By the time I reach the top step, he’s long gone. Sighing, I head for my locker.
Once I reach it, I’m distracted by the safety pin bursting off my busted zipper. Groaning quietly, I fiddle with it as I open my locker. Swinging the door open, I go to hang the backpack from the hook to fix it, but my gaze locks on the telltale green and white heap of fabric waiting for me inside. My frustration melts to horror faster than an ice pop on fire.
Oh, hell no. Hell no.
Screw you, Devlin!
Nina happens to be nearby. She peers into my locker and scoffs. “Thinking of joining the squad, Raggedy Anne? I don’t think so.”
My spine snaps straight at her sneering voice.
“Speak for yourself, Nina.” Trent from the soccer team slings his arm over her shoulders. She sticks her huge boobs out more, like a proud peacock. Trent takes me in with a sweep of his eyes that makes my skin crawl. “I’d like to see her in the cheer uniform. And then I’d like to see it on my floor.”
Gag. To guys like Trent, the women around him are nothing but objects for him to ogle.
“Can you do a split, Davis?” Trent leans into my space. “How flexible are you?”
Ignoring them becomes impossible. “Get lost, Trent,” I bite out. “Or I’ll show you exactly how high I can kick.”
When he doesn’t move, calling my bluff, I raise my brows to drive home my threat. Holding up his hands, he backs up a step.
Nina surveys me with a narrowed gaze, tipping her chin up. She seems to have found some begrudging respect for me standing up to Trent’s shit.
“There’s no way you’re good enough for the squad,” Nina drawls. “Pick another pathetic way to get Devlin’s attention.”
I roll my eyes. “I have no plans to become a cheerleader.”
Scrunching her face in annoyance, Nina flips her hair over her shoulder and struts down the hall with her big rack stuck out.
I snatch the Silver Lake High cheer uniform from my locker before anyone else sees it, balling the material up in front of me. A crisp note on thick, fancy paper sticks out of the neckline. Hunching over the bundle, I read the message.
Change into this for the rest of the day for $1000 plus a $2500 bonus to cheer from the sidelines of today’s soccer practice. Give me a big kiss on the field when we’re done, and really sell it, or you earn nothing.
My heart stumbles over a beat and I suck in a breath so fast my throat burns. Is he insane? Yes, I remind myself. He’s an unhinged psychopath. My pain is his pleasure.
Somehow this is way worse than dumping water on myself or being known to the school as his trained dog. This is an actual nightmare. I can’t blend in wearing this. It paints a target on my back, turning me into a big green beacon of false school spirit that will draw the attention of every single gnat in this school.
Bending to his cruel pranks was awful, but this is an all new low. This is the last thing I would ever do. Probably the precise reason he picked it.
I roll my lips between my teeth, blinking in time with my rapidly beating pulse. The blood rushes in my ears, muffling the sound in the hall. All I hear is the steady throb, throb, throb in my eardrums.
These tasks are escalating. Devlin is offering more money, but the things he demands are becoming increasingly difficult to complete.
I’m selling everything to Devlin, even my soul.
I work through his possible motive like a puzzle to solve. What will he gain from making me put myself on display? Why does he want me to kiss him?
It has to be another one of his ruthless mind games.
My pride screams at me. Is this worth it?
I close my eyes and draw in a fortifying breath. It has to be. For Mom.
With my hands shaking from how much I want to punch him, I shut my locker and go to put on the cheerleading uniform.
Eighteen
Blair
The worst part about spending an entire day in a skimpy cheer skirt and sleeveless vest that exposes a strip of my stomach isn’t that I wouldn’t be caught dead in it otherwise. It’s the way it changes how everyone looks at me. There’s nowhere to hide from it, either.
None of my teachers care that I’m breaking dress code, not for the sake of school spirit. Mr. Coleman even squeezed my shoulder and told me he was glad to see me getting involved.
