Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,67

pocket, flipping through it.

Watching him, I ask, “When did that happen, anyway? Last I checked, that club was dump.”

The lock springs and the swings open the door. “I got it last spring—you know, before…everything.” Before we turned him in, he means. Before he got arrested. Before he ended up back here. He ducks into the closet, pausing to quietly add, “I haven’t really told anyone.” I hear the demand, even if he doesn’t speak it aloud.

He’d like it to stay that way.

“Why not?”

He shakes his head, jaw tensing as he reaches for an empty storage bin. “I’ve been a little too busy to bother, Haynes. But mainly, I don’t like people in my business.”

By people, I wonder who he means. His brother probably, or maybe the people he likes to gamble with so much. It could be his parents, even. I get the feeling his mom has a lot of problems, and I know from Sebastian that their dad has many high expectations. There’s a whole side of Heston I don’t know about, and it makes me weirdly uncomfortable. Mostly because I’m curious.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” I offer, shifting awkwardly, “it’s pretty cool.”

His blue eyes dart to mine. “What’s pretty cool?”

“Underworld,” I elaborate, taking the box he passes to me. “Like I said, it used to be a dump. It seems like you’ve done a good job.”

I cringe in a million different ways on the inside. For one, the last thing Heston needs or deserves is praise, and for two, even if he did want or deserve it, it falls flat, sounding more patronizing than anything.

Despite this, he looks at me, forehead creased. When he stands still like that, blue eyes boring into mine, it’s almost like he’s considering me for the first time. “Thanks?” The question emerges slow and reluctant and more than a little baffled.

Clearing my throat, I follow him across the pool deck. “The parking sucks, though. And the lights are little to rave’y. And the VIP area with the curtain is douchey.”

He whirls on me, eyes full of exasperation. “If this is how you give compliments, I’ll take a pass next time.” He unzips his hoodie, tossing it on the bench next to the wall. His T-shirt has a faded, smirking devil on the front. He points me to the other side of the pool, and I go as directed. He unties the flags on his side, giving me a view of his ripped lower body. I do the same with the flags on my side, wondering how soon is too soon.

It’s not that I’m disinclined to inconvenience him. God, as if.

I just don’t want him to think I’m so eager. “So what are you doing this morning?”

It’s horribly fake, and he instantly senses it, eyes narrowing in on me. Possibly a compliment and small talk in the same five-minute span was a bit much.

“Seriously?” He drops the flags and stares at me, brows crouched low. “It’s only been ten hours.”

Flustered, I loop the cord around my elbow, going round and round until they make a tight lasso. “So much for all that stamina you were bragging about.”

He lets out a low, raspy laugh. “Fucking hell, Little Red. I’m at work.”

I give him a look. We’ve fucked three times, and during each of those, he’s been at ‘work’.

He rolls his eyes, moving to the next rope. “Okay, point taken. Help me pack all this shit up and I’ll fuck your brains out like a nice little lapdog.”

Instantly panty-soaked.

Hot damn.

We spend an hour methodically packing up the ropes, banners, and decorations. Each time he lifts an arm to grab something, or crouches down to grab something, or—lord, just grabs anything, in any way—the vibrations get a little deeper, a little more insistent. I wriggle my shoulders, skin feeling tight as I watch him heave the tall ladder down the deck to the equipment closet. Heston’s got these muscles. They’re not all big and bulging and obnoxious like his brother’s, either. They’re subtle. Lean. Efficient. They’re the kind of muscles that make you want to run your fingertips over the defined ridges.

He’s slotting the ladder into place when I reach the closet, trapping him in.

I give him the demands I was too sex-fogged to consider last night. “I want kissing and condoms.”

He turns to me, mouth curling up in confused distaste. “What?”

I cross my arms, cocking an eyebrow. “I’m calling the shots, right? Those are what I want. Kissing and condoms.” After a moment of us staring