A Deal With the Devil

by Angel Lawson

  Homecoming Friday is a big day. There’s a tangible buzz in the air of Preston Prep. Dates are set, dresses are bought, and the pep rally scheduled, and even if it only means getting out of last period, what’s not to love?

  But none of that matters to me.

  I’m flying high. So fucking high. Way better than any drug I’ve ever taken. I’m high on Reynolds McAllister and from the smug look he gives me when I pass him on the way to Art, he feels the same way.

  I pass Caroline on the way to my seat and wave hello, while ignoring Syd’s too-loud laughter coming from the other side of the room. She’d moved to another table last week, which leaves an empty chair next to mine. The bell is about to ring when a body slides into it.

  “Hey, Vandy,” George says. “No one’s sitting here, right?”

  I look around, shrugging. “Nope, it’s all yours.”

  “Cool, cool, cool,” he mutters, pulling his sketch pad and pencil pouch out of his backpack. He zips and unzips the pouch a few times, dipping his fingers inside, yet never retrieving a pencil. I get my own pencil and eraser out and start on the morning assignment.

  “So, I was wondering,” George says, finally having chosen a pencil, “if you’re going to the dance with anyone?”

  Half-focused on the assignment, shading technique, I glance up. “Uh, yeah, I’ll probably swing by.”

  “Swing by.” He moves the pencil wildly in and out of his fingers, until it flies across the room. “Oops.”

  He scrambles to get it and all I can think is that Reyn was right. Not only did I do the right thing not giving this awkward, clumsy boy my first kiss, I probably dodged a bullet.

  “Anyway,” he says, jumping back in his seat. “I thought, you know, maybe we could go together?”

  “Together?” I slowly repeat. Shit. How did this happen? I glance back and see Caroline smiling in amusement.

  “Right. I’d pick you up. We’d get some food. Then head to the dance.” He taps his pencil on the table, a rapid tattoo that’s drawing annoyed stares. “Together.” He looks at me hopefully. So very hopefully that I feel a little bad for him even if he’s been a touch too presumptuous in the past.

  “That—” I spot Sydney from the corner of my eye. She’s focused on her sketch pad but it’s obvious she’s listening. Screw her. “That’s really nice of you to ask, but I’ve got to cover all the homecoming activities for the newspaper, and I don’t think I’d make a great… uh, date.”

  “The newspaper.” He nods rapidly. “Right, right. I get it. Duty calls and all that.”

  “Yep,” I tuck my hair behind my ear, feeling oddly embarrassed. “Mr. Lee’s a hardass. Deadlines and all.” Even I can feel the weakness of my smile.

  Caroline, two rows back, gives me a thumbs up. It’s pretty obvious from George’s fidgeting that he’s regretting his seat choice right about now.

  Two hours later I’m at lunch, Reyn on the opposite side of the table, tipping a can of soda to his mouth. He’s been eating cookies out of a bag that was left in his locker by one of the cheerleaders this morning. It doesn’t exactly make me jealous. It’s just some dumb homecoming tradition, cheerleaders showering the players with locker goodies on game day. But it does make me want to snatch the bag out of his hand and throw it across the room.

  Okay, maybe it makes me a little jealous.

  I could have left him food in his locker. And it would have been good food, too. Something other than empty calories. Protein, because Reyn is an athlete. Something with a sauce, because he likes stuff in a sauce. It’s bad enough I have to sit all the way over here, unable to touch him, do I really have to watch him eat some other girl’s food, too?

  He’s not near enough that it completely rattles me—not close enough for me to accidentally brush up against his leg under the table. Or, you know, lick that sugary soda off his lips. Conversation floats. The guys are deep in discussion about the game. The girls are gossiping about who’s taking whom, some muttered worries of the weather possibly being bad and ruining hairdos. None of it penetrates. I just keep thinking about the way those hands of his were on me last night. The way he—almost obsessively—showered my inner thighs with obscenely wet, open-mouthed kisses. How his mouth felt between my legs. How his hard cock was—

  “What about you, V?”

  I blink, head whipping around. “What?”

  Georgia’s eyebrows are raised. “What does your dress look like?”

  I struggle to become coherent. It’s not really working. “Dress?”