Girls are annoyed, and I don’t think it’s simply because the uniform doesn’t look bad on me—I checked for a whole fifteen minutes in the bathroom this morning before I worked up the courage to brave homeroom. I’m guessing it has to do with the way every guy in school can’t take their eyes off me. Including Devlin.
His dark gaze is an inescapable curse against my skin.
The leers of the guys follow me all day.
Lunch was excruciating, sitting at my table by the window in plain view of Devlin’s smug expression as he ruled over his court at the center table.
My skin felt too tight, suffocating me as I smothered the urge to squirm under his gaze. He drank in the sight of me in a way that made my heart pound.
The day only went downhill from there. Someone taped a sign to my locker that said Give me a D! I! C! K! with a crudely drawn penis next to a sad stick figure cheerleader. In my history class, the girl that sits behind me was watching some stupid TikTok video that turned out to feature me being rated fuckable now that I stopped being “all goth and shit” by some sleazy underclassmen twerps.
It’s a nightmare, but I’ll weather anything for the amount of money Devlin promised.
At the end of the day, the walk to the soccer field for the practice match is both a relief and its own drawn out torture.
I tug on the hem of the skirt. It’s shorter than the school uniform and I am so not wearing the right underwear. I clamp my palms against my thighs, trapping the skirt when a breeze threatens to expose me.
There are other people hanging out on the sidelines as the soccer team stretches for warm up. I pause a few feet away. Sometimes a few girls watch practice, I used to see them during track, but not this many. They all turn to me, eyeing me up and down.
Their judgement is obvious as they whisper to each other.
The urge to sprint to the tree line and pick up the trail that winds through the pines grips me. I’m seconds from springing into action when strong arms wrap around my waist from behind, enveloping me in a familiar masculine scent. Devlin.
“There you are,” Devlin murmurs into my hair. I stiffen as he tickles the bare strip of skin where the uniform doesn’t cover my stomach. “Hmm, having you dressed this way certainly improves my motivation. Cheer me on so we win our practice match. Nice and loud—and remember it’s spelled d-e-v-i-l.”
I can hear the smile in his voice.
“You’re twisted,” I breathe.
His chuckle is dark and smoky, traveling down my neck and drawing a shudder from me. That sound should be illegal. I struggle not to clap a hand over my tingling neck.
“You have no idea, little thief.”
The girls along the sideline glare in our direction. I’m treading all over their territory simply by being here. Devlin’s teammates on the field smirk.
“You all owe me fifty bucks,” Bishop calls from the center, his arms stretched overhead as he bends.
A round of groans sound from the other players. Great, now they’re betting on something they know nothing about. They probably think Devlin and I are some weird thing.
I have a few steamy books in my paperback collection. I’m familiar with the idea of hate turning into love. Bullshit. Not in our case.
“Why are you making me do this?” I hiss. “What messed up satisfaction is this giving you? And—the other thing you want?”
Devlin’s arms tighten around my waist. He nudges me forward and I walk awkwardly with him wrapped around me.
“Because.” His voice is hard next to my ear. “I want to make you squirm for me.”
My stomach twists into a tight knot. A hot pulse of heat throbs betw
een my legs. Does he need to talk right next to my ear and breathe all over my neck like that?
We reach the sideline and he releases me, only to circle around. He draws me close, his hands settling on my hips.
I peer up into his eyes, trying to read the mystery clouding the blackness. I don’t believe the interest in his expression is for me. It’s for show. For whatever reason, he wants them all to believe he wants me.
“Did you bring pom-poms to cheer with?”
The question startles me out of trying to figure him out.
I snort. “Yeah, I can totally hide pom-poms in this crap.”
Flashing a quick smirk, Devlin toys with the edge of the skirt. I open my mouth, only to clamp it shut when he drags his fingers up my thigh. He moves higher, skimming beneath the vest, stroking my stomach. His touch heats my skin and makes me fight off a tremble.
I hate that he can make my insides coil. What is wrong with me?
Devlin hums thoughtfully. “I see what you mean. No practical storage space.”
