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

by Angel Lawson

  But if that’s the case, she never shows it—is never anything but his biggest cheerleader. She looks at me, nodding. “Water and some Skittles?”

  “You got it.”

  Dad passes me some money and I head to the lobby, stretching my legs gratefully. As I head up the aisle, I pass a few people I recognize. Emory’s family is here, including his sister Vandy. Two years younger, she gives me a small, friendly-ish smile. As the other systematically isolated student at Preston, we’ve had an unspoken bond. Hers is out of protection, her brother making it clear no one is to mess with her. Me? I’d never think protection was part of the way people treat me at school, but Hamilton did say that was part of it, didn’t he? To make things easier on me than worse?

  The concessions are a fundraiser for the dance program, so it’s packed. I wait in line for a long while, scrolling down my phone and ignoring the circus going on around me. That is, until I hear shrill laughter from across the room. I know that voice.

  “Oh my god, right?” she cackles. “He doesn’t even pretend he’s not a fucking misfit. No wonder he had to have the lead. He just wanted an excuse to wear a skirt.”

  Casually, I turn, tilting my head in the direction of Campbell’s obnoxious laughter. She’s standing next to one of the large promotional posters that have Micha front and center. It’s not surprising that she’s not alone. Emory is with her, as well as Heston, Reagan, and Ansel. I scan the area for Hamilton, but I don’t see him.

  “I’m sure at their house this is the norm.” Heston says, flicking poster-Micha in the face. “It’s like all of them go out of their way to be massive freaks. Can you imagine living in that human reject pile, with the slutty blowjob freak and Morticia the robot freak?”

  Campbell laughs. “It’s no wonder the other kids’ freaks are emerging.”

  Heston looks at the poster and then frames it with his fingers, as if setting up a camera shot. “Queen of the freaks.”

  Ansel cries, “Hear ye, hear ye!” and they all say, “All hail the queen!”

  It’s my turn at the counter. My hands shake when I grab two waters out of the cooler, giving the student behind the table a limp smile as I request a pack of Skittles. I hand over the money and try to figure out how to get away without them seeing me. I know I shouldn’t hide, but honestly, it would take almost nothing right now for me to walk up and start throwing punches, and I don’t need the trouble that such an escalation would bring.

  I cut through the crowd, paying more attention to the jerks behind me than where I’m going, and end up slamming right into someone.

  “Sorry—” Strong hands steady my arms. I look up and grimace.

  Hamilton stares back at me. “Watch where you’re going, Adams.”

  Adams. I blink at him and see the aloof distance in his eyes. They dart to the side and that’s when I notice Xavier. He gives me a small smile and I twist out of Hamilton’s grip.

  “Dude, your brother is awesome,” Xavier says. “I’m not a big fan of dance or anything, but he’s killing it.”

  I try to smile back at him, but my face isn’t working. “Thank you, Xavier.”

  A beat of awkwardness ebbs between the three of us.

  He nods and looks between us. “I’ll, uh, meet you in few minutes.” He slaps Hamilton on the shoulder and strolls off. Before I can take another breath, I’m dragged into a small storage closet off the lobby.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes searching my face.

  My laugh is a tight, acerbic thing. God, so many things are wrong. Too many to go into here. “Nothing.”

  He rolls his beautiful gray eyes. “Gwendolyn.”

  I look away. “Oh, so now I’m Gwendolyn.”

  He sighs, face pinching sourly. “That’s what you’re mad about? Xavier was right there. I panicked.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Your friends are jerks.”

  “This, and other news at ten.” He sighs and rakes his long fingers through his hair. “Seriously? We know they’re jerks. What did they do this time?”

  I purse my lips, wondering if it would even do any good to explain. I eventually say, “They were out there in the lobby, mocking Micha. Loudly. I don’t think I need to tell you why they were making fun of him.”

  He holds my eye. “Campbell is just bitchy because her sister wanted the part. You know the Clarkes can’t handle being told no. So yeah, she’s going to take it out on whoever she can—in this case, a kid.”