  “For the dance,” Afton adds.

  “Oh, well, I didn’t get one.” My mind had been on other… things. I lower my voice so only the Devils and Playthings can hear. “We’re just kind of making an appearance, right? Does it matter?”

  Elana rolls her eyes. “Of course, it matters. It’s a new dress,” she says, as though that clears it up. “And you can’t just walk in all casual like a total rando. That’ll be more obvious.”

  “Oh, well.” I frown, trying to think if I have a dress that wasn’t just bought for Easter portraits. “I guess I can figure something out.”

  “You can borrow something of mine if you want,” Aubrey says. “We’re about the same size, and my mom’s already started shopping for sorority rush next year. Or at least that’s what she says. Seriously, I have things I’ve never even worn.”

  My eyes dart next to her, where my brother is sitting. I didn’t realize he was listening, but he gives Aubrey an appreciative smile for her generosity. Damn, she’s working this hard and he’s buying into it. Not a single one of his prior girlfriends even looked in my direction except for their rare moments of slight pity.

  Her voice grows commanding, assured. “Come over tomorrow and dig through my closet. We’ll find you something.”

  Although I appreciate the offer, I can’t help but feel like this is one of those moments where everyone is well aware of the fact I’ve never been to a school dance. And even though my social life has changed tremendously over the last few months, due to the secret nature of my relationship with Reyn, I’ll still be walking into this dance alone.

  “Speaking of the dance,” Caroline says, her gray-blue eyes twinkling, “poor George looked completely heartbroken when you said no to his invitation.”

  “I, uh…” The sound of an aluminum can crumpling comes from the other end of the table. I look down at the soda can crushed in Reyn’s hand.

  “Dude. What the hell?” Ben shakes his head at the soda that’s spilled from the can and all over his notebook. He grabs a napkin and wipes it off.

  “Sorry.” Reyn’s jaw tenses, and he sets the can down gently.

  I turn back to Caroline, eyes rolling. “Heartbroken seems like an exaggeration.”

  “I don’t know,” she teases. “He’s been watching you a lot in class lately.”

  I push a doubtful ‘psh’ through my lips, but I don’t miss the way Reyn has gone still, green eyes watching me.

  “Hey, guys!” Sydney suddenly appears at the end of the table, all sparkly and bright in her cheer uniform. “I overheard talk about the dance. Everyone excited?” There’s a feeble response from the girls. The boys simply ignore her. It’s clear no one is really into talking to her. I stare at my half-eaten sandwich. She ignores being ignored and continues on, “What about you, Reyn? You taking someone?”

  Reyn’s chair is tilted back and he slows the chocolate chip cookie he’s about to shove in his mouth. His expression remains impassive, but I can see the tick in his jaw. “I haven’t decided if I’m going yet.”

  Of course he’s going. We’re all going, our alibis needing to be air-tight. But if Reynolds McAllister is too cool to commit to a Homecoming dance, he’s certainly too cool to commit to a date.

  “Oh,” Sydney says, bending over to adjust her knee sock, which serves to give a flash of her cleavage. “Me either.” She flips her ponytail over her shoulder. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

  He does that guy thing, where he
lifts his chin in acknowledgement but never makes actual eye contact. She walks off, ass swaying under that tiny skirt, and I snap my gaze toward him, because if he’s looking at her legs, at her thighs, I swear to god—

  He’s looking at me.

  “Damn that was cringy,” Georgia says, breaking the awkward silence that’s settled around the table. “Right? Just coming out and basically asking Reyn to the dance?”

  “Straight up thirsty,” Afton agrees, tossing her trash on her tray. “I really wish she wasn’t such a good tumbler, or I’d toss her ass off the squad.” She gives Reyn a look. “Don’t even think about it, Thigh Master.”

  Ben mouths a confused, “Thigh Master?”

  “Seriously?” Reyn tosses his hands. “Why does everyone think I have such bad taste in women? You’re like the fourth person to tell me that.”

  “Because you were locked up for three years,” Carlton replies, shrugging. “Desperate times, my friend.”

  Aubrey shrugs. “I don’t think you have bad taste, Reyn.” Her lips curve and her eyes dart toward me. “In fact, you probably have pretty outstanding taste in women.”

