Devil May Care: Enemies-to-Lovers Standalone Romance: Boys of Preston Prep

by Angel Lawson

  My dad cut her out, erased her, cancelled her.

  Something uncomfortable clicks in my head when I think about it. I realize that what happened to Hollis is what’s happening to Gwendolyn—all at my father’s insistence. As an entire school, we’d just erased her from our school society. And we were so fucking good at it, too. I was so good at it. Almost like I’d had practice. I’d done exactly what he did to Hollis.

  Holy shit.

  I shove my chair back with a loud scrape against the slate floors, something in the pit of my stomach roiling. I shouldn’t even be surprised. This is what he’s always wanted, isn’t it? A little clone of him to show off like a pony—a son who is just as successful as him, but not a single iota more. He’ll lift me up while all at once holding me back.

  I press my palms to the table, leveling my father with an open-faced look. “I know you think that your way is the only way. That the way you handle things is how to get shit done. You may be right, but you also may be wrong. I’d think that after proving that I have control over the Devils, and control over the swim team, and control over every aspect of my life at that school, you’d back the fuck off.”

  His face grows red, nostrils flaring. “The detention—"

  “Is bullshit!” I slap my palms on the table. “Do you realize that half the reason I’m being punished is because the hardline attitude you suggested we take on Gwendolyn Adams makes me look petty and immature? The administrators and coaches don’t like it. The detention, the captainship, it’s all just damage control. It’s me, cleaning up your mess. But I have some good news for you. I’ve got everything under control; the Devils, the swim team, and, yes, even Gwendolyn Adams. I tried it your way. Now you need to let me handle it on my own terms. Preston Prep is my domain, not yours.”

  With that I walk off, not wanting to give him any more of my time or energy.

  He doesn’t deserve it.

  Hunger strikes halfway back to campus, once the tightly wound ball of anxiety starts to unravel in the pit of my stomach. There’s a party tonight out on the lake, but I have zero interest in going to it. Reagan’s already texted me three times asking if I’m going to come. That’s enough to solidify the decision for me.

  On a whim, I pull into the parking lot for the Northridge Diner. The place is packed, but that’s not a surprise. It’s a Saturday night. Northridge Diner—or ‘The Nerd’, coined by the unfortunate acronym of NRD—has always been a hot spot for the local kids to hang out. They make killer burgers and milkshakes. It’s worth the wait.

  What I’m not sure it’s worth is running into Gwendolyn on the way in.

  We both reach the front door at the same time, but then stop abruptly.

  “Oh,” she says, eyes sweeping over my face, obviously looking for the remains of her paint job, “go ahead.” She doesn’t even have the good grace to look contrite about the primer still glued to my eyebrows.

  “No,” I hold open the door, inhale hissing through my flared nose, “after you. I insist.”

  The diver, Tyson, walks up with a small girl at his side, their hands linked. A strange sensation flutters in my chest at the sight of them—obviously a couple.

  “Hamilton,” he says, eyes shifting between us. “Ah, what’s going on?”

  “Just headed back from a firing squad disguised as a dinner with my parents,” I say, uncharacteristically honest. “You guys?”

  Tyson looks at Gwen, and when she doesn’t answer, takes the reins. “I had a competition today.” The girl squeezes his hand. “Oh, sorry, this is Presley. Pres, this is Hamilton. He and Gwen are co-captains of the swim team.”

  “Oh, you made the shirts!” she says, face breaking into a beaming smile. “Those sound hilarious.”

  “Thanks,” I say, shifting awkwardly. My eyes flick to Gwen, who looks similarly uncomfortable, like she’s waiting for a bomb to drop. Makes sense. I’ve devoted the last six months to destroying any vestiges of her social life and here she is with two new friends. I’m a wildcard. “It was a team effort, though. Gwen helped.”

  Her eyes finally meet mine, eyebrows pulling together in confusion.

  A customer walks out, prompting us to walk in and get in line. There’s no way to avoid one another, and although Gwen and I both feel the tension thickening between us, Tyson and Presley seem so into one another that I don’t think they notice. Luckily, the line moves fast and their group orders first. When I step up to the counter, Presley insists, “Come find us and sit with us, okay?”