  I shake my head, feeling my nostrils flare in frustration. “I don’t like it. This wasn’t your garden-variety childish, playful bullshit. They’re really, aggressively mean about it, and it makes me worried for him. Micha’s not like other kids—”

  He snorts. “No, he’s not.”

  I blink at him, mouth parting in shock, before turning on my heel.

  He reaches for my waist, turning me back to him. “No, I didn’t mean it like—I didn’t mean it like anything. Micha is different. You just said so.” The next thing I know he’s got his arms around me, pulling me against his chest. “They’re assholes, Gwendolyn. Micha’s a fucking rock star, okay? He’s authentic and completely true to himself. That drives them crazy, because it’s something they can never have.”

  My arms are between us, acting as a barrier, and I can feel his heartbeat notching up before he even begins bending to kiss me.

  I turn my face away before he can, his lips crashing clumsily into my jaw.

  There’s a beat of silence before he asks, “What, are you mad at me?”

  “No.” I sigh, eyes fixed to the collar of his shirt. “I just… I need to get back to my seat. They’ll be looking for me.”

  He inhales deeply but doesn’t let go. “Please don’t be mad about all this. That’s exactly what they want.”

  “I’m getting really tired of you telling me not to get upset about upsetting things.” The frustration returns, my jaw tightening. “It’s easy for you to say that. You don’t have any vulnerabilities. You’re Teflon. If someone calls you a slur, you have the privilege of not actually being that slur. Stop telling me this shit isn’t a big deal. It’s not a big deal to you. Let it be a big deal to me, because my little brother isn’t fucking Teflon, Hamilton.”

  When I shoulder out of his embrace, his arms land heavily against his thighs, mouth flattening into a grim line. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, having been there...” He sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Well, never mind what I meant. I’m not saying it excuses it.”

  “It’s just that this is going to be really hard, you know?” I say, gesturing between us. “With the Devils, and school, and our families... it’s going to be hard enough without you dismissing their antics all the time.”

  He nods in understanding. “I’m sorry, okay? I promise, we’ll figure it out.” And then he stresses, “I’ll figure it out. Baby steps, right?” Since when does Hamilton Bates have patience? He’ll tire of this situation and me long before anything gets resolved. “Just work with me, here,” he pleads.

  I sigh, finally meeting his gaze. The line of his shoulders is curved dejectedly, jaw tight, as if he’s waiting for the worst. I ultimately give in, threading my arms around his waist, and fall into his embrace when he pulls me closer.

  His exhale into my hair sounds more relieved than anything. “Will you meet me tomorrow? Early, before everyone gets back at school? We can hang out a little.”

  A smile tugs at my lips. “My room?”

  “Yep.”

  When he bends to kiss me, I let him, wanting to feel his lips on mine for one tiny moment of bliss, wanting to let them wash away the bitterness I feel. His kiss could tell the whole story of the last few minutes. Soft at first, gentle and tentative; an apology. Harder then, head tilted as he deepens the kiss. And finally, a handful of aborted pull-aways, his mouth dipping back in after every hesitant pause.

  I pull away sooner than I’d like, slipping back into the lobby. The Devils are gone now, the sparse lobby s
ignaling the end of intermission. At my seat, I reach into my pockets and pull out Michaela’s water and candy, passing it over.

  “Why are your lips so red?” Michaela asks, tearing at the package.

  The lights go low just then, granting me a reprieve, but not before I glance down the row at Brayden, who’d heard our sister. Guilt flickers heavily in my belly.

  I touch my lips as the music starts to play. That kiss was a confirmation—one that we’re both willing to make this work.

  25

  Hamilton

  “What are you doing up here?” I ask as I duck under the center beam of the Devil’s tower.

  It’s early, eight a.m. I left before either of my parents were up, figuring I’d get here way before the rest of the students will arrive. No one willingly wants to come back to Preston after a long break, especially with exams on the horizon. It feels longer than a week since I left Preston Prep for the break. Those days in Gwendolyn’s bed feel like a foggy memory, but if she manages to get back to campus early, hopefully we can have a little more time together before we fall back into our routine. I’d come up here hoping to sneak a covert peek of her dorm building.

