A Deal With the Devil

by Angel Lawson

  I raise my eyes to lock with hers, cock throbbing at the wrecked expression on her face.

  “Oh my god,” she cries, and I smile against her, keeping a smart remark about being a god to myself. She’s the goddess, writhing under me, yanking my head closer by my hair, riling me up in a way I never knew was possible. Someday, I’ll get to tell her that it’s not just about sex. That she makes my dick hard and my balls ache, but that there’s also something new and terrifying in the pit of my chest, and that’s the thing driving me forward here, desperate to elicit a smile from her just as much as these blissful sounds she’s making.

  Lofty cries echo up the tower, and when she comes, it’s like she’s ringing the damn bell with her voice. She trembles, legs weakly clamping around my ears, until they fall to the side and I lift my head, seeing that she’s flat on her back, eyes closed, facing the ceiling. I smooth down her skirt, wipe my mouth, and lie next to her. Her chest rises and falls, and I rest my hand over her belly, covering her scar.

  “Are we okay?” I ask, hoping I hadn’t crossed a million lines.

  She turns her head. “Why would you ask that? It felt—amazing. Did I do something wrong?”

  “Fuck no, you did everything right.”

  It’s dark when we leave the tower, both freshly marked. It sucks that I can’t hold her hand, but I give her a kiss before I push her out the door and onto the quad. It feels wrong having any kind of distance after what we’d experienced in the Stairway. Like what we did was shameful. I’m definitely not ashamed to have the taste of Vandy on my tongue.

  I give her five minutes to get across the campus, to the parking lot, before I walk into the cool, fall air. I’m passing the main building when I see Sydney leaning against the wall in a pair of black, skin-tight booty-shorts that barely cover her ass. Her eyes narrow briefly when she sees me, but then her lips quirk into a smile.

  “Reyn, hey.”

  I don’t slow my stride. “Hey, Syd.”

  She pushes off the wall and rushes to catch up. “My car’s in the shop and my sister was supposed to pick me up. According to ChattySnap, though, she’s at the Nerd with her boyfriend.” She rolls her eyes. “Any way I can catch a ride home?”

  At this point, we’re in the parking lot, a few feet away from my Jeep. Saying no would be rude as hell, and despite everything, she’s Vandy’s friend. “Yeah, sure.” I unlock the doors. “Hop in.”

  I toss my bag in the back and get behind the wheel. Sydney slides in the front seat as I crank the engine. She lifts her foot and rests it on the glove compartment, eyes searching her leg. “Shit. I knew it.”

  I glance over. She has a huge black mark on her inner thigh. “Damn, what happened?”

  She grazes her fingers over the bruise. “Oh, collateral damage from being on top of the pyramid. I have bruises all over my body.” She grins. “But you’d know all about that, being a football player.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I mutter, pulling out of the parking lot, as she starts to go into a rant about how cheerleaders are real athletes despite everyone just thinking they’re for show.

  “You wouldn’t believe how hard we work. There’s cardio, tumbling, strength training… it’s a serious workout.” She pulls up the hem of her shirt. “Check out my six-pack.”

  I nod, but barely look. I’m still humming from my time in the Stairway. Whatever this girl is selling, I don’t want any.

  “Uh,” I say, pulling up to the four way stop. “Where do you live?”

  “Cedar Grove,” she replies pointing to the left. “You haven’t been to my house before, have you? I have a pool. You should come by sometime for a swim.”

  It feels egotistical to assume a chick wants on your dick, because let’s face it, usually they don’t. They want a compliment, or a little flirting. But Sydney? I have a feeling she’d be into road head if I suggested it. Which I’m not. What I want is to get her out of my car. Despite having done this out of respect to Vandy, it suddenly feels like anything but.

  “I have this new bikini,” she continues, unaware that I’d stopped listening to figure out if it would be bad form to toss her out at the next stop sign. “It’s white with black stars. Luckily, our pool is heated so we can use it all year. My dad also installed a new hot tub that is so relaxing after a long workout.” She pauses and then adds, “I’ve been trying to get Vandy to come hang with me, but she’s busy all the time. Plus, you know how she is about bathing suits.”

