Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,24

plan to use it to my advantage.

5

Georgia

* * *

“Ladies,” the woman calls out, getting everyone’s attention. She’s at the front of the Magnolia Room at the club, standing behind a white podium. “Welcome to the first organizational meeting of the Southern Women’s League Ball.”

I glance across my half-eaten dessert and sweating glass of iced tea to my mother who’s grinning in delight. Vandy is sitting next to me, her mother next to her, then Caroline and her mom. I tug at my collar, trying to get a little extra air.

This is getting bad.

The only thing stopping me from running into the nearest bathroom and shoving my hand down my pants is the thought of my mother sitting so close. It’s getting to that tipping point where there’s almost no want involved—all need.

“If you’re in this room, it’s because a distinguished woman in the community has nominated you for this tremendous honor. The Southern Women’s League has a long tradition of presenting the finest young women during our ball. I am confident that each one of you is worthy.”

I reach for my glass, taking a long sip of the sugary tea as the nightmare known as this presentation begins. To my mother’s glee, the next few months will be a finely tuned whirr of dresses, escorts, etiquette, and social mores; all the things that make for a perfect southern lady. Just sitting here makes me feel like a fraud on the verge of being exposed.

“God help me,” I mutter. If these women knew how close I was to taking one of the caterer’s servers to the nearest closet and bending over for him, they wouldn’t even let me clear their clean their tables.

Snap!

“Come on, it’s not that bad,” Vandy whispers. “We’ll get new dresses and get to attend an actual ball.”

Caroline smashes the rose-shaped pat of butter on her bread plate. “Believe it or not, it really will look good on college and job applications. I know it seems antiquated, but like any old stuffy tradition, there are a lot of networking perks.”

I spin my finger. “Whooptie-frickin’-doo.”

My mother glances over her shoulder at me, giving a pointed look. I clamp my mouth shut and sit quietly through the rest of the meeting like a good little girl. Because that’s exactly what these women expect from elite femininity. Silence, compliance, smiles, chastity, and the complete lack of anything even resembling individuality.

God, I want to get fucked.

Snap!

When the woman up front finally stops talking, my mother turns to me and says, “Have you thought about who you’re going to ask to be your escort?”

I slide a little lower in my seat. “Not yet.”

The skin between her eyes creases as she thinks. “What about that nice boy who caddies for your father on the weekends at the club?”

“Skip Robinson?” I ask, conjuring up the douchebag. I’ve hooked up with him twice in the past. He couldn’t find my g-spot any better than he can find a ball in a sand trap. “No, thanks.”

Snap!

“Oh,” Vandy’s mother joins in, “how about Paden Mitchell? I hear he’s pre-med at Duke.”

Paden Mitchell has a micro-penis. There’s no fucking way. I offer a fake smile because that’s what ladies do. “I think he’s too busy with school.”

“I guess technically your brother could escort you,” Mom says.

My jaw drops. “You want me to go with my brother? Jesus, mom. I may not have a boyfriend, but I’m not terminally dateless!” It takes a moment for that sting to fade away. “I’ll find a date, just give me a minute.” To find someone I want to hang out with for more than an hour who also has the potential to be a good lay.

Since high school guys are out and I’d rather punch myself in the tit than try another online match up, I’ve pretty much decided this debutante ball is my only chance to land some quality dick. It’s feeling like I might not make it, though. The ball seems so far away, and I’ve been snapping this rubber band so much that my wrist is red and bruising.

And I don’t think it’s helping anymore.

“You don’t have to use such tacky language, Georgia. I’m just trying to help.” She looks at Caroline. “If Georgia doesn’t want to bring her brother, then you could ask him, sweetheart.”

“Mom,” I warn, giving Vandy a pleading look.

Her smile in return is equal parts sympathetic and determined. “You’ll both find dates. If not, then you know one of the D—guys will take you.” She stumbles