Exclusive: Princess Presley Duet Book Two (Full Circle Series 3) Read online

  I scour the entire store in search of JT, coming up empty. No way in Hell I’m walking the whole place again, so, more than done looking for his ass, I yell out, “Marco!”

  “Marco? Really? How about some damn decorum?” he hollers back, just as loud, and lacking decorum, coming from… the fucking pharmacy section. What’d I tell him about that?

  “Dude…” I round the corner, “step away from the drugs. Again, dog stuff isn’t in with the people stuff. And, Castello’s had a wellness check and all his shots; he doesn’t need any medicine. Especially not administered by the guy looking for piss pads amongst the Kotex! Ya know what, never mind, lemme see that damn list.”

  “P made it,” he defends, handing it over.

  That she did; dainty handwriting with swirls on the “y”s. I read through all thirty-two items, crush the paper into a ball, and, spotting a trash can nearby, lob it in there.

  “What the hell?” JT shoves me. “No way I’m showing back up at her place without every single thing on there. Nope, I know better than that shit.” He shakes his head. “She’s in rare form these days… and her normal’s scary enough!”

  “Yeah, you mentioned something along those lines earlier too. What’s going on with her? And don’t even think about saying you can’t tell me, or leaving anything out. Wanna know what’s up with my girl, and I wanna know it all, now; the detailed specifics, with lots of examples and adjectives.”

  He groans, his head dropping to his chest as he shoves both hands in his back pockets and rocks on his heels. “Man, don’t do this to me. I’m already in a tough spot as it is, my cousin and my best friend at odds. And you know I can’t just rat her out like that, especially to you.”

  “She will never find out you said a word to me, I swear. I just want, need, to be prepared for what I’m walking into.”

  His head jerks up, eyes bugging out and brows trying to hide in his hairline. “Walking into what, where?”

  “Whatever’s going on with her. In her apartment,” I state, matter-of-factly.

  He doubles over at the waist, blasting out knee-slapping laughs. “That’s some funny shit right there, putz. You’ve got a better chance of gettin’ in a nun’s panties inside the church, on Easter, than you do P’s apartment. I still don’t know what all went down between y’all, but I know for certain, you’re public enemy number one, bro.”

  “Not only will I get in, I’ll get in easily. Door will open right up, dickhead; she’ll think it’s you, back from the store with all the stuff she’s not getting. And surprise, it’ll be me.”

  He’s shaking his head wildly, has been since halfway into my statement. “Oh, hell no. You wanna try some dumb sneak-attack shit, you do it on your own time. No way am I being part of any switcharoo bullshit. She’ll kill me. And know I called you. Nope, not happening.”

  I take a few steps toward him, ensuring he hears me this time. “Yes, it is. That’s my girl, our dog, and I’ll be the one taking care of them both.”

  “Sutton, dude, listen to me. I may not be right often, but I am on this one. The macho, bulldoze your way in shit won’t work on P. Trust me. You’ll only piss her off even more and push her further away. I’m tellin’ ya, man, don’t do it.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and stare him dead in the eyes. “And I’m telling you, I’m gonna buy the stuff Castello actually needs; food, a collar, leash, bed, and puppy pads, and take it to Presley’s myself. Should’ve gotten it all before I dropped him off, but I’ll be damned if hindsight’s not working in my favor for once. You wanna follow me, race me there, or try and stand in my way, by all means, do what ya think ya gotta do… but it won’t change a damn thing about what I’m doing.”

  “Whatever, man, your funeral. I’ve tried all I can to help you both, not just tonight, but with all your horseshit. But I’m not trying to have anything to do with the explosion you’re about to detonate. Fuck that. I’m going home, to my woman, who does want me there. Cops get called to your little shindig, she stabs ya, I don’t give a shit what happens, do not. Call. Me. My phone will be off.”

  “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” I grin, clapping him on the shoulder. “For real though, before you take off, fill me in on the ‘not quite herself’ real quick.”

  “Nah, you’ve got it all figured out, remember? The man with the plan, not taking my advice. Have at ‘er. Later.” He laughs, throwing a hand in the air as he walks out.

