A Deal With the Devil

by Angel Lawson

  It kills me.

  “Thank you,” I say, having to look away from it, “for getting me out of there.”

  “Well,” he says, his voice a slow drawl, “I did owe you one.”

  I smile despite myself and I’m glad he can’t see me fully. “Yeah, I guess you did,” I reply, and start down the hill toward our yards. I don’t get far before I feel his hand holding me back.

  “You know, you did the right thing tonight.”

  I turn to look at him, but I can’t make out much about his eyes. “Running from the police and climbing on your back like a monkey? As embarrassing as it was, I agree.”

  “No,” he says, voice gruff. “With George. Shoving him aside. A guy like that doesn’t deserve your first kiss.”

  “Oh.” My cheeks instantly flame. “Yeah, well, if it takes me another seventeen years to get that kiss, I’ll probably regret it.”

  “It won’t.” He looks away, and for a second, I think that’s it. I wait, but when he remains silent, I turn to leave again. His voice stops me. “I don’t know where you got it in your head that you’re not…” He pauses, and when I turn back to him, his expression has hardened. “That you’re not, like… desirable or whatever, but it’s not true.”

  I stare back at him, too stunned to form words.

  Did Reyn just say I’m desirable?

  “I know it’s my fault,” he continues, voice rough with an emotion that hurts to hear. “That your life got so fucked-up, and that you think you’re broken. That your parents watch you like a hawk, and Emory thinks he’s gotta carry the key to your chastity belt. But they almost lost you. It scared the hell out of them.” He rubs a palm over his forehead and it tips his hat up enough that when his hand drops, I can see the way he’s looking at me. It feels like a fist is tightening around my heart. “It scared the hell out of me, too.”

  It’s a loaded confession, and I’m no more prepared to hear it than I am to see that pained, haunted look in his eyes.

  I wring my hands together. “Reyn—”

  “So, I know, okay? I know you missed out on a lot of firsts because of what I did, and,” he exhales like he’s trying to fold in on himself, “that you might feel…pressure. To just take something because it’s there, for the sake of having done it. But you shouldn’t do that, V.” He pins me under his stare. “You shouldn’t just settle for anything.”

  I choose my words carefully when I start, “The way my family is has nothing to do with you.” He scoffs, looking away, and I can’t stand it—the way his features go so stony and dark, hidden from me again. “It doesn’t, Reyn. They were always going to be like that. I mean, do you even remember what it was like for me in middle school? I couldn’t even go to that stupid Valentine’s dance.” I roll my eyes, remembering the epic fight that had spanned an entire week. “The accident gave them a reason, but let’s be real here. There was always going to be a reason, however big or small. This one just happened to be big. But the first time I came home crying about a boy, they would have thrown away the key.”

  His mouth curves into a sharp smile, and I can’t help but mirror it.

  I add, “Honestly, it’s my fault more than yours. I never pushed it.” I shrug, shifting my feet around in the leaves. “I never had that moment, you know? Where I just…showed them I was my own person. I spent so long—” High. “—not caring, that it’s never seemed worth putting them through more worry. In a way, I guess I coddle them as badly as they coddle me.”

  And yeah, this isn’t the most comfortable realization to have.

  “You Halls sure do have a way with that.” Reyn stares toward our houses, standing bright behind me. His jaw goes tight. “It could be worse.”

  I nod. “I know.”

  He nods back. “Just…things might get intense, with all these Devil rituals, so I need you to know that you can count on me if you need someone to help you get through them. You shouldn’t feel just stuck with someone.”

  “Because you owe me,” I reply slowly.

  “Right.”

  “So…” My mind runs a million miles a minute, and I’m only half-joking when I say, “If I wanted to have my first kiss—just to get it over with—you’re offering to take one for the team?”

  His chin pulls up and he’s looking at me blankly. I’m filled with a sharp panic that the half-joke came out far too earnest, and maybe the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. I basically want to crawl into a hole, right here. The forest will be a good home. It’s quiet out here. Forward my mail, Mom, because I can never show my face again. My cheeks burst into a crazy heat, but before I can backtrack and explain that I was just being funny, ha ha, he shrugs.

