Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
I can see Preston’s expression darkening in my peripheral vision.
Jenna, however, doesn’t seem to notice as she twirls her hair. “You can have another look now if you want. I have time to spare.”
“He doesn’t.” Preston slides to my side, so smoothly, I might add, and stops a step ahead of me, his shoulder slightly blocking me. “He said your car is good. Off you go.”
“Excuse me?” Jenna gawks at him, standing taller. “And who are you?”
He smiles, those dimples creasing his cheeks even as he wears an expression so fake, it’s dramatic. “A customer.”
She searches our surroundings, then glares. “I don’t see your car.”
“It’s a bike. Across the street.” He juts his chin in that direction.
So that’s the reason he’s here—to bring back the bike I returned to him.
Typical Preston. It’s on brand for him to throw a tantrum because I didn’t accept the toy he gave me.
“It looks new.” Jenna slides her gaze between the bike and him. “Why would you need a mechanic?”
“Your car looks functional, too. Why would you?”
I suppress a smile because he’s letting his pettiness self-manifest in waves at this point. I don’t think he even realizes it, but Preston choosing to stand in front of me and blocking me like some animal marking his territory is not a coincidence.
It means he’s also unable to resist this strange pull that’s blossomed between us.
But most importantly, it means he’s almost as territorial as I am.
Almost.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” She hikes a hand on her hip. “Marcus is preoccupied with me, so you’ll have to wait your turn.”
“Preoccupied?” he repeats as he tilts his head in my direction, a manic edge creeping into his gaze. “Is that what’s going on?”
I lift a shoulder, casually wiping my hand with the rag. “As you can see.”
His eyes flash a frightening color, and his hand flexes, but as he’s about to move, I clutch his wrist and shake my head once.
The last thing I need is this menace murdering a customer in the shop. Taylor would kill me. Besides, Jenna doesn’t need to be collateral damage for Preston’s bouts of impulsive territorial acts of violence.
“Aren’t you leaving?” she says. “Wait for your turn outside like all customers.”
“Actually, I lied.” Preston’s smile turns downright evil. “I’m not a customer. I’m Marcus’s owner.”
“Owner?” she repeats incredulously as I stare at him with narrowed eyes, tapping my thumb against my middle finger.
He tilts his head to the side. “Did I stutter?”
“You can’t be someone’s owner.” She scoffs, her cheeks reddening.
“But I am.” He pulls his wrist from my grip and clutches my nape, his fingers tightening on the skin. “Marcus is mine.”
My lips part.
Did Preston actually say I’m his?
In public?
In front of a random stranger?
“And since he belongs to me, you should really, seriously, comprehensively think carefully before attempting to flirt with him again. I might have allowed it this time, but I don’t believe in second chances. Am I making myself clear?”
Jenna’s face blanches.
It’s not really his words, but the way he said them with an unfeeling, dead tone. His features have also morphed into a deeply manic expression, exuding bloodlust that could scare anyone away.
Anyone but me, obviously, because I’m suppressing a smile.
Jenna mumbles something about sending payment later, then practically flees. The tires of her car screech as she speeds away.
“Yeah, run away,” he mutters. “I’d better not see your face here again.”
“Will you be stalking me to make sure she doesn’t come back?” I ask.
Preston blinks, his bloodlust swiftly disappearing, but not the anger. No. That overflows from him like lava as he tightens his grip on my nape.
“You.” He narrows his eyes. “How dare you send the bike back, then pull this stunt?”
“I sent the bike back because we’re not in a relationship, so I won’t accept anything from you. As for the stunt, I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I was working.”
“You were not working. You were all over Ms. Pick Me just now.”
“And?”
His lips part before he purses them again, his eyes reddening as he slides his hand from my nape to my throat and shoves me back.
I hit the wall, and he slams a hand above my head, caging me in. He fixes me with a hard, burning stare, his lip lifting in a quiet snarl. “What the fuck did you just say?”
“And? You have hearing problems, my prince?”
“You think you can go around flaunting yourself and flirting like a cheap whore while messing with me, Marcus?”
“I don’t see why not. We’re not exclusive last I checked, and we can’t be.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because you have a habit of ignoring and ghosting me whenever you feel like it, and I will not be exclusive with someone like that.”
He steps into my space, close enough that I feel his breath. And it’s…intoxicating. This closeness, the way he smells like fucking cedar and damnation.