Page 17 of Her Devil

George and Taylor aren’t finished, more than happy for an extra line of that cheap-ass snow as they grab another couple of drinks from a passing waiter.

“You do what you want,” Nick clips. “But I’m out.”

“You going be okay getting everyone in your cute little BMW?” I ask.

“I’ll manage.”

He stalks off, the rest of the guys following after deciding taking girls back on the first night was potentially not the best idea they’ve ever had.Finally, a brain cell has been located between them.

No rules have been set… yet. But I’m reasonably sure inviting girls back to the house is going to be frowned upon.

“So, pool?” Taylor asks, draping his arms over the shoulders of two brunettes loitering nearby.

“I’ve not got any swimwear with me,” one of them replies, a cute blush on her cheeks.

“Me neither.” Taylor winks.

The other girl grabs his hand, setting off in the direction of the pool at speed, her heels clicking against the parquet floor as her friend trails behind. George manhandles three or four other girls in the same direction, all of them with more alcohol than needed in their system. Good job one of us is still sober, I guess.

Trailing along behind them, I follow the girly giggling before hearing the splash and making my way to the poolside, dragging a table to where a couple of the girls are sitting, George holding their attention rapt.

“You look interesting enough,” one of the brunettes declares, locking her arm through mine and leading me away to a quieter spot at the other end of the pool.

Taylor turns some music on his phone, resting it on the table, before shucking his pants with the rest of his clothes and jumping into the water, his boxers covering whatever modesty he’s supposed to have. But with a body like that, I get why he’s not shy of joining in.

Although, after what I saw of everyone at the fights the other night, there isn’t anyone struggling on that front. It’s a surprise there isn’t a gym at the house for everyone to keep up with it, or maybe that’s intentional too.

“So, one of Taylor’s housemates,” the brunette says, giving me her attention and slumping into a chair. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Well…” I smile. “That could take us a while.”

“Tamsin is enjoying herself, so I guess that means we’ve got time,” she decides with a wobbly nod of her head.

“Yeah, I’m sure you do. Are you having a good night?” I ask, changing the subject and dropping into the chair next to her, whilst attempting to keep half an eye on what’s happening in the water. The last thing I need is for one of their drunk asses to drown.

“I’m just along for the ride.” She hiccups. “Apparently, I wouldn’t know a good time if it slapped me in the face and I need to let my hair down.”

“Metaphorically, of course.”

“Of course.”

Her dark hair cascades in smooth lines over her shoulder as she turns to check on her friend, her green eyes muted by all the alcohol in her system. Her features are delicate and petite, her cheekbones high, and the column of her neck long. She kicks off her heels, flexing her toes in the dimmed light as she stretches out.

Feet have never been my thing, although I know more than one person who’d willingly offer her four figures or more for one lick of that smooth, pale skin. But as she rests back in the chair, it’s clear she’s not preparing to join her friend.

“Not joining in?” I ask, my interest piqued.

“Absolutely not. I have classes in the morning and I’m not getting up early to sort my hair once it’s full of chlorine.”

Okay, so she’s not that drunk after all then.

“Fair enough.” I shrug, happy to just sit in the quiet and watch from a distance.

“You’re not joining in either,” she comments with a yawn.

“Sober,” I reply. “It’d take more than a couple of lines and a handful of drinks to get me in there, underwear or not,” I add as a wet bra slaps onto the tiles not ten feet from us.

“Come on, Ivy,” her friend calls. “You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.”

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