  “If you mean the team of ready and willing teenage boys, then sure.”

  My low laugh has an edge of hysteria to it, because he’s agreeing. Agreeing. It’s insane. Maybe he doesn’t realize how wrong he is. There is not a team of teenage boys lined up to do anything with me. Regardless, this whole idea is wrong on more levels than that. He’s Emory’s best friend, which makes him unilaterally off limits. He’s a senior, and gorgeous, and popular, which makes him completely out of my league. And he’s… well, he’s the boy I shouldn’t even be out in the woods with, or talking to, let alone kissing, because we could both get in huge trouble.

  But foremost, he’s Reynolds McAllister, and it strikes me uncomfortably why my mind had leapt there. It has very little to do with him being gorgeous and smelling amazing. It was all that stuff he said about not settling. It just makes a perfect kind of sense. He was the first boy I ever fell for. If I had a choice for my first kiss, it’d be him.

  It’d have to be him.

  “Okay,” I say, trying to sound more casual than I am, because my insides have just imploded. I feel a little faint. “Ready?”

  “What?” His head snaps back. “You mean now?” his voice rises, eyes roving around the forest like my brother or Jerry or someone is about to jump out.

  Once the words left my mouth, I couldn’t take them back. I try to sound cool. Aloof. This kind of thing happens to me every day. Talking gorgeous seniors into kissing me is boring stuff. “Why not? I just went to my first party, drank nasty punch, committed a party foul, and escaped from the police. What better night to get my first kiss?”

  He reaches back to rub at his neck, and I remember vividly the way it felt against my cheek. “Point taken.”

  “Cool.”

  He runs his hands down his thighs, and this is all so antithetical to his usual stillness that I unconsciously mirror his fidgeting. I wonder if his palms are sweaty like mine, and if they are, if it’s because he’s nervous, too. Probably just worried about what Emory will say to him if he finds out. No, what Emory will do to him. Shit. Emory can never find out.

  While I’m caught in a mental whirlwind, Reyn has stepped forward, closing the gap between us. I look up and see the angle of his jaw, the faint line of stubble dark against his chin. “Are you sure about this?” he asks, head tilted down.

  I nod, because my words are not working right now.

  He stills for a heartbeat, looking down into my face, and reaches up to his ballcap. He spins it around on his head, and I feel another one of those grand stomach-dips. He’s doing that so it won’t bump my forehead. Because we’re going to be that close. Kissing.

  I wet my lips, and since the bill of his cap is no longer in the way, I can see when his eyes dart to the motion. He inches forward, tip of his toes bumping into mine. He seems a little unsure, mostly about what to do with his hands, which is not normal. Reyn never seems unsure, especially with his hands. They’re always touching, stealing, catching or throwing. He finally places one on my hip, holding me in place.

  I feel it like a brand.

  He meets my gaze. “This is just to make sure you don’t end up kissing a jackoff like George by mistake, okay?”

  My voice is thin. “Okay.”

  He reaches up to sweep my hair away from my temple, and his hand trails down
the side of my face. His lips are dark pink, a little chapped, but soft-looking. I push up on my toes and the hand on my hip moves around to my back. Our bodies are pressed up against one another, and I can’t feel the same raw power as before, when his muscles were shifting against me, but I still know it’s there in the solidness of him.

  He continues, “You don’t have to—"

  I don’t let him finish. I press my lips against his because I don’t want to hear him keep rationalizing this, like it’s something that needs talked into being nothing. I don’t want nothing, I want this: The way his lips give against my own, reluctantly pressing back, and the way it’s suddenly not so reluctant anymore. It’s soft and surging, the way he pinches my bottom lip between his own, face tilting to get closer.

  His hand cups my cheek, fingers weaving into the hair behind my ear, and he pulls me closer, like… like maybe he wants more. Like maybe he’s getting more out of this than just some favor to a dumb girl. Like maybe when his mouth parts, his wet tongue slipping between my lips, it’s because he likes doing this.

  My stomach bottoms out and my fingers curl into his shirt, looking for something to hold onto as I try to mirror his movements, tongue meeting his. The kiss is wet, and warm. He tastes like air and something ripe and alive, and when he sucks a soft retreat, only to dip back into my mouth, my chest feels like it might cave in.

