skittering to a stop like they’re trying to do the long division of this thing we’ve got going on. Probably, they’re all asking themselves how long we can possibly last, because they don’t understand how we fit.

I tip her face up, staring down into her pretty green eyes. “Sometimes you save me from drowning, too.”

She tilts her head like she’s trying to put those pieces together, but I don’t give her a chance. I tip down to press a slow kiss to her cold lips, warming them with my own. Maybe someday I’ll be able to find the words, but for now, this will work. It’s a language only we know.

With it, I tell her that much like the scarves she painstakingly knits, Georgia has built herself a family, weaving all of us in and out, intertwining our lives. I tell her that I’m thankful to be one of the threads, tethered to something tangible and bright.

Something that won’t let me float away.

Epilogue

Georgia

Two Years Later

The text doesn’t even contain words—it’s just an eggplant emoji—but I’m in a hurry. It’s not like it matters. After two-and-a-half years with Heston, we communicate more and more in shorthand. He knows what I’m looking for.

His reply is quick: a thumbs-up followed by see you at home.

My chest floods with relief. Things have been a bit off since I spent last weekend at my parent’s house, but I’ve been reluctant to bring it up, fearing the worst just as much as the embarrassment of discovering it’s nothing.

My level of excitement reaches peak absurdity halfway there. I would have thought after all this time it’d get a little boring—sex with the same person, day in, day out. But that’s far from reality. Every time with Heston is just as intense and crazy-making as the last. Two and a half years, and he’s never once given me the chance to cool off. I struggled with it for a while, this crippling fear that I’d need more than he could give. But it’s never come to fruition. I told him I wouldn’t go to anyone else and I haven’t. I haven’t even wanted to.

The apartment is in Northridge, close enough to Preston for Heston to get to work easily, and not far from Saint Mary’s, the women’s college where I’m studying political science. I don’t know if I want to go into the world of politics like my dad, but I enjoyed working with him on his campaign, and now that he’s in office, I see a pathway to an issue I find important: mental health reform.

I pull into the parking lot, passing Heston’s tricked-out Honda, and wonder what today will be like. Maybe he’ll meet me at the door and slam me up against it, flipping up my skirt and fucking me with wild abandon right there in the foyer. Maybe he’ll take me