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 youwantme 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 youaregay.”
“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 intoeveryone.
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 fordaringto touch me.
No one touches me likethat.
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.