  My breath hitches and he stills.

  He pulls away gently, his hands slowly dipping back into his pockets as he steps away. The light from the houses reflects off his lips, shiny with our kiss.

  I’ve gone from boiling to tepid, from the warmth of his body next to mine, to standing awkwardly alone in the woods.

  “That was—” I start, because someone has to say something, and from the shell-shocked look on his face, the expression that no doubt precedes deep and sudden regret, he is at a loss for words. “Okay.”

  His eyebrow shoots up. “Okay?”

  “Okay,” I repeat, giving my lips a quick suck. “That was… okay. Good. Done. Mission accomplished.”

  Oh my god, Vandy, shut the fuck up.

  I give him a double thumbs-up.

  And because things couldn’t get worse… he slowly, reluctantly, gives me a double thumbs-up in return.

  “I’m just going to go in now. You should probably wait—”

  “A few minutes. Yeah, I agree.” That same dumbfounded expression is on his face and wow, that is not the look you want a guy to give you after you jumped him in the woods. Jesus.

  I take off after that, hobbling down the hill as fast as my leg will take me. I don’t look back until I’m all the way at the back porch, hand on the doorknob. I can barely see him up on the hill, but I know he’s there, watching to make sure I get in the house, probably mentally scrubbing what had to be the worst kiss of his life out of his mind.

  “It’s better when you can feel the wind whipping around, you know?”

  I look down at his hand on the gearshift, confident and sure. I think about what it would feel like on my hip. The pressure of his thumb against my skin. I look down, feeling a flicker of a memory, then look back up at his face.

  Fourteen-year-old Reyn is gone. A more mature, more handsome boy sits next to me. But boy isn’t exactly the right word. Not for the stubble on his chin, or the strong muscles that line his forearm as he shifts from third to fourth gear. This is a man.

  “I knew it,” he says suddenly, raising his voice over the loud rush of wind.

  “Knew what?”

  “That you wanted to kiss me.”

  My stomach flip-flops. He knew? How did he know? That was a secret I’d carry to the grave. My cheeks burn with heat and I dare a glance at him again. He’s smirking at me from the driver’s seat.

  “What?” I laugh nervously. “I don’t want to kiss you.”

  I play it off, or try to, but he’s leaning over the center console, one hand sliding behind my neck, the other still on the wheel. He dips his head and brushes his lips against mine, sweet and soft. He pulls back, smiling that smile.

  “How was it? Was it worth it?”

  I turn away and look out the window, seeing the glow in the dark. Fireflies, I think. But then, I realize it’s something else. My stomach lurches and I sit up. “Watch out! There’s a—” But it’s too late. It’s always too late. The next moment is a flash of pale brown fur, the squeal of tires, Reynolds’ fighting against the wheel—

  I jolt awake, a scream strangled in the back of my throat. My hand moves to my lips, which feel different. They tingle with the memory of Reyn’s kiss, from the dream.

  No.

  The real memory of Reyn’s kiss in the woods.

  God, that’s the real nightmare.

  I stand, tugging at my sweaty T-shirt. I can’t believe I kissed Reyn McAllister. I can’t believe I basically played on his guilt to get it. I’d been wrong before, about not settling. At least if I’d settled, it would have meant the guy actually wanted to kiss me back. It would have meant I could look back on it with something other than this awful churny feeling in my stomach.

  He’d looked so horrified. So regretful. I don’t even blame him. He still thinks I’m a kid, and even though we laughed about him owing me one, the root of this is guilt. Reyn feels guilty about the fact I’m a pathetic, crippled, virgin loser and yeah, he took one for the team.

  I cross the room and change, trading out one shirt for another. It’s a nightly ritual, as is my habit of sneaking a peek out my bedroom window to see if Reyn’s awake. I carefully slide the curtain aside and look across the gap in our yards. Sure enough, his light is on. The difference is that he’s not sprawled on the bed, like usual. Tonight, he’s sitting on the edge, his profile in full view. He’s wearing a shirt with the sleeves torn off, and one arm is reclined back, propping him up. His jaw is locked tight, and from here, it looks like he’s in some kind of pain. His other arm is moving lazily in his lap, and I furrow my brows at it.

