Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,33

give a shit what other people think? You’re Micha Adams. The eight years I’ve known you, you’ve never once worn something just because it’d get you picked on less.”

“Things change,” he says, shoulders shifting uneasily. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen this kid anything but brutally self-assured.

Shit, maybe I had actually hurt his feelings with that prank two years ago.

How utterly disappointing.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” I say, tossing my clipboard aside. I cross my arms, leveling them with a look. “I have history with the both of you. Maybe you hate me. Maybe I hate you. Maybe I hurt your poor little girl feelings. I don’t give a shit. When we’re here,” I point to the pool, voice hard, “I’m responsible for not letting you die. How we feel about each other means jack shit. When this whistle is around my neck, I’m your coach, and I might be a prick, but if there’s one thing I take seriously, it’s swim. So I’m going to tell you one more time.” I look at Micha. “Coach said to wear what makes you feel comfortable. If a one-piece makes you comfortable, then you have five minutes to grow a spine and go put one on. Otherwise, get the fuck out.”

I grab the stopwatch around my neck, thumbing it.

After a moment of glaring at me, he heaves a hard breath and storms off toward the locker room.

Georgia purses her lips, head shaking. “I’ve never met a bigger asshole than you in my entire life.” Then she walks off after him.

Nevertheless, five minutes later, they both return. Micha’s wearing a one-piece under his trunks—a bit overkill if you ask me, but what do I care—and has his chin jutted out, eyes challenging me to say something.

“Now that you’ve wasted a whole shit-load of my time, let’s get started.”

I put them in the shallow end, making them grab the sides and practice their kicks. Micha flops his feet like an over-excited, if grumpy, golden retriever. Georgia’s legs are a little longer, a little more graceful. But not by much.

As I watch her, barking out a command now and then, I can’t help but wonder if this is really it—If she’s not going to turn me in. She still looks pissed at me, but aside from sharing a bunch of sulky, aggravated looks with Micha, she doesn’t let it show. I don’t think I’ve ever met a girl who could take a fuck that ruthless. Even Sydney, who was champing at the bit to get pounded by me, was twitchy and distant after—and I held back with her. Not that I cared. She could have said no at any point. Forcing myself on someone who doesn’t want it has never been my bag. But I’m not a goddamn mind reader, either.

Fucking Georgia makes me look at all of them, every girl I’ve fucked, in a new, doubtful light. By comparison, Georgia was unquestionably into it. Un-fucking-questionably. Bitch ruined my life and is going to get what’s coming to her, but I can’t help but feel a little impressed. This girl can take a seriously brutal dicking-down. It’s a shame to let it go to waste.

But I’m done playing with fire.

Since coming here, I’ve only been from the pool to my pathetic excuse for an apartment. I’m not really sure how to handle myself in this place. Back in the day, me and my boys owned this campus. I was a king. A Devil, a legacy, a star athlete. Now I’m some kind of cautionary tale, proof that popularity and wealth can disappear in just a few short years’ time.

Food lures me from my routine. Access to the dining hall comes with the job. I’ve climbed these steps to dinner a million times and nothing has changed; not the look, or the smell, or the cafeteria lady who narrows her eyes at me when I pass through the line. It really hits me when I turn and face the room. For the first time in my life, I have no idea where to sit. No idea where I belong. My eyes jump to the table in the middle of the room—the Devil’s table. It’s empty.

Maybe Collins is wrong. Maybe they all graduated with my brother.

“Mr. Wilcox, you look lost.” I glance down and see Dr. Ross sitting at the teachers’ table. “Sit.”

“Here?” I ask, just barely holding back a grimace. “With you?”

The way she dips her head, staring at me over a pair of glasses,