  “Alright, that’s enough,” he says, pushing his chair back. He grabs his trash and backpack. “I’ll see you later.”

  But inside, I am freaking out. Aubrey knows.

  Aubrey knows!

  I meet her knowing gaze with my own panicked eyes, but she just mimes zipping her lips and goes back to eating. I’m hoping that means she won’t tell Emory. She obviously hasn’t yet. I can tell by the lack of Reynolds being all dead on the lunch table.

  The bell rings, saving us all from further dance conversation, but Aubrey grabs me on the way out of the room.

  She clutches her hands together, begging, “Seriously, please come by tomorrow? Let me help you pick out a dress.” She grins. “I have something I think Reyn will like.”

  My shoulders tense and I glance around. Maybe I can just deny. “Why would I care about what Reyn will like?” My laugh is halfhearted and full of dread. “We’re not going together.”

  She gives me a look that says just how much she isn’t buying this. “Yeah, well once he sees you in this dress, he’s going to wish he staked a claim on you. Publicly.”

  “Aubrey,” I start, stomach flipping anxiously.

  She must sense the doom in my voice, because she puts a gentle hand on my arm. “Hey, it’s fine. I’m not going to tell Emory, okay? That’s your business.”

  I release a hard breath and don’t ask her how she knows. It’s more of a mystery to me how anyone could not know. “Thank you,” I say instead.

  Armed with a newspaper camera, I enter the gym a few minutes before the pep rally starts. Mr. Lee gave me a pass to get excused from class early, and so far, the room is filled with athletes, spirit teams, and a section of the marching band already mid-rehearsal. The drumbeat echoes off the high, metal ceiling. It’s one of those environments that a short time ago would have sent me running—or well, limping—away. It’s too noisy and over-stimulating. Now, behind the shield of my camera, I scope out the room, determining the best spot to get photos of the event. I know from past rallies that the coaches and team will be up on the stage, and the cheerleaders just below them. The dance team will perform on the gym floor and the band will stick to their corner of the bleachers.

  I move backwards, camera in position, toward the stacked steps to see if I can get a decent shot of the stage and floor from this angle. I bump into something hard and steady.

  “Hey,” Reyn says from behind me. “Got a minute?”

  I don’t, not really, and neither does he. But I don’t fight him when he pulls me under the bleachers, fingers laced with mine as we traverse the narrow space. He stops and pushes my back against the wall. I notice his expression is tense.

  “What’s up?” I ask, running a hand over his black jersey.

  “George?” he blurts.

  I blink, trying to follow his non-sequitur. Then I see the answer on his face. Jealousy.

  “Seriously?” I ask, fighting the urge to laugh.

  But Reyn’s face is stormy and hard. “He’s been sniffing around for weeks now. I mean, he already made one move on you.”

  “Which I rejected,” I calmly remind him. “Full Heisman.”

  He barks an abrupt laugh, eyes softening. “You know what a Heisman is?”

  I roll my eyes and hold my hand out to his chest, blocking him, like on the coveted Heisman trophy. “I live in the south with a football-loving family. Of course, I know what a Heisman is. But that’s not the point. Why are you being weird?”

  He swallows, fingers coming up to fidget with my hair. “I just don’t like it—him. George.”

  I watch him brush my hair over my shoulder, and he does it so carefully. “Saying no is all I can do, Reyn. Plus, it’s not like…” I trail off.

  “Like what?”

  “Like I can say I have a…” Again, the words don’t fully form, but this time I clamp my mouth shut.

  He eyes me. “A what?”

  “Nothing.” I cross my arms over my chest and don’t miss his gaze dropping down. “You know, it’s not like I don’t see girls flirting with you all the time.”

  He looks taken aback. “No one’s flirting with me.”

  I scoff. I refuse to bring up Sydney. That’s partly out of fear. What if the rumor was true? It would crush me. And if it’s not? It’s not worth bringing up. It’ll only feed her need for rumors and gossip. “I’m just saying, scantily dressed men aren’t leaving baked goods in my locker.”

  It’s his turn to scoff. “Come on, you know that’s just a stupid football thing. I don’t even know which one left it in my locker.” His fingers squeeze my hip and in a quieter voice, he asks, “What’s this about?”