  “Why the hell are you knocking? Got my hands full enough, surely you can open the damn door for yourself,” I groan as I assist JT with the monumental feat that is my front door.

  Or not…

  “What are you doing here?” I try to sneer, but my instinctual gasp at the sight of him foils my plan.

  It hasn’t been that long since I’ve seen him, and it’s certainly not the first time I’ve ever laid eyes on him, so why my breathing’s staggered, body temp’s spiked, and heart’s pounding out a riotous rhythm, I’m unsure.

  Except… I know exactly why. It’s because, despite my insistence to the contrary, I quite simply, have absolutely no control over my reaction to Sutton Ellis.

  Since the first time I met him, and the only person in my life, ever — he always renders me powerless. Even when I put up a fight, I go in knowing I’ve already lost.

  As if able to read my mind, which I’m not convinced he can’t actually do, he barges even further into my space, into me, with his seductive murmur. “Let me in, Sugar. I’m here to help ya out with our lil’ guy.”

  Our lil’ guy. Said so sweetly, his perfectly plump lips tipped in a grin, arms filled with bags of what I assume are supplies. I’ve moved aside, giving him room to enter, before my brain realizes my body sent the invite. And as he brushes past me, I take a gluttonous inhale, his sexy scent that belongs only to him infiltrating all my senses.

  He sets the bags down on the kitchen counter, looks around, and then at me. “Where’s he at?”

  “Who?” I wisp, my eyes refusing to be held by his, instead greedily raking the length of him.

  “The dog, babe. Castello. Where is he?”

  “Oh shit!” I fly out of my trance, racing down the hall to figure out, and stop, whatever disaster’s keeping the heathen so busy. “Castello,” I scold in my meanest, but-not-meant-at-all-because-I-love-him, voice when I find him. “This, sir, is a huge no-no!”

  The heat hits me in a single overwhelming wave — Sutton’s now standing right behind me — and his deep laugh tickles my ear. “You remember the movie E.T.?”

  “Um, vaguely; think I’ve seen it maybe once, a long time ago. Why?”

  “There’s a scene where E.T.’s hiding in the closet with all the little girl’s stuffed animals. Just chillin’, right there in plain sight, like part of the collection. Reminded me of that.” He laughs again, his warm breath assaulting my skin. “Where, oh where, is Castello? I can’t seem to spot him amongst all these shoes.”

  I snicker too, because it’s just too damn cute not to. All of it. The shift in Sutton’s voice, as though he’s talking to a baby, and my precious pup, little eyes peeking out from the pile of shoes he’s buried himself beneath, the chewed corner of one sandal still in his mouth.

  “He’s been givin’ ya some trouble, huh?”

  “You could say that.” I sigh. “He’s lucky he’s so precious. I can’t stay mad at him. But yes, I’m exhausted. That’s why I sent JT-” I spin around to face him, scowl in place. “Speaking of, you never answered me. Why are you here, and where’s JT?”

  He slides both his hands to my hips, bearing down as he moves closer. “JT’s at home, with his, and I’m here to take care of mine. That’s our dog. You’re my woman, and anything either of you need is my job. My privilege. Honor.”

  I’m so tired of being angry, hurt, alone, that his growled territorialism tempts me to give in, take a collapse of faith into him. But I can’t, for his sake, so I turn my head and squeeze my eyes shut. “Sutton,” I clear the lump in my throat and
try again. “Sutton, I love the dog, thank you by the way, and I’m more than willing to share him with you, but-”

  “Look at me,” he crafts both a demand and plea into his silky grumble, one strong hand caressing my cheek as he glides my face back to his. “Open those big brown eyes for me, Sugar.”

  Eyes still closed, I whisper, “That’s two ‘Sugars’ and one ‘babe’ since you got here. You have to stop that. I can’t take it.”

  “Why not?” he asks huskily, foreheads now touching, his thumb skimming up and down my neck.

  “You know why.”

  “Pretend I don’t. Tell me.” My loyal lil’ soldier, Castello, tries to rescue me, choosing now to join us, nipping and pawing at my legs for attention, but Sutton’s not having it. “Down,” he commands in a stern tone that Castello instantly obeys.

