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 let a cruel little smile carve its way onto my lips. “You think I look good?”
“I think you know exactly what you look like. That’s the problem.”
“Then stop looking.”
“No. I don’t think I will.” He runs his gaze over me from my face to my chest to the skates, then back up again. The longer he stares, the brighter the burn settles in my stomach, tightening and squeezing as if I’m about to be sick.
His eyes settle on mine, calm but with something lurking just below the surface. “I’m liking the view a bit too much.”
“Unlike it, then.”
“Is that a word?”
“It is now.”
“If you say so.” He reaches out again. “How about we pick up where we left off? I’m happy to listen to your counteroffer.”
“What?”
“I made you an offer, inviting you to sit on my cock, remember?”
That static heightens, humming in the background, attempting to overflow my thoughts, but I force a mocking smirk. “Are you gay? Is that what this is?”
His smile widens. “Do you want me to be gay?”
“Why would I? I’m just checking, considering all your shameless flirting.”
“Shameless, huh?”
This little prick and his way of asking questions as a reply are annoying as fuck. “Yes, shameless.”
“That means you’re aware I’m flirting?”
“You’re brazenly obvious.”
“I’m glad you noticed. I was starting to wonder if it was going over your head.”
“So you are gay.”
“If you like. I can be—for current intents and purposes. I’m more into everyone and don’t personally care for labels.”
What the fuck does that mean? Pansexual? No, he didn’t say that when he could’ve, so is the correct term unlabeled?
Though, I wasn’t aware he’s into everyone.
I know for a fact that he has relationships with girls. He dated Dalton—Kane’s current obsession. Her real name is Dahlia, but she’ll never hear me say it out loud.
Is that one of my petty episodes? Possibly.
I lift my chin. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m as straight as they come.”
He runs his gaze over me again with that infuriating smirk curling his lips. “You are, huh?”
“Yes. You can admire from afar, though, or join the ‘I Want to Have Sex with Preston’ club. It’s quite packed in there, so take care.”
“Instead of a club, I prefer the real thing.” He kills the distance between us in a fraction of a second.
My eyes widen when he wraps a hand around my nape and starts leaning forward. My skin feels too tight, every inch stretched wrong, as if I’m free-falling into that abyss in my head.
That deep disgust rears its head, and nausea fills my throat.
In a moment of absolute panic, I fist my hand and punch Osborn in the face. He loses his balance, his hand dropping from my nape as he falls.
As I turn around and leave, his mocking laughter fills my ear.
Forget about petty revenge. I’m so going to make this guy’s life hell for daring to touch me.
No one touches me like that.
No one.
6
PRESTON
“And I was, like, suck my dick, bitches!” I laugh. “Pardon my French unless you don’t want to. See what I did there? Because your last name is French and I’m half French?”
My joke falls on deaf ears, or more like Dr. Duret’s ears. Because, yes, of course I need doctors. She’s one of them—the therapist I talk to while she scribbles notes in her little black notebook.
Let’s just say I might have tried to strangle her the first time we met. In my defense, I was like eleven, my mother was gone, and I’d murdered a professor in cold blood. That made Dad lose his shit trying to fix me with whatever methods necessary.
That, of course, included calling his favorite pal, Regis Callahan—Jude’s dad—who dedicated his pharmaceutical empire to “make me better.” And that’s where Julian came in—you know, the power-hungry dude who’s now taking over for Regis and overseeing Operation How Many Drugs Can We Pump into Preston Before He Shrivels and Dies?
Anyway, Dr. Vivienne Duret strolled into the picture around that time. She’s not my main psychotherapist—that’s Dr. Fenwick with his eccentric methods, drug-testing habits, and Dad’s stamp of approval.
Dr. Duret is my talk therapist. The one I yap to about all the shit I want, and she’s paid to listen.
The first day we met, she asked me if there was anything I wanted, so I said, “I want to kill you,” then I lunged at her. It was a blur I barely remember, but nurses and other doctors rushed in and pulled me away as I kicked and screamed, “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you all!”
Not my brightest moment. But then again, I was only eleven, so I forgive myself.
Just kidding. I murdered that me from back then.
I’ve murdered a lot of mes in my lifetime.
Anyway, after said episode, any other doctor would’ve been like “Hell no. I don’t get paid enough for this shit,” then quit. Not Dr. Duret. Dad must be paying her a shit ton of money if she’s stayed for over a decade.