Page 5 of Alpha's Touch
His brows furrowed when he saw it was a text from his dad, demanding his son call him.
Not gonna happen.
“Everything okay?” Terry glanced at Preston with concern.
Why did the guy keep acting like they were best friends? Not that Preston was against making friends—which he’d always left behind because of his ongoing crisis—but Terry was acting as if they’d known each other for years instead of hours.
Why was he giving “Hey bro we trauma bonded in another life” energy?
It was a bit off-putting.
Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Preston gave a smile he didn’t feel, like a mask being sewn shut in real-time. “Everything’s great.”
Maybe if he said that enough times it would become true. Maybe if he wished it enough times, he could get his old life back.
“Can I get a mug of whatever’s on tap?” a guy asked, his voice too similar to…
Preston whipped around so fast he knocked the empty mug out of Terry’s hand. It hit the edge of the counter as Preston tried desperately to grab it, but the mug slipped through his fingers and shattered on the floor.
That was the fourth glass he’d broken tonight. Preston simply stared at the pieces at his feet, wondering if Ash would get sick of his inventory getting destroyed and tell him to kick rocks.
As badly as Preston needed this job, he was spectacularly failing at it.
“Move aside so I can sweep it up,” Ash said in a neutral tone, making Preston wonder what his boss was thinking. Scratch that. He didn’t want to know.
“I’m sorry,” Preston feebly offered while trying to calculate just how much he would owe his boss by closing time. At this rate, his paycheck would be nothing more than an I.O.U debt. “I’ll sweep it up. It’s my mess.”
In more ways than one.
“Can I borrow the new guy, Ash?”
That deep, smoky voice. Just what Preston didn’t need right now. His nerves were already frayed, and for some reason, Zeppelin’s mere presence rattled Preston in ways he couldn’t understand.
Sure, the guy was smoking-hot, but looks alone shouldn’t cause Preston to malfunction.
“He’s due for a break anyway.” Ash dumped the shards into a nearby trashcan. “He’s got twenty minutes.”
That didn’t mean Preston wanted to spend his break malfunctioning with Zeppelin. He’d rather relax out back than feel trapped in such an intense presence. It was as if Zeppelin’s whole aura of possessive heat and predator energy was pressing down on him like a weighted blanket made of pheromones.
Preston frowned. What in the hell did that even mean? He really did need a break.
Not caring what the guy wanted, Preston hurried from behind the counter and weaved his way through the crowd toward the back exit, running from the effect Zeppelin had over him before it trapped him completely. He thought he would have to pardon himself multiple times just to get by the customers, but everyone seemed to give him room as he passed them.
Shoving his hands against the push bar, Preston spilled into the alley, sucking in fresh, warm air like he’d been oxygen deprived.
“Fuck,” he muttered with force, running a shaky hand through his hair as a few cars passed by the mouth of the alley. Above, clouds drifted past the moon, while the breeze sent leaves rustling.
Preston crossed his arms, gripping his upper arms, desperately trying to hold himself together. The constant upheaval, his bone-deep fear, and the instability was enough to bring stinging tears to his eyes.
All he wanted to do was rest, to stop running, to finally call someplace home.
And to stop screwing up so badly at his job. Preston had never worked in a bar before, and his inexperience was about to get him fired.
He’d checked the bakery, the diner, the pet store, and other various places in town before giving up and applying for a position at Frothy Pine, the local watering hole in this small mountain town.
Not that he’d been skilled for any of the other businesses. Before his life had been turned upside down, Preston worked in a factory making airplane parts.
There weren’t any factory jobs in Crimson Hollow. Just quaint shops and the standard businesses every town needed to function.