My jaw drops. Devlin’s shoulders shake with a silent laugh. He’s…having fun. While he torments me with an audience.
“Stop enjoying this,” I snap in an undertone, glancing at the group of girls nearby.
If they didn’t hate me before, they definitely do now. I have their favorite hottie all over me. I don’t want to watch my back for mean girl attacks on top of Devlin’s games. He’s making me more visible, painting a bigger bullseye on my back in blood.
“But it’s oh so fun.” Devlin tips his head to give me a smile.
This one startles me because it’s not like his fake ones. I think it might be genuine. It makes him appear…less evil. My heart thuds and my eyes drop to the dimple winking at me.
“Cut it out.” Flustered, I press my palms to his chest and push. “Go play soccer.”
Devlin covers my hands with his, squeezing them against his jersey. “Wish me luck. You’re my personal pep squad.”
“You don’t need it.” I need him out of my space. I have to clear my head, find my happy place to do what he ordered.
The threat of the kiss clause hangs over my head.
“Blair.”
I dart my gaze up to meet his. Hair hangs across his forehead. One side of his mouth tugs up as wicked amusement dances in his gaze.
Oh, god. I haven’t really thought about it all day, too busy enduring the humiliation of wearing the cheer uniform. If I don’t kiss him at the end of the practice match, I don’t get paid.
Devlin squeezes my trapped hands again. “You suck at this. Say ‘good luck, Devlin’ or something.”
I lick my lips. Devlin zeroes in on my mouth.
“Good luck, asshole.”
“Dev, let’s go!” Bishop calls.
“In a minute,” he shouts back, staring intently at my lips. His thumb brushes over them. “You’re here to cheer for me. When I win, I’m coming to claim these.”
My stomach bottoms out.
Devlin grins at whatever he finds in my deer-in-headlights expression, then pinches my cheek before jogging onto the field. The girls gathered squeal for him, forming their own squad. I stand there, dumbfounded.
I touch my lips, where his soft caress lingers. His words repeat in my head.
When I win, I’m coming to claim these.
My entire body is wracked by a shiver from the hot and cold sensation traveling over my skin.
How can I be turned on right now? Doesn’t that make me some kind of fucked up, to want a kiss from the guy who has bullied me for three long years?
Scrubbing my face, I think I finally understand the dilemma Gemma faced last year.
I never thought I’d grapple with the same problem.
“You know,” says one girl that breaks off from the group and crosses over the invisible line in the sand between us. “Devlin doesn’t do girlfriends. He does hookups. So whatever you think you’ve got with him, it’s not gonna last.”
Normally, I’d ignore her. Hell, I agree with her. But it’s getting hard to take people’s crap around here while I hold my tongue. The fiery need to fight back stirs beneath my skin.
Tipping my head, I click my tongue in sympathy. “Aw, are you jealous? That’s cute. Did you know jealousy derives from feeling threatened?”
The girl squints, curling her lip. “You’re trash. He won’t want you for long.” Her eyes rake over the cheer uniform. “Why don’t you go try out for the dog show instead? That’s where you belong, bitch.”
I choke back an incredulous laugh. Devlin doesn’t want me, period. This whole thing is an exercise in making me jump as high as fucking possible for his game.
“If Devlin only does hookups, I guess that means you don’t have a chance to be his girlfriend, either. Better go gold digging somewhere else.”
The girl’s eyes go wide with outrage, and she stomps off to lick the wound caused by the truth amongst her friends. They all shoot me nasty looks.
Whatever. They’re the ones fighting over a guy that doesn’t even notice they exist.
The other team arrives for the practice match against Silver Lake High. A few of them spot me on the sidelines. They smirk and smack each other. One brave one heads for my end of the field to warm up, flexing his biceps to stretch the yellow jersey. There’s a dark blue #11 on his chest.
He waves to me.
I lift my eyebrows, unaffected.
Devlin appears behind the guy, a whole head taller. The expression on his face isn’t any different from his mask, but I see a deadly fury in the tense set of his chiseled jaw and the tight corners of his eyes.