  I open my eyes, looking to confirm that the ornery rebel pup, who hasn’t listened to a damn thing I’ve said since arriving is, in fact, now laying at our feet. “Well, that’s just some bullshit there, Castello. What, you think your mama’s a pushover?”

  “He doesn’t know you very well yet if he does,” Sutton laughs. “But, while he’s on sabbatical, and seeing as how I caught ya flustered enough to let me in, can we talk? I mean really talk.”

  There’s not much to say, yet so much left unsaid, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to take a full, deep breath with the load off my chest… so I nod.

  “Thank God.” He exhales some of his load. “I know I should jump on the chance right now, before you change your mind,” he gives a slight chuckle, “but there’s something more important to take care of while you’ll let me. You.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Quick enough to be missed, by anyone besides myself, his eyes flit away, then back to mine, the contemplation in them heavy and unbidden. His tone and words are just as cautious. “I know I’ve been miserable lately, without the extra stress of a new puppy, so I thought maybe you could use a breather? How’s a long, hot bath sound? You relax, while I unpack and set up all the stuff I brought, get this place Castello friendly.”

  My eyes are already at mid-rotation before I think to roll them, Sutton’s grip on my wrists locked too soon for me to push him away, so I’m left with only a sigh and curt shake of my head. “Castello isn’t stress. I love him. And thank you, very much. You didn’t have to do that. And…” I cast my eyes to the floor, afraid he’ll see the unsaid, “the jar. It’s the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever gotten in my life. The mice, flowers. Love them too.”

  He dips his head, lips brushing my ear with his murmurs. “Love anything, one, else?”

  I simply shrug, because there is no right answer. I won’t lie; and either option, ‘yes,’ or ‘no,’ would be just that. But, I can’t not offer something, so I whisper, “I didn’t let you in because I’m flustered, and I didn’t cut you off, ignore your calls, because I’m mad at you. I’m not mad at you.”

  “You’re not?”

  I shake my head.

  “Okay, now I really am lost. I thought you were mad because I read your diary, which you would have every right to be… for a while.” His half-hearted chuckle’s strained with relieved confusion. “So, if it’s not that, then what is it?”

  God, the misery, desperation, and hope in his voice, the new twinkle of possibility in his beautiful, seeking green eyes is more than even a hardened bitch like me can resist. “I was mad, and no, you shouldn’t have read it, but, if there’s anyone I’d ever confide in, share it with… it’d be you. And, I know you weren’t lying. You did only skim over a page or two. Because, if you’d have read more, you’d know why I shut you out. Why I can’t…” I try to stop it, damn do I try, squeezing my mouth and eyes shut, nostrils flared as I fight for deep, calming breaths, but the tears burn down my cheeks anyway.

  “Aw, babe.” He pulls me close, kissing my hair and forehead over and over, “Please don’t cry, Sugar. I can’t stand to see you in tears, makes me crazy. Like, punch babies and kill kittens crazy.” His hold around me tightens. “Let me fix it. I’ll fix it. I’ll do anything for you. I love you so damn much, Presley. So. Damn. Much.”

  He does. And he does just right. Screaming, crying, bossy, stubborn, bitching, irrational, playful, horny, snarky… whichever version of me I am, at any given time, he does. Responding exactly how I’d script the man of my dreams to respond. Giving back more than enough, taking what I’m secretly more than willing to share. Challenging and enticing me on every level.

  I want to see if I can get his goat. I live to make him laugh. Mad. Growly. Lord knows I love him all growly.

  When something, anything, happens, he’s the first person I want to tell.

  And there’s only one way to make him finally, truly, understand why I can’t let go and enjoy him forever.

  I lift my head from his chest and look up at him, focusing on the center of his pupils rather that the jade oceans of everything I’d kill to keep as mine. “I’m going to say this once, then you’re going to let go of me so I can go get something in my room. I’ll bring it back to you, leave you to it, and when I get out of my bath… please, Sutton… don’t be here.” One more huge inhale, but not so huge to leave time for him to interrupt. “I love you too. I love you like the one and only person I’ll ever love. I, I love you enough to know… it’s fair to you to love you.”

