Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,31

being completely fucking inconvenienced, because there was no way I could just leave. But never apathy.

I should have let her drown, though. Would’ve served her snitching, scheming, slutty ass right. I know she’s the mastermind behind turning me in to the cops. Sydney wouldn’t have had the balls or the motive to do it on her own. That girl is pathetically weak. I only fucked with her to get back at my brother, and I suspect she was doing it for the same reason. But Georgia? She’s wanted to get back at me for a long time.

Now she’s got my DNA in her cunt, my teeth marks in her shoulder, and my fingerprints bruised into her hips. It would take nothing for her to waltz into a hospital and say I raped her. Everything is on her side—the evidence, my record, motive.

Jesus Christ, I’m a moron.

Mostly, at least.

This thing with my stomach is getting worse, and the worry isn’t making it any better. It feels like I’ve got fucking razor blades churning around in there. I’m tossing back two hard swallows of chalky medicine when a soft knock on the door draws my attention. Georgia stands in the doorway, expression tight. She’s wearing that same boring suit as the day before. I don’t acknowledge her. I wait for the hammer to drop. No way she’s leaving this on the field.

“I need to talk to you before class.” She moves to shut the door.

“Keep it open.” Christ, I don’t need people knowing we’re alone in here.

“It’s…” She pauses, shifting uncomfortably. “…personal.”

“I know you’re a skank, Haynes, but I’m not fucking you again.” Ever. I won the bet. Got the proof. Done and done.

Her pink lips purse together, eyes darting around anxiously. “It’s not that.”

“Then what? Having second thoughts about last night?” As casually as possible—I won’t let this bitch see me sweating—I throw out the very thought that’s got my temples throbbing with tension. “Thinking about going to the cops? Should I expect Dewey to escort me off campus?”

“What?” She actually frowns, having the gall to look confused by the suggestion. “No, I just…” But she trails off, cheeks growing pink. Now, I notice the glowing red tip of her nose. Either she has a wicked cold, or she’s been crying.

Gross.

I bark, “Spit it out, Haynes. Class is starting in two minutes and you and Adams already skipped one.”

There’s another long pause before she huffs. “Fine. I need to know if you’ve been tested.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Tested?”

She glances nervously over her shoulder before inching closer, voice lowering. “You didn’t use anything. I need to know if I should get tested. You know. For STDs.”

I stare at her for a long moment, unable to believe what’s coming out of her mouth. “You’re afraid that I gave you something?” I motion between us. “You, the person who’s seen more ceilings than Michelangelo, are asking if I’m an STD risk. Are you fucking shitting me?”

Her face hardens. “Don’t be an asshole, Heston. I might have a reputation, but I also have one hard and fast rule: always use a condom. Always.”

I tap my pen on the desk, and her eyes dart to it. My gaze follows and I know just what she’s thinking—that less than ten hours ago, I had her bent over this spot right here, slamming my dick so far into her pussy, she could probably taste it. She was tight, too. Shockingly tight. I figured a pussy with as much mileage as hers would be like fucking a sinkhole, but that wasn’t the case at all.

“Bullshit.”

She blinks, meeting my gaze. “Excuse me?”

I shrug. “There’s no way you’re going to believe me if I tell you not to worry about it. You’re not that stupid. You’re going to get tested, regardless. Which means you’re in here right now to test the temperature.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh my god, would you just answer the damn question?”

“I haven’t been tested in months,” I say, not caring about the flash of disappointment in her eyes. “Now, if that’s all, we need to get started with class. You can begin by explaining why you’re still wearing that shitty bathing suit. I believe we had an agreement.”

Her lips press into a tense line. “It’s the only one I have. Deal with it.”

“That’s bullshit, too,” I say, pointing the pen at her. “If you’re going to lie, be good at it. You’re just wearing this to piss me off.”

Her face screws up angrily. “No, I’m not. If