Page 19 of Alpha's Touch
“You ready to head back?” He swept his thumb over his mate’s kiss-swollen lips. “Need to get this stuff refrigerated.”
Preston grinned, popped a blueberry into his mouth, and nodded as he chewed.
The world could crumble around them, and Zeppelin knew he wouldn’t care as long as Preston was with him.
Chapter Six
Preston just stood in the kitchen, staring at the open fridge. Zeppelin had stocked him so full the damn shelves looked about ready to collapse. He hadn’t had this much food in probably ever, and he had zero clue what to do with it all.
Three loaves of bread? He’d never finish them before they turned green. The fruit would rot before he’d made a dent, cheese would get that weird funk, and the pile of vegetables would wilt and die. Zeppelin meant well, sure, but this was overkill. Preston was not a linebacker prepping for a season. He could try to eat it all, but the only thing he’d win was twenty extra pounds.
Glancing over his shoulder, he watched as Zeppelin rearranged the cupboards, arms flexing in order to find room for… What exactly was he going to put in there?
Hell if Preston knew, because his brain sort of short-circuited every time Zeppelin moved. The guy’s back was to him, and all Preston could do was stare.
If Zeppelin only knew how hard Preston had fought not to haul the sexy god into his bed this morning.
Or let Zeppelin stay in the bedroom while Preston changed out of his towel.
Never in his life had he been so attracted to anyone the way he was to Zeppelin.
“I’ll be right back.” Preston hurried from the cramped kitchen, needing a moment to himself.
A moment just to breathe without inhaling Zeppelin’s scent. A dark, rich, earthy musk that never failed to make Preston half-hard.
“Get a grip,” he muttered, closing his bedroom door behind him.
His gaze landed on his unmade bed, his thoughts drifting to this morning when Zeppelin had woken him up.
He’d met the guy less than twenty-four hours ago, and already Preston was so thirsty it hurt.
He jumped when his phone buzzed in his back pocket. His dad’s relentless texting was wearing thin on him. He wished his father would just leave him alone.
Even so, Preston pulled out the device to see what unreasonable demand his father was making.
Except… it wasn’t him.
A smirking emoji was on the lock screen. And the message?
It’s adorable the way you think you can outrun me, sweetheart. Yet, I keep finding you. See you soon, handsome.
Antonio.
Preston dropped his phone as a bone-deep shudder tore through him. He’d managed to make it weeks in Crimson Hollow without a single peep from his ex.
Was Antonio hunting him, closing the distance, or just tormenting him for the thrill? Preston couldn’t tell. He never could.
The last time Preston had seen him in the flesh was two months ago, outside a grimy Kentucky motel. He’d only just begun running—a month into hiding, nerves still raw and frayed—and there Antonio stood, across the cracked asphalt, framed by flickering gas station lights behind the motel.
Thankfully, Preston had left his car packed, only taking a kit bag inside for a shower and change of clothes.
He didn’t linger, didn’t look back. Simply slammed the door, keys shaking in his hands, and peeled out of the lot, barely missing a passing truck as he hit the highway. No checkout, no backward glance. Just distance and the echo of Antonio’s shadow chasing him down the road.
Now Antonio was at it again, taunting him, playing his sick little games, and Preston… The truth was, he had no idea how to stop any of it, no idea what would finally put an end to this madness.
And Preston’s father? Derek Montgomery thought his son was exaggerating. Overreacting. A little paranoid, maybe even a touch unwell. Because men didn’t obsess over other men. Not in a sexual way. Not in any way Derek could wrap his mind around. Antonio, after all, was built like a linebacker. He projected swagger and attitude, the sort of toxic bro that Derek found manly. Around Preston’s dad, Antonio knew exactly what mask to wear. He’d read Derek in a heartbeat and slipped seamlessly into the role of the “straight” friend, the guy who just wanted what was best for his “buddy.”
Preston had tried to tell his mom what was going on, to see things for what they really were. But even she couldn’t see past the mask. Somehow, Antonio had fooled her, too. She thought Preston was going a bit too far accusing Antonio of stalking him.
