Page 30 of Her Devils

Thank fuck, that means I haven’t fucked her.

“Every time I saw you, it was impossible to get close to you, but this time I got a VIP ticket.” Starla lifts the VIP card attached to a lanyard that falls in the valley between her fake breasts. It’s a slow, deliberate movement orchestrated to draw my eyes to her tits.

The way she says “VIP ticket” rubs me wrong. It’s like she’s implying that paying extra for her ticket means—okay, I’m being a fucking hypocrite. Last year, the guys and I instructed the Devils’ sales team to try to sell most of the VIP tickets to our female fans, specifically because that would mean easy pickings.

Until a few weeks ago, I’d have taken Starla to the bathroom or found a dark corner, and I wouldn’t have even needed to ask her to get on her knees in front of me. She’d have been the first of a few girls I’d hang out with to pass the time between jumps. I wouldn’t have even bothered taking her up to my room because not only does that give women the wrong impression—like that they have a chance of becoming more than a faceless quickie—but some women are also really hard to shake when everything is said and done.

Does that make me an asshole? Maybe, but I never claimed I’m a saint.

Starla keeps talking about how she’s been doing some modeling and a lot of other stuff I only half listen to.

I’m distracted by a sudden realization. I’m not interested.

It isn’t just because I’m supposed to be on my best behavior and turning a new leaf and all that bullshit.

It isn’t even because Lenley accepted our deal on the condition that we wouldn’t sleep with anyone else as long as we’re with her.

It’s because as I look at the woman’s tight dress and fake tits, I can’t help but picture that same dress on my stepsister.

The idea of Lenley’s natural, perfect tits wrapped in pink latex instantly makes me hard.

I focus back on the woman in front of me with the intention of thanking her for her support and going to look for Len. I don’t give a fuck if she’s with Channing, I’m going to join them or wait for my turn. Whatever.

“Peyton?” Starla asks with a frown, her white, pointy manicured nails closing around my bicep. “Aren’t you going to buy me a drink?”

I open my mouth to tell her that drinks are free with her VIP pass and wish her a good night when the most irritating voice in the entire world chimes in.

“Why would you drink with this loser? Letmebuy you a drink, and you’ll be able to say that you partied with the future world champion,” Penn says, appearing at Starla’s side.

Who would have thought that Penn would be the one to save me from what I’m sure is a potential stage-five clinger?

“Starla, meet Darrius Penn, the captain of Cove Angels,” I say, unable to resist the urge to provoke my rival. “Starla was just telling me how the Devils are her favorite skydiving team and I’m her idol.” I smirk, also aware that I have to sell this to him. If Penn realizes that I have no interest in hooking up with Starla, he’d probably move on to another one of the many girls hoping to get close to a diver at this party.

“Starla, Starla...” Penn chuckles arrogantly, taking the girl’s hand in his. “The Cove Devils are...interestingfor sure, but the Angels are the most legendary team on the circuit. We’re the team founded by Patrick DeLaurent, and I’m his heir. I grew up with Patrick and learned from him.”

I stifle an eye roll and bite my tongue. He hasn’t trained with Patrick, because Lenley’s father died when Penn was way too young to dive competitively, but his cocky boasting plays into my plan, attracting the girl’s attention.

“Really? Oh, wow. Patrick was just the best,” the girl gushes, trailing her hand over Penn’s bicep.

“Let me buy you a drink and tell you more about the Cove Angels’ legacy. I’m sure Peyton here will excuse us,” the asshole says, wrapping his arm around Starla’s shoulders and guiding her toward the bar.

I shake my head, relieved that Penn took that girl off my hands and annoyed at the same time.

I’m not pissed off because he took the potential hookup away from me, I’m just disgusted by my rival’s behavior.

Like I said, I’m no saint, but if I had a girlfriend, I’d never cheat.

I wish Lenley could see her “best friend” and lifelong crush as he shoves his tongue deep down Starla’s throat even before the bartender is done mixing their drinks.

I shake my head at the thought that Penn’s girlfriend is just outside, selling merch.

The idea of ratting him out crosses my mind, but I decide against it.

Dad is nowhere in sight, so the coast is clear, and I rush toward the exit, eager to find my stepsister.

“Hey, you’re Tori, right?” I stop right outside when I spot the influencer who runs one of the biggest gossip blogs on social media. Tori’s scoops rival TMZ’s, and her following is in the millions.

“Peyton Cox!” She beams. “Leaving the party so soon?”

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