"please, just let me help you"
"why should i? everyone i know either dies or thinks i'm a total freak show"
Georgia Ray is a social outcast. Nobody bothers to spare her a second glance, unless it's to roll their eyes or scoff. Living alone w...
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OCTOBER 30TH—THE NIGHT before Halloween, aka mischief night. The night when every teenager in Beacon Hills was out pulling pranks and causing a little mayhem.
Despite the task at hand, Stiles couldn't keep his hands off of Georgia. Both of them sat on her waist, right above the top of her skirt, while his lips kissed up and down her neck. He was completely pressed up against her backside where they stood in Coach's office.
Georgia was finding it increasingly difficult to pay attention. She was wrapping up a box to leave behind on Finstock's desk, filled with screws that belonged to pretty much everything in his office.
But, with Stiles' breath hitting her ear and his hands wandering more and more, she was beginning to forget how to function, let alone make this thing look good.
"Georgia," he whispered in her ear, it sounding both erotic and haunting at the same time. One hand slipped under the bottom of her shirt, grasping a bit tighter at her ribs. The tips of his fingers on the other hand tucked under her skirt, slowly sinking down farther, "Georgia," he uttered again, pushing against her a little farther.
As badly as she wanted to give in, Georgia couldn't count how many other people were wandering campus pulling pranks, and she was not about to be caught naked.
She caught his wrist, pulling it out of her skirt and twisting until his back was against the desk and she stood in front of him. Still, she held his hand up between them like it was a weapon.
"I didn't realize fucking you was going to turn you into a horndog 24/7," she joked, raising her brows pointedly. However, as her eyes locked with his, something felt off. There was a certain darkness to his irises, a glint to his expression. She carefully grasped his chin, angling his face a different way, "Are you okay?"
And then he blinked, any trace of weirdness gone. He flashed a sheepish smile, pecking her lips, "Sorry."
Georgia couldn't help but to smile back, snickering, "Oh, I'm sure you are," she released him, stepping back and approaching the locker room. She tossed a glance over her shoulder, "Let's call Scott and finish up."
Stiles grinned, following her. As he began rummaging through the locker, he scrolled through his cell phone. It didn't take him long to call Scott.
"Get your ass down here now. We have a job to do," he ordered, making Georgia laugh lightly.
"Dude, I'm already in bed. And aren't we getting a little old for this?" Scott's voice sounded from the other end.
"We do this for Coach," Stiles insisted.
"I thought we did this to Coach." It was true, he was more a victim than a gift recipient.
"Whatever, okay?" Stiles did a dramatic eye roll to Georgia, "You know he needs this. He lives for this stuff. He loves it."