  Xavier’s perched on one of the open arched windows, looking down at his phone. “Parents sent me off early. Just enjoying some peace and quiet before I have to go back to the dorm.”

  I pause. “Want me to fuck off?”

  But he just says, “Nah, you’re cool,” finally putting away his phone. “Is it just me, or does it get harder and harder every time we have to come back? Let me tell you how much I’m not looking forward to being subjected to Ansel’s weird music genre flavor of the week.”

  I grimace. “God, remember his dumb ‘core’ phase?”

  “Mathcore. What the hell even is that?” Xavier snorts. “Still better than the ragtime jug band phase, though.”

  I look around the space—it’s gotten sort of excessively gross over the past couple years—and kick an empty beer can into the corner. “It does, though.” At his inquisitive glance, I elaborate, “Get harder, coming back.”

  “Well, it’s probably different for you, you don’t even like it at home,” Xavier says, kicking back against the side of the window. “Did you know I have two dogs?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “No.”

  “Piper and Melon,” he says, turning his gaze to the empty courtyard below. “Black labs. I barely get to see them anymore.”

  I roll my eyes. “If this is supposed to be a guilt trip, then I’m disappointed. You can do better than missing your dogs. Aren’t you leaving behind three hot tubs and a yacht?”

  Xavier catches my smile and laughs. “No, not a guilt trip. Let’s face it, my parents would have found a reason to ship me off eventually, with or without your dad sending you here.”

  I’m momentarily caught off guard. “Yeah, but you’ve been pinning that shit on me for months.”

  “Well, I was pissed at you because of all that stuff with Skylar.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “But I’m a Devil. I’m not allowed to be mad at you for that. So, I just found something I could be mad about.”

  “Wait.” I blink at him, stunned. “Really?”

  He nods. “Yeah, I’m not going to pretend I’m a pillar of maturity or anything. It’s weird, isn’t it? All the dumb shit we hide to save face with all these jackasses.” He looks me dead in the eye. “Kind of like how you’ve been fucking Gwen.”

  I go utterly still, an aborted exhale dropping like a brick in my chest. He’s looking at me like he’s daring me to lie, and I probably should. I should at least try. But a bigger part of me wants to say ‘fuck it’, and just go to one of those windows and tell the whole goddamned campus that, yes, she’s mine.

  I want to tell them that it’s not just about the sex. What I feel for her goes way beyond that, now. This girl… she’s in my head all the time. When was the last time I had to tell myself that things would get better? That I’d just need to make it to the next achievement, the next grade, the next label, and then it would get better?

  It already is better.

  Being with her—being challenged by her, seen by her, liked by her—makes it better. It makes me better.

  Last night, at the play, she’d looked so hurt, and the last thing I want is to hurt her more. That’s what fuels the instinct of shutting down when we’re around others. It’s a shield of protection. For her. For me. For us.

  But I know one thing for certain; I never want this to stop.

  It’s a big move for me, but after talking to Hollis, I’m ready to take it. I’m going to have to let the Devils know, but I have to go about it carefully. Strategically. Once they find out, so will my father, and from there my life shifts dramatically. For both me and Gwendolyn. I need more time to get it right, to lay out a plan.

  So, I can’t tell the Devils.

  But maybe I can tell a friend.

  “You’re wrong,” I tell Xavier, something unwinding in my chest. “It’s more than fucking.”

  Xavier watches me for a long moment, hands flexing around his phone. “Don’t fucking do this, Hamilton.” He drops from the window’s ledge, stone-faced as he turns to me. “We’ve put those people through enough of our bullshit. And more than a little of that was at your command. Now, what? What happens after the shine wears off of this exciting conquest of yours, huh? What are you going to do to her then? How ugly is it going to be?”

  “She isn’t a conquest,” I insist.