  What is he do—

  Oh my god.

  Oh my god!

  My heart thuds in my chest as I realize what’s happening and I drop to my knees, chin level with the windowsill. He’s jerking off. Talk about horrified. I glance away, but barely a second passes before I look back again, my eyes drawn to his motions. He isn’t facing me, so I can’t see that much of him.

  At least, not until he falls back on his elbow.

  Abruptly, I get an eyeful of his erection—his cock, Sydney would call it—standing alert. Even from a distance it seems huge, obscene, but his hand glides up and down the hard length of it, like he’s exceptionally familiar with the territory. Reyn isn’t afraid or in pain, he’s very much in control.

  The pounding in my chest vibrates down my body, spreading warmth from the center of my belly. I feel like I have multiple heartbeats, one in my chest, one in my ears, and another pulsing hot between my legs. I can’t tear my eyes away from him. His motions aren’t frantic, they’re unhurried and precise, more than some mechanical means to an end. He’s enjoying it. He starts at the base and strokes upward, pushing toward the head. He rolls that in his palm, before tugging at the tip, jaw easing slightly. A shiver runs down my spine, which is in direct contrast to the heat I feel building beneath my skin. I shift, intending to ease the weight on my leg, but my body has a mind of its own, begging its own relief. A shaky sigh emerges when my hand pushes under the fabric of my panties, down to the warm heat below.

  It’s with surprise that I find that I’m already wet.

  Unlike the guy across the way, this is not familiar territory for me. I’d been too numb, too drugged up to worry about feelings like this for a long time. Like everything else, cutting back has given me an awakening for almost all things, physical and mental. As Reyn continues his pattern; stroke, push, roll, tug; I create my own, running the pads of my fingers over the slick nub, alternating between deep pressure and barely touching. A coil twists in my lower belly, spurned on as much by my own actions as what I’m watchin
g. It’s terrifying, real, and distressingly beautiful. Reyn’s speed increases and his jaw slacks entirely, mouth hanging open. Other than the hand in my panties, rubbing and rolling against my slippery clit, I’m nearly frozen, watching as he pushes himself closer and closer to the edge. His eyelids shutter closed, and his nose wrinkles, while his teeth sink into the bottom lip I’d just been kissing hours earlier.

  Oh god, the memory of his mouth on mine, the feel of his hand on my lower back, the press of his body is all it takes to send a ripple of pleasure through my core. I force my eyes open while the orgasm wracks through me, struggling to watch him because I know he’s close. I don’t know how I know, I just do. It’s in the way he’s biting his lip, head falling back on his shoulders. It’s in the tension in his arms, muscles flexing. When he falls back on the bed, free hand groping for the sheet, and seizes, I lean forward, nose pressed against the glass, breath fogging the window. When he erupts, I clamp my legs tight together, feeling the ripples course through my own body as if we were connected by more than the distance between our bedroom windows.

  I watch as his hand slows, and then falls away. His chest lifts up and down and he arches his back to stretch. I take in every detail when he grimaces, using the sheet at his side to wipe his release away. I’m still unable to move when he stands and walks across the room. His bare ass moons me without a care in the world when he enters his bathroom.

  When he’s out of view, I pull my hand from between my legs and turn around, sitting with my back against the wall. I can already tell I’ll be chasing the thrill of that for a long time.

  Kissing Reyn, seeing him like that, coming with him?

  It’s the best high I’ve ever had.

  14

  Reyn

  By the grace of god, I manage to sleep past dawn. Two thoughts enter my mind when I roll over, impaling myself on morning wood: The girl next door and having jerked off to her. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t do that again. There are generally three categories of girl in direct relation to my libido—the ones I can fuck, the ones I can’t fuck, and the complete void only reserved for family members. I’d tried to put Vandy in one of those last two, only as much I promised Emory I’d treat her as one of my own, that shit just wasn’t happening. My brain—and dick—saw Vandy Hall as a lot of things, but ‘sister’ wasn’t anywhere near to being one of them. That put her firmly in the ‘girls I can’t fuck’ category, and that’s always a tricky designation.