He mutters something to Eleven. Whatever he says, it makes the guy stalk off to his team’s end of the field to finish his warm up. Devlin remains where Eleven set up, dribbling the ball with some fancy footwork.
Devlin glances my way, sticking his tongue between his teeth in a smug grin when he finds my attention on him.
Showoff.
Once the practice match begins, it’s time for me to cheer. I’ve never gone to a game and I make a point of avoiding the cheerleaders in school.
When Devlin runs by with the ball, I clap and give a sad, “Woo!”
Devlin catches my eye a few minutes later. His unimpressed expression says it all: do better.
Sighing, I raise my efforts.
When Bishop faces off against two offensive players from the other team and steals the ball from them, I cup my hands around my mouth to cheer him on. Bishop points to me, grinning as he weaves the ball between his feet to keep his possession.
The game moves fast. One minute the ball is down near our goal keeper, then in the next Bishop and Devlin are moving in formation with the rest of the team. It’s kind of fascinating to watch. They’re quick, strategic, and damn good at moving the ball.
Bishop and Devlin are a force to be reckoned with, both on their own and when they attack together.
The ball passes in a blur from player to player on our team. I find myself cheering with more heart.
“Come on guys!”
I shuffle down the sidelines, closer to the group of girls who haven’t shut up since the first whistle. They’re better at this than I am. I listen to what they’re saying for ideas, but all they’ve got is endless girlish squealing when Devlin has the ball.
“You’ve got this, ten!” I cup my hands around my mouth and jump when Bishop pulls off a cool twist that cages the ball between his feet. “Get the ball!”
Bishop must hear me, because his wide smile is energetic as he drives down the field, passing to Devlin. Together they sprint as a coordinated force. Their opponents don’t know how to counter their attack. Devlin has the ball and he lines up a shot, kicking it hard. It flies in a beautiful arc and misses the diving goalie’s outstretched hands, landing in the back of the net.
The whistle sounds, confirming Devlin’s goal.
“Woo! Go Coyotes!”
I have no idea what’s come over me, but I’m getting sucked into
the game. It’s becoming easier to cheer them on. I don’t have to fake my enthusiasm. Most of the team smiles at me when they run by, like I’m their personal one-woman cheer squad.
Halfway through the match, I remember what’s coming at the end. I freeze mid-clap.
Crap.
The game has swept me up so much, I forgot that cheering isn’t enough. If I want to get paid, I have to kiss Devlin.
It’s the last thing I’d ever do, but…
As my eyes track him moving around the field like a bullet, my stomach flips. I’m not dreading a kiss. The energy of the game is feeding my adrenaline.
Heaven—or maybe hell—help me, I’m anticipating his lips on mine.
The resounding truth in that thought makes me sink my teeth into my cheek.
I want to kiss Devlin Murphy. Even if it’s fake.
Devlin catches my eye. His expression is hungry. My heart pounds faster and my breath hitches.
God, I’m messed up.
Devlin winks before stealing the ball lightning-quick from #11, a vicious grin stretching his face as he directs the ball around. Eleven seems pissed off. Devlin heads for the net, unstoppable as he closes in on the target. I hold my breath, my palms tingling. If Devlin scores now, the game is over.
“Go!” I yell, breathless.
Devlin lines up the perfect shot between the two defenders. His foot connects with the ball and my heart stops as it soars into the net.
I clap so hard my hands hurt. This is only a practice match, but something about the win has my excitement exploding free.
Bishop and the other Silver Lake High players yell like banshees. Defeat hangs over the opposing team. Devlin circles the field with his fist in the air, ending his jog a few feet in front of me. The rest of his team’s celebration fades into background noise as Devlin’s arm slowly drops.
This is it.
His intense look pulls me in, making my feet move like I’m possessed. I’m still clapping as I reach him. My cheeks hurt from beaming.
“Nice goal.” I swallow thickly.
Tempting Devil: Sinners and Saints Book 2 Page 12