  I turn into the Cedar Grove entrance and frown. “What do you mean?”

  “God, she’s so self-conscious. About the scars. Like, I would die if I had to wear a one-piece forever, especially if I had her rockin’ bod.”

  Talking to Sydney is like trying to decipher a puzzle. One sentence is a compliment. The next an insult. She digs and pokes and soothes, all at the same time. No wonder Emory is so lukewarm about their friendship.

  “I don’t know,” I say, hating the game she’s playing. “Scars can be kind of sexy.”

  I can feel her stare hot on the side of my face, and I know she’s trying to come up with something flippant, something to shift the conversation back to her. She snaps her mouth shut, and after flipping her hair over her shoulder, gestures to a large brick house coming up on our right. I pull up to the curb, making it very clear that I am not going inside.

  I already know she’s going to ask.

  I’m staring out the front window, waiting for her to open the door when I feel her hand on my thigh. “Thanks for the ride. Let me show some appreciation, yeah? My parents aren’t home, if you want to relax in the hot tub. I bet your muscles could use a little heat.”

  “Thanks,” I tell her, gripping her hand and removing it off my leg. What I really want to say is that I’m dating the most beautiful, sexy, amazing girl in the world. But that’s a secret and Sydney definitely can’t keep one of those. Instead, I say, “But things are really busy right now, with football and catching up on schoolwork. It doesn’t leave a lot of time for social stuff.”

  “Right.” Her chin falters. “Well, you let me know when you’re ready to start... socializing.”

  “Bye, Syd,” I say, raising my eyebrows. Normally brushing off a girl would be no big deal. But she’s Vandy’s friend and I’m not going to interfere with that.

  “Bye,” she says, well aware she’s been rejected. Evidently undeterred, she gives me a beaming smile as she steps out.

  I exhale the instant she shuts the door and drive as fast as I can to get away from certain trouble.

  27

  Vandy

  “Ms. Hall, can you come in my office for a moment?”

  I stop when I hear Mr. Lee call my name, and awkwardly cut through the crowded hallway to get to his room. He leans against the door jamb, glasses slipping down his nose. I follow him into the office.

  “Next week is Homecoming,” he says, as though this isn’t already well known. The whole school has started to get the buzz—the dance proposals, girls sharing photos of dresses, guys wagering over the game. There’s a big banner two doors down from Mr. Lee’s room announcing ticket sales at lunch. “I just wanted to make sure you know that you’ll be on duty all week.”

  “Other than the game?”

  “The game, the pep-rally, the parade.” He sits behind his desk. “Really any and all activities. It’s kind of an all-hands-on-deck scenario. If you’re there, take some photos and write it up. We always put out a special edition of the newspaper.”

  Something niggles at my mind. “What about the Alumni Fundraiser?”

  Emory mentioned that it’s a mandatory event for the Devils. Why? He hasn’t said yet, but I suspect it has something to do with the final rite.

  He looks surprised. “That event is traditionally for just the alumni and special guests. They’ll hire a PR person and their own photographer for the event. You don’t need to worry about that. The teachers don’t even get an invite,” he adds with a mutter. “Just make sure you get photos of the football team
and the cheerleaders. That’s what brings in the most donations anyway. Then, if we’re lucky, they’ll toss us a few bucks for new software.”

  Of course the football team and cheerleaders bring in the most donations, I think, walking down the hall. Everything in this place circles back around to the same groups promoting the same things; football, cheerleaders, doting on alumni. Preston Prep is like a snake eating its tail.

  I push into the bathroom and hear Sydney’s voice before I round the metal partition. I stop, not wanting to get into it with her today. Things have been tense and weird between us lately, especially after I rejected her offer for ‘partner in crime’. She’s too nosy for her own damn good. I saw her last night when I was leaving the tower. She must have been waiting for a ride. I managed to avoid her only by going all the way around the building to get to the parking lot.

