Okay, but like... What. The. Actual. FUCK?

Jackson's eyes twitched as he glared daggers through the glass divider, watching Landon down cheap beers with his hillbilly friends from Texas. The old timer was celebrating his Daytona victory from earlier today, and it made Jackson's blood boil. He slowly lifted his energy drink to his lips, his eyes never leaving his lover.

Landon had invited him over to be with those freaks. He came, he saw—and decided it was never gonna happen. The old man hadn't noticed him yet. Should he make himself known? He rather not. He was feeling too... agitated. He had been furious for quite some time, feeling cheated and disrespected by his wayward Alpha for what he had done two weeks ago.

Landon often pointed out how Jackson was impulsive, hot-tempered—and had anger issues. Jackson didn't see it. He was normal, a distinguished gentleman for his age who knew that love knew no bounds. He loved Landon with his whole heart, ever since he saw him on TV fifteen-plus years ago. This feeling only grew when he got to know the old man. He knew he had chosen the right lover. Yet Landon proved to be the impulsive one, not valuing their relationship when he just left Jackson when they had planned their first date night!

Jackson didn't think much of anything when Landon left for Texas. In fact, he wasn't thinking at all. All he knew was that it was unacceptable, and he needed to keep his disobedient lover in check. His thoughts spiraled; he thought he was losing Landon, he wanted to go to Texas and drag him back to Cali, but that was a psycho move and he wasn't a psycho. When he was losing his marbles, he devised a plan to teach the old-timer a lesson about loyalty since he wasn't sure if Landon was pregnant—he wasn't behaving like a pregnant Alpha. (How did pregnant Alphas act? He didn't know either).

On impulse, he decided to sabotage Landon's Daytona win. Landon wasn't going to win despite their deal. When this was done, Landon would lose his sponsor rights and be forced to retire—simple. And when all hope was lost, Jackson would swoop in and let his super-rich parents' company—soon to be his—sponsor Landon. The old timer was desperate. He'd do anything. He'd agree despite knowing Jackson didn't keep his end of their deal. Once done, the veteran would be obligated to stay with him out of guilt, which would turn into love, of course, on Landon's part.

It seemed like a solid idea at the time. But now, looking back, it was stupid. The old man would've loathed him. Whatever. The issue was what happened during the race...

Landon actually won.

Jackson never doubted his Landon—it was why he loved him. But he couldn't believe it. The old timer had beaten him fair and square without his help. It was a happy moment and an unfortunate one at the same time.

If Landon found out he could beat Jackson without his help, Jackson would no longer be needed. His plan would be over before it started. He must never let Landon know this. It would ruin everything! He needed to keep it a secret—pretend he was the reason the veteran won while he figured out a way to make the Alpha stay with him.

If a pregnancy wasn't possible considering the Alpha's age, he needed to approach this differently, be more likable, more nicer. Maybe he needed to mark him? Ohhh... That sounded like a great idea! They were having dinner tomorrow, it seemed like the perfect time to do so. A bite wouldn't keep Landon, though. Shit. Maybe he just needed to lock the old man in a fucking basement or something for fucks sake?!?! Ugh.

Suddenly, Jackson felt an agitating set of fingers tinkering on his left shoulder. Someone was touching him with their filthy hands. Couldn't they see that he was busy?! He gritted his teeth, his fingers tightening, crushing the tin before he looked next to him. It was a Beta woman. She stood next to him in high heels, a tight dress, and one hell of a hot body. She smiled seductively when he eyed her up and down, not knowing his intentions were of disgust and irritation and not of lust and hunger. It was when her hands roamed elsewhere—from his shoulder to his chest—Jackson's body jerked and he pushed her away with slight force.

"Ew. Move away lady," he blurted, troubled. He didn't even know this woman—and couldn't she see he obviously swung for the other team? "Fuck, can't you see I'm gay?" He gestured to his outfit; a black tank top that showed his belly button, black baggy jeans—the type that would fit a whole person through one leg—and a shit ton of silver jewelry, several chains, rings, and a pair of studded earrings. If this didn't scream, I like men, he didn't know what did. Fuck.

Jackson walked away with a disbelief expression before the woman could respond.. He couldn't do this, he needed to get home, he needed to get high. When he reached the exit door, he took a glance at Landon before he grabbed his phone from his back pocket. His eyes didn't sway from his lover's face—filled with happiness and still oblivious to Jackson's presence—when he pushed the button to Tyler's number before pressing the device to his ear. The phone rung once, twice, thrice—

"What's up J-man?'

Jackson rolled his eyes when he responded, "I need to get high tonight. Get me some weed. And I want the good stuff—not that cheap crap you gave me last week."

"No problem-o. On my way to your—"

Before Tyler could finish his sentence, Jackson ended the call and left the club with the same agitating, aggravating feeling he came in with.