  “It’s about…” I look down to the end of the stands. Students are filing into the gym now. “It’s about labels. About what we are to one another.” Reyn and I had both made promises. Never Sydney. Never Sebastian. It hasn’t escaped my attention that we’ve never made promises about anyone else. The ambiguousness of it has this way of rattling me at completely random times.

  He studies me, like he can see right through me. My skin prickles under the intensity, but his free hand grabs mine, threading our fingers together. “I don’t know what you want to call this, Baby V. It’s twisted and caught up in a bunch of bullshit and secrets—which, for the record, goes against all my instincts.” He hooks a finger under my chin, forcing my eyes to his. “All day, all I want to do is let the whole goddamn world know you’re mine.” His voice is low and rough in a way that makes me shiver when he says, “I’ve marked you. I’ve been inside you. I’ve made you come three different ways.” His mouth hovers over mine. “And god knows you’ve done the same for me. If you don’t know that I’m already yours, then you’re not paying attention. Because I am—completely.”

  All of that is raw and real, I can hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes. I push up on my toes at the same time that he bends, mouths meeting in the middle. It’s a different sort of kiss, less horny, more determined. This kiss is a promise, and it’s about more than just two people. This is a pact. This is us agreeing to be in this together, and when he pulls back, the wild anxiety rolling around in my chest has abated. Something warm and so happy replaces it, that I’m almost sure he can see it in my smile.

  He thumbs my lip, sighing. “We’re going to have to tell him, aren’t we?”

  “Eventually,” I concede, because Reyn is right. As much as we want to belong to each other, it can never fully happen until we cross that bridge. “We’ll make a plan.”

  He nods, brushing the hair off my cheek. “Maybe soon we can…”

  I watch curiously as he trails off, eyes going dark. “What?”

  “Maybe we can get together again,” he answers, and from the spark in his eyes, I know exactly what kind of ‘getting together’ he wants to do.

  “God, please,” I groan, letting my head fall back.
I watch him through slitted eyes. “Maybe tonight?”

  His lips curl into a slow smirk. “Maybe.” And then, the smirk falls. “This isn’t just about sex for me. You know that, right? I can’t ask you to go to the dance with me, but I would if I could.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t need a dance.”

  “I do have something to give you, though.” His voice is slightly raised. The gym is filling quickly and above us, students are climbing the bleachers. He shuffles closer. “I’ve been meaning to. I’ve been carrying it around for a while.” He shoves his hand in his pocket and looks at me, forehead creased. “And for the record, I did not steal it.”

  I laugh, confused but happy. “Okay.”

  He holds out his hand and a small silver charm sits in the middle of his palm. At first glance, I think it’s a butterfly or maybe a dragonfly, but then I notice the small, glassy bulb at the tail. He cups his hand to block the light and a faint glow comes from it.

  “It’s a firefly,” I say, shocked. My hand trembles when I take it from him, thumb running over the charm. He can’t possibly know the significance—probably just thought of my cat. But this? I meet his gaze, eyes prickling. “Reyn, it’s… it’s perfect.”

  He looks down at it in my hand, eyebrows knitting together. “It’s nothing special or expensive, I just—”

  I shut him up with a kiss. “Thank you.”

  It’s way past time for us to go back out to the gym floor. Hands linked, we make our way through the narrow path under the bleachers, back toward the exit. For the first time in a while I feel settled, secure, whole. I’ve got Reyn, the Devils, the Playthings. I’m focused and have a solid position on the newspaper. I’m clean, healthy, madly in love.

  Life is actually good, for once.

  “Hey,” he says, pushing me against the wall and flattening his palm next to my head. “One last kiss?”

  There’s no way I’ll say no. I’ve never been able to, and when his lips meet mine, warm and soft, I know why. Reynolds McAllister owns me. Then and now. The kiss isn’t sweet and slow, like the ones we just shared. This one is fast and hard, full of the ‘maybe’ we’re waiting for, tonight. Maybe we’ll find a way to be alone. Maybe we’ll do it again. Maybe this time, I’ll find out what it’s like to have Reyn inside of me without all the nervousness and fumbling and pain.