  “Bullshit, dude. I know you.” He gives me a long look, an edge of disgust curling against his mouth. “She was the one girl at this school you couldn’t have. It’s so typical of you, I don’t know how we all didn’t see it coming a mile away.”

  “You’re wrong,” I say, shrugging, and I’m not even mad, because Xavier has my number. That’s exactly how all this shit started. But it’s sure as hell not how it’s going to end.

  He looks at me in disbelief. “How am I wrong?”

  “If people found out we were together,” I explain, “do you know what I risk? My family, probably. My dad would shit a brick. I wouldn’t be the leader of the Devils anymore, that’s for damn sure. My trust fund, my eligibility for college, all of it.”

  Xavier rolls his eyes. “Is this where you tell me that you’re still doing it, even though you could lose everything? Because dude, I know you. The bigger the risk, the more you enjoy it.”

  “No, I was going to say,” I narrow my eyes. “That despite all that, the thing that scares me the most about this getting out is what it’d do to her. Losing all that shit would suck, my entire life would be turned upside down. But I could take it.” I look out the arched window, toward her dorm, just in time to catch her figure disappearing through the door of the building. “But I couldn’t take it if something happened to her—especially because of me.”

  Xavier is silent, watching me closely.

  “Which is why I need to know...” I look at him carefully. “Are you really my friend?” Before he can answer, I clarify, “I mean, really my friend, not just someone who falls in line because they know I can make life harder for them if they don’t.”

  “Well.” His eyebrows pull together in thought. “Yeah, I guess. If you’re really not screwing with Gwen, that is. Because I don’t want to be friends with the kind of person who’d do that. Not anymore. I’m fucking over it, Hamilton, I mean it.”

  I nod in understanding. “Then you can’t tell anyone. I’m serious, not even Pippin and Melanie.”

  His head tilts in confusion. “Who the fuck are Pippin and Melanie?”

  I give him a long-suffering look. “Your dogs.”

  “My dogs are Piper and Melon, you fuckwit.” He laughs and I can’t help the way my mouth curves into a grin.

  I remember Hollis’ advice.

  ‘Find out who your real friends are and whether or not they’ll support you.’

  This at least puts me on the path.

  The best way to get to Hayden from the Devil’s tower
is to cut through the entrance to the athletic fields. I start down the path that curves around the side of the stadium, thrumming with the anticipation of getting to Gwendolyn’s dorm room. Just as I pass the gate, I hear the sounds of clatter and clinking, smell the harsh scent of chemicals in the air. The unmistakable smell of spray paint. The thing that really draws my attention, however, is the sound of muffled laughter.

  I go through the gate and am greeted by the sight of Heston, holding a can of spray paint, and standing right in front of the massive wall that Gwendolyn and I have spent weeks prepping and painting. He’s got this dumb, shit-eating grin on his face, which never bodes well. My stomach drops when I see Ansel up on a ladder, a paint brush in his hand. Emory stands underneath him, a cigarette in one hand and a stack of papers in the other.

  None of them see me as I walk toward them, which is probably good because there’s no fucking way I can hide the shock and building rage on my face. Are they seriously screwing up all of our hard work?

  “What the fuck are you doing?” It comes out in a low growl.

  “Dude,” Heston turns to me and laughs, oblivious to my anger. “You’re early. We were going to present it as a surprise, but you’ve got to see this. It’s completely epic.”

  I finally get a good view of the wall and I just stand there, staring at it in disbelief, because it can’t be real.

  Plastered there is a massive poster from yesterday’s performance. It features Gwendolyn’s little brother dressed in his flamboyant costume. Dozens of smaller photos surround him—programs from the show. There’s a tag overhead in hot pink paint. “Queen of the Freaks!”

  I lunge at Heston and grab the spray paint, then shout to the guys, “Get the fuck down, now!”

  Ansel looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but Emory just stands there with a dumbass look on his face.

  “Dude, what’s your fucking deal?” Heston says, looking like he wants to take me. I can see him measuring me up, wondering if he’d come out on top. We both know he won’t.