  “Nah, that’s okay. I don’t want to intrude.” Tyson looks at Gwendolyn, who just shrugs before walking off with Presley. I exhale and study him, trying to find what tack to take with this guy. Ten minutes ago, it probably would have been some form of aggression. But I’m suddenly feeling a lot less like I want to punch him in the face, so I decide my sense of earnestness could probably use some exercise. “She and I… we kind of had it out this morning at detention.”

  “So I heard.” He bobs his head. “By the way, you uhhh, have some paint on your eyelashes there.” He grins, pointing at my face.

  I roll my eyes, not even bothering to pick at it. “It was either keep the paint or lose the eyelashes.”

  He snorts a laugh. “Seriously, you two need to chill out and work past your shit. The Nerd is neutral territory. None of your Devils will see you fraternizing with the enemy or whatever. Can’t you just give it a break for one night?”

  I run my hand though my hair, nodding. “That could sound doable.”

  I think.

  He leaves me to place my order, and soon, I’m walking toward their booth in the back. Tyson and Presley are on one bench and Gwendolyn is on the other. The sheer awkwardness of the moment almost makes me leave. Sitting next to the Freak? The bitch who, just hours ago, covered my face in paint?

  Well, I did say she had a haunted, dusty, self-righteous vagina.

  I sigh, shoulders dropping.

  I guess that maybe makes us even.

  Approaching the table, I quickly slide onto the bench, like pulling off a Band-Aid. Gwendolyn doesn’t even spare me a look when she shifts away, nearly clinging to the wall. I only just barely restrain my eye-roll. As if she hasn’t let me, wanted me, to touch her body before. I know this is different. This is real life, not some pent-up, ragey grope-fest in a dark room.

  Seriously, why are the lights so bright in here?

  “You said you had a family dinner?” Presley says, chewing on a fry. “But here you are eating another meal. I know Tyson eats a lot, but...”

  “No,” I admit, “dinner with my parents was a disaster. I left before the food could even touch my plate.”

  “Sounds tense.” Tyson asks.

  “Tense is an understatement.” I nod, putting some ketchup onto my burger. “We haven’t gotten along for a while now. Like six months.”

  Gwendolyn fidgets next to me but keeps her eyes on her food.

  I’m dreading further questions, but thankfully, Tyson’s girl seems to have a short attention span because she blurts out, “I figured it out!” She stares at Gwendolyn. “I knew you looked really familiar. You were at the Community Service Day, a few months ago, right?”

  Gwen looks at her pensively. “Down at the park?”

  “Yes! I knew it!” Presley’s grin is wide and bright. “Wait. Your mom is the one that started the summer meals program for school kids, right?”

  “That’s her.” Gwen smiles fondly. “It’s kind of her passion project.”

  I take a bite of my hamburger and only distantly listen to them ramble on about their good deeds. Swallowing and wiping my mouth, I raise an eyebrow at Tyson and say, “Guess we can’t compare to these two do-gooders.”

  Presley turns to me, winding her arm around his. “Tyson volunteers his time down at the pool in the summer giving the kids diving lessons. It’s so amazingly adorable. Actually, that’s how we met.”

  I take a long drag on my milkshake while Gwendolyn asks for more details. Presley hap
pily complies, going into some nonsense about watching the kids at the pool and Tyson needing a volunteer. Meet-cute ensues, blahblahblah…

  Fucking gag me.

  “Anyway,” Presley continues, “he spent two hours trying to teach me how to do a basic dive off the dock—”

  “I’m pretty sure she was faking,” Tyson adds, “just to get me to stick around.”

  “Yeah, right,” she laughs, touching the tip of his nose with her finger, “you’re just a terrible coach.”

  “Hey! I never claimed to be a good coach, just an amazing diver.”

  “You’re good at a lot of things, baby.” The two of them grin soppily at one another. I grab my hamburger and cram it into my mouth for another bite. Gwendolyn stabs her milkshake with her straw. Under the table her knee bounces nervously. My foot accidentally bumps hers and she flinches, shifting uncomfortably.

  “So how long have you two known one another?” Presley asks, looking between us.