  I start to turn, but before I can get out of the door, I hear someone say, “So, is it true?”

  “Is what true?” Syd asks.

  “That you and Reynolds McAllister hooked up last night?”

  My stomach bottoms out and my hand clenches the door handle. I recognize the second voice as Fiona Davidson, another cheerleader.

  “Where did you hear that?” Syd asks, not denying it.

  Please deny it.

  Please.

  “Regina Beckwith told me in second period. She said someone saw you get into Reyn’s Jeep last night after practice. And then he comes to school today with a hickey!”

  I feel a little better then, knowing they’re talking about my mark. I’d put it on him in the Stairway. The relief is short-lived, though.

  “Well,” Syd says teasingly, “he did give me a ride home.”

  “And?!” Fiona’s chomping at the bit.

  “And I may have invited him to hang out in the hot tub as a thank you.”

  “Oh my god. You were in a hot tub with Reyn? He’s so fucking sexy.”

  “Mmhmm,” she replies.

  “Tell me everything.”

  “Oh, come on, Fi, you know I’m not one to kiss and tell.”

  Sydney is literally one to kiss and tell. She’s one to kiss and shout. She’d kiss and hire a fucking skywriter. I feel like throwing up.

  “Reyn was a gentleman,” I hear the smile in her voice, “but let’s just say he was concerned about the bruises I got at practice and wanted to make sure I was okay.”

  “That nasty one on your inner thigh?”

  A tight fist constricts my lungs, stealing my breath, and god, this hurts. I’ve experienced a lot of pain in my life, but nothing is like the razor-sharp blade of anguish that buries itself into my stomach right now.

  “Yep.”

  She dissolves into giggles, and I bolt from the room, trying to keep the bile from rising in the back of my throat. The hallway is jam-packed and my slow entry into the stream of walkers is halted and awkward, causing me to slam into the back of another student. His shoulders throw back. “Watch it!” he shouts, spinning around and throwing his arms out. The action forces his hand into the books I’m carrying, flinging them across the hall and knocking me against the lockers. It might hurt, but I can’t feel anything besides this stomach-churning sickness. He’s still yelling. “God damn it, if one more underclassman rams into me in the hallway, I’m gonna—”

  His words cut short and I think it’s because he’s realized it’s me—the poor crippled girl—but then I see the large hand on his shoulder yanking him harshly back. I see the tuft of blond hair next.

  “You’re going to what?” Sebastian asks, palm slamming hard into the guy’s shoulder. “What the fuck were you going to say, Pierce?” His eyes are hard as stone as he steps up to him. Pierce, whoever he is, looks like he may wet his pants. So do some of the guys inching around them, even though I can see the anticipated buzz on their faces. Sebastian icily challenges, “Well? Go on, I’m dying to hear it.”

  “N-n-nothing,” he says, glancing over at me, awareness finally dawning on him. He looks around desperately, but Sebastian just smiles, sharp and cutting, like this is the best day of his life. Pierce swallows. “Nothing, dude. I swear.”

  “Apologize to my friend.” His gaze darts to mine and I know he sees the tears in my eyes, completely unaware that I’m not hurt—not physically. My heart is aching, betrayal lodged like barbed wire in my throat. Sebastian adds, “You’re going to want to speak up, fuckwit. Enunciate clearly. And trust me when I say it’d better be sincere as hell.”

  Pierce turns haltingly, like he’s afraid looking away from Sebastian will tempt him to pounce. From the look on Sebastian’s face—cheerily murderous—he’s right to be wary. “I’m sorry. I know it was an accident. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

  “Everyone clear the hall!” Dr. Ross’s authoritative voice fills the corridor. No one wants to be the subject of her wrath, so the crowd disperses quickly. “Mr. Wilcox, I know you aren’t involved in any kind of hallway altercation.”