  I’m not sure if he’s too shocked to protest, or is cooperating in order to see what comes next, but he lets me leave his arms without a word. And stays silent while I walk to my room, grab my journal and return, handing it to him. “Here, take it. Read it. With permission. And since a bath only takes so long, lemme save you some time. Start on page fifty-two. That’s the part you need to know.”

  He still hasn’t so much as flinched, the most beautiful statue ever sculpted, so I lift his arm for him and place the leather-bound insight in his hand.

  Then go take a bath.

  At my fingertips, with permission this time, is the whole story; the blanks filled in, the missing pieces I’ve been starving for — a hunger so ravenous, I’d eat off the bottom of a shoe to feed it. But I’ve yet to even open the journal, let alone dive in and read every damn page as fast as my eyes and brain can take in the vat of information.

  Her before me. Always. In all things. This being no exception.

  And more important than my quest for knowledge, is the state of her apartment. It needs cleaned. All fucking kinds of badly. JT wasn’t kidding as to the extreme direness of going-ons over here; when he’d said ‘Presley hasn’t quite been herself,’ he was really saying ‘I’m not quite sure how Presley is, because I can’t find her, under the piles of… pick something! Come to think of it, I’d rather eat off the bottom of the aforementioned shoe than… anywhere in here.

  As soon as I hear music — I was waiting; she always has a playlist at the ready for baths and showers — I use the noise as camouflage and start cleaning like Mr. Clean on crack.

  Just the detoxification of her bed and floor/perimeter around it fills a whole trash bag, so I grab another on my way back from the laundry room, sheets on heavy-duty cycle, and start in on the living room. It’s not near as bad, which isn’t near as good news as it should be — tells me she’s been spending most of her time in bed — so not like my Hot Shot, stirring up another wave of worry in me. But I squelch it; I’m here with her now, and clear the kitchen table of all the dead petals that’ve fallen from the bouquets I sent. Wiping a trickle of sweat off my brow, I take survey; not too shabby, if I do say so myself. No idea when, or where, I learned to clean, but just my turbo-attempt made a very noticeable difference.

  All that’s left to do now is get Castello’s stuff set up. As I’m racing around, finding a spot for his water and food dishes, placing his bed in her room, (now that there’s clean floor space for it), and putting the bag of food in the pantry and the puppy pads under the sink, Presley’s song choice echoing down the hallway catches my attention. I don’t know it off hand,
but the slow, steady beat would be perfect to f-, nope, not gonna think about it.

  I force a more productive thought — at least she didn’t choose a depressing ballad — but at the same time, I know it to be a sign… that she’s officially given up. She let me come in. Handed over her journal. And couldn’t be bothered to find the perfect, melancholy melody. The fight’s gone out of her… which concerns me on new, frightening levels. A mad, raging, ornery, or snarky Presley, I’m armed, practiced and prepared to do battle with; a desolate, lifeless Presley… I have no plan of attack for that.

  And now that Castello’s sacked out, having gotten his belly full, and you can walk through here without needing a hazmat suit, it’s past time for me to find out why my girl’s fire has gone up in billows of smoke. So, I grab the journal, take a seat on the couch, and a long, full breath of fortitude, leery, but ready for what more I’m about to learn.

  And conquer.

  With her. For her.

  God damn.

  I read it, every page, some twice, and… God. What was even more enlightening, painfully so, than her words, were all the ones not written. The things written in between the lines. Every ghost that haunts her, each shadow chasing her, not in black and white, but screaming from the gray.

  It takes a while for my mind to fully absorb it — process, contemplate, and travel back to now attach the real reasons to every sentence and scenario she and I have ever shared — and once finished, returned to an awareness of my surroundings, I realize… there’s no longer music playing. She’s been in the bath way too long. This is the part where I’m supposed to leave, already be gone; so says Presley. Yeah… that was never gonna happen anyway, but it’s a hell, fuck no now.

  Until that amazing, truly selfless, creature just down the hall walks, with or without me, a different path, steps lighter, I’m not going anywhere. Little by little, one by one — one less glance over her shoulder, one less “but what if” barter with herself — we will get there.