  “Oh, um,” Gwendolyn starts, “I don’t know. A long time.”

  I lower my burger and nod. “Since grade school.”

  “We were just thrown together a lot because of swim,” Gwendolyn adds, smiling tightly. “Forced companionship.”

  I get a flash of memory of her from back then, skinny as a rail with two askew pigtails. She wore the same red and white team bathing suit every day and habitually lost her goggles. After so long, I took to packing two, so she could always borrow one. In return, she’d always bring me a snack, because her nanny always packed extra. Neither of us had to ask. Things were different back then. Simpler. At that age, having friends wasn’t about status or cliques or posturing. It was just two kids, sitting with their feet dipped into the deep end, trying to see who could kick the biggest splash.

  Once, I even let her win.

  I blink, coming back to the present.

  Presley is still talking. “Wow, really? That’s cool, though. You guys have, like... real history. I only moved here three years ago, so I’m not sure I’ll ever really feel like I fit in with the girls at Holy Innocence. All their friendships were formed long before I started.”

  Tyson tosses his arm over her shoulder and pulls her in for a hug. I can’t help but watch them and wonder if his actions are genuine or just a play. He seems genuine, like an actual ‘nice guy’, which is about the only annoying thing about him. The only time I’m overtly nice to a girl like that is when I’m hoping to get some later.

  The cross hanging around both of their necks kind of makes me wonder if that’s even on the table and, if it’s not, then what’s even the point?

  “Just because we’ve gone to school together for years and swim on the same team doesn’t mean we’re in the same group of friends,” Gwendolyn says, her knee bouncing even faster. “That’s not how Preston Prep works. Isn’t that right, Hamilton?”

  I narrow my eyes, putting my burger down. Does she really want to start this here?

  Tyson frowns, looking between us. “If I understand correctly, these two have a bit of an ongoing feud.”

  His girlfriend’s eyebrows arch. “Oh, seriously? I guess I noticed a little tension, but I wasn’t sure if you two were like, exes? Or maybe you’re into each other? There’s a whole vibe happening.”

  Gwendolyn barks an obnoxious laugh before I get a chance to. Her knee moves like a jackhammer, driving me nuts. I clamp a hand down on her thigh, stilling her completely.

  “That vibe—” she begins, trying to pry my hand from her thigh. To spite her, I press down harder. “—is called mutual loathing. Hatred. Disgust. Distrust. Because the thing about Hamilton is that he’s a complete prick—”

  “And she’s a complete bitch,” I add, tossing in my own jab as I dig my fingers into her knee.

  “Also, he’s a pretentious, spoiled man-baby.”

  “And she’s a self-righteous control freak.”

  “And despite billing himself as a competitive hard-worker,” she digs her nails into my wrist, “he absolutely crumbles at the faintest whiff of anything resembling adversity.”

  “Whoa, vicious!” Presley laughs in that awkward way where she’s clearly trying to dispel the tension. She gives Tyson a playful look, “What are we going to do with him?”

  “I mean, we could technically kill him.” Gwen leans forward with an open, earnest face. “But it’s just that we’d have to hunt down all the horcruxes first, you know?”

  “As you can see,” I conclude to Presley, refusing to acknowledge Gwendolyn just compared me to Voldemort. I mean, obviously, if we’re making Harry Potter comparisons, I’m the Draco Malfoy of the group. “Voluntarily spending time with her is an obscene form of self-torture.”

  “Exactly.” Gwendolyn looks at me for the first time that night and I see the flicker of fire in her eyes. A deranged smile creeps onto her face and I feel the tug of a sharp grin pulling at my own lips.

  “Ooookay,” Presley says from across the table, jabbing Tyson with an elbow. “That’s…um, babe? Ready to go?”

  The two grab their trays and hover over the table while Gwendolyn and I continue our silently hostile standoff.

  “Gwen?”

  She blinks twice, removing her hand from mine, then looks up at Tyson. “Yeah, coming.”

  I ease out of the booth, standing to give her room to pass. When she brushes by me, her curvy ass grazes my groin. Accident? Maybe. On purpose? God knows. Neither option stops the heat that rushes through me or the way my pants suddenly get tighter.