  “No ma’am,” he says, posture and face shifting to perfect politeness. The southern drawl slides back into place. “Just looking out for my fellow classmates.”

  Her dark eyes meet mine. “Ms. Hall, are you okay?”

  No. Yes. No. I manage a jerky nod. Her eyebrow arches and I grind out, “Yes ma’am.”

  Sebastian walks over, having collected my books from the floor. “I’ll make sure she gets to class,” he says to Dr. Ross, and for some reason, she seems satisfied leaving me in the care of a possible psychopath. The weird thing is that I’m okay with it, too.

  I follow him, only halfway aware when he pushes open the girls' bathroom door and leads me inside.

  “Uh,” I pause. “Sebastian…”

  He doesn’t stop, just continues in. Thoughtlessly, I do the same. This time the room is empty—Sydney no doubt having seen the dramatics in the hallway and has probably already posted video of it online. He stops by the sink and reaches in his pocket, pulling out a cloth handkerchief. He douses it with water and directs, “Here, wipe down your face.”

  I do as I’m told. I’m caught somewhere between epic embarrassment about what happened in the hall and still aching at this empty pit my chest has become. While I clean up, Sebastian leans against the sink, studying the room.

  “So, it’s true. You girls have way nicer digs than we do.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

  I avert my eyes. “You saw what happened.”

  “I did, but I also saw you right before that asswipe threw a tantrum. You were already upset.”

  I exhale and look at my face in the mirror. My eyes are ringed with red and there’s still a smear of mascara across the bridge of my nose. I wipe it again and my hair shifts, revealing the poorly concealed Devil’s Mark under my ear. Quickly, I pull my hair back over it, hoping that people can’t see the other, less visible marks he’s left on me. I confess, “I overheard some gossip about… well, someone I know. And it bothered me.”

  He snorts. “Gossip? Why are you letting gossip bother you? Do you know how much bullshit goes around this place? None of it is ever true.”

  “But Sydney said—”

  He barks a sudden laugh. “Sydney said?” I nod and he shakes his head. From here, I can see the Devil’s mark that someone—Georgia ostensibly—gave to him. “Come on, you were her friend, weren’t you? I know you know her better than this. Definitely don’t listen to a word that comes out of her mouth, because trust me. Nothing she says is even remotely based in reality.”

  This is Sydney’s reputation, and Sebastian’s right. No one understands that better than me. But the thing most people don’t get about Sydney is that her lies are always full of little truths. He notices my hesitation and runs an anxious hand through his hair.

  “Look, did she ever tell you what went down between the two of us?”

  I frown. “You and Sydney?”

  He groans. “First, there is no ‘me and Sydney’, but yes, we had a brief... situation.”<
br />
  It’s not like Sebastian to hedge, he usually tosses everything out there for the world to see. “What kind of situation?”

  He twists the ring on his finger. “It happened last year—a few times. We’d end up at the same party, drink the same shitty beer, get a little high, make out a bit. Some…other things.”

  “Oh, Sebastian. No.”

  “I know! Stupid fucking move, V. So stupid, but I was drunk, high, and definitely horny.” He holds up three fingers. “The trifecta of bad decision-making.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “So what happened?”

  “I blew her off—big time. Total dick move.” He shrugs. “But then I started hearing all these little rumors. Shit about how things went a lot further than they did. Stuff about us fucking, and then actually dating.”

  “Did she get the wrong impression?”

  “Not a chance. I was clear—crystal, fucking, clear.” He gives me a level look. “She’s a clinger, V. Stage-five. She doesn’t always take no for an answer, and if it suits her, she’ll create a situation that resembles fantasy more than reality.”

  I nod, feeling a little better, but then I circle back around to what I’d overheard her say to Fiona.

  “She said something that—”

  “Is this about Reyn?”

  I whip my head toward him, eyes wide. “What? Why would it have anything to do with Reyn?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Now who’s not telling the truth? I know about you two.”

  My mouth forms an argument that my voice can’t seem to vocalize. Instead, I deflate, wondering, “How?”