  “It was nice meeting you, Hamilton,” Presley says. “Hopefully I’ll see you at some of the meets.”

  “Nice to meet you, too,” I murmur, dragging my eyes away from watching Gwendolyn toss her trash into the bin a few feet away. “Thanks for the company.”

  Following them out, I part from them and head to my car. In the rearview mirror, I watch them approach Riggins’ beat up truck. He holds the door for them both, like a gentleman, and Presley gives him a kiss on the way in. Adams smiles in appreciation.

  That’s who she should be spending her time with, anyway. Nice, regular people. People who get her and her need to help others. Not assholes like me.

  I start up the car and peel out of the parking lot, tires squealing on the pavement. All this time I thought Gwendolyn Adams was wrong for Preston Prep. In reality, Preston Prep was wrong for her.

  15

  Gwen

  The knock comes only a few minutes after I walk into my dorm. I instantly regret answering it, because there he is.

  Hamilton’s broad form darkens my doorway.

  I tiredly ask, “What do you want, Bates?” and turn back to my room. After the last time, I’m smarter than to think he won’t invite himself in, and he does exactly that, closing the door behind him with a soft snick. “If you’re looking to get your face drenched with primer again, then I’m sorry to inform you I’m fresh out.”

  It was a shock to see him at The Nerd, to say the least. Devils typically don’t lower themselves to eat at any establishment that lacks a bare minimum of two chandeliers. But Hamilton just looked so off, his whole demeanor slack and subdued. Dejected. It wasn’t a look he wore well. When he said he’d come from his parents' house, I figured that explained it. I suppose even spoiled brats get frustrated with their parents at some point. For once, I could actually relate.

  “I was on the way back to my room,” he says, long fingers trailing over my dresser. His face is shadowed by the low light of my lamp, but the blank hollows of his eyes look just as tired as before.

  When no further explanation is forthcoming, I sigh in annoyance. “And?”

  He pulls a book from my shelf, just like last time, and fans through the pages. “Instead, I came here.”

  I lean against my desk, arms crossed. “Bates.”

  “Adams.”

  All it takes is one look from him and that flickering spark between us—that weird mixture of anger and lust—flares instantly to life.

  I just want to pull my hai
r out.

  It isn’t fair.

  It isn’t right that he can walk in here and, with a couple words and a single semi-hostile glance, send my body alight. Is this how it’s going to be? Has he completely ruined me for other guys? Will I ever be able to feel this painfully alive with a nice, normal guy, or are hostile glances and the quick-fire exchange of barbed insults all that will ever do it for me?

  Damn it.

  “You should go,” I tell him, hugging my middle, “or someone might see you. A Devil, or someone else. Maybe even Reagan.”

  He turns and looks at me, hands stuffed into his pockets. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. “I don’t want to.”

  I drop my gaze. “Keep hanging around like this, some of my freak may rub off on you.”

  After a beat of silence, he asks, “You really want me to go?”

  “Of course, I want you to go.” I drop my arms, exhaling in an angry rush. “I didn’t invite you here. Why would I? Wasn’t thirty minutes ago, you were calling me a bitch!”

  “And you called me a prick.” He stalks forward and my heart jumps, banging wildly against my ribs. “And then you rubbed your ass on my cock.”

  I gape at him, wide-eyed. “I did not!”

  “Did too.”

  “It wasn’t—I didn’t even—" I huff a breath, feeling warm-cheeked and flustered. “It was an accident!”

  He gives a low chuckle, head tilted curiously as he takes me in. “Sure it was.”

  “It was!”

  Not even I believe it.

  “Just admit it, Adams.” He’s inches away, jaw clenched, eyes darting to my mouth. “Admit that you want me.”

  I roll my eyes. “Fuck off, Bates.”

  “I’m not afraid to say it,” he challenges, pushing close enough that I can feel the warm wash of his breath against my ear when he whispers, “I want to fuck you.”

  My breath hitches and I know he hears it, feels it. I want to tell him that it’ll never happen. That I have standards. That I’m not even interested. That I definitely don’t lay in bed some nights and think of him doing that—fucking me—while getting myself off.