Elusive: Princess Presley Duet Book 1 (Full Circle Series) Page 3

  Or does the imposter disguised as my father have a point? Is this irony’s demented way of teaching me, hands-on, how it feels to be on the receiving end... of me?

  I thought I felt… icky, just overall not real good about myself before. Now? I hope like hell I don’t stumble across a mirror; I’d be afraid to look.

  And why did I want to work at Lit? Was it to fuck with Sutton… or just be near him?

  ****

  “Okay people, finish the bites in your mouths, I have something to say, something that might come as shocking, and I don’t wanna be held responsible for anyone choking. I’ve got enough problems.” My expression’s stoic, my voice calm and matter-of-fact. Everyone else? Their eyes may just pop right out of their sockets before gulping down their food. Except Aunt Whitley of course, who primly ducks her head under the table to not-so-primly spit her mouthful into a napkin.

  When she reappears, she’s blushing, and quick to explain. “So sorry, you’ll have to forgive my crudeness, won’t happen again. It’s just, well, you all know I’m a slow chewer, but I couldn’t wait to hear this.”

  I’ve chosen to make my announcement at a family gathering, not because I’m a moron or masochist, but rather, to save myself a whole lot of trouble answering an individual call from every aunt, cousin, and my father; it’d take a shit ton more hours, and patience, than I want to give. And, being the thoughtful person I am, I’ve also saved all of their gossiping asses the time it takes to “discuss” one’s way through the entire herd. They’re welcome.

  “Floor’s all yours. Whitley’s not the only one dying to hear what’s about to come out of your mouth.” My Aunt Laney smirks like only she can and sweeps a hand through the air to say “take it away.”

  “Laney,” my mom mumbles lowly, just not low enough, “we talked about this, remember? You agreed to stop encouraging her.”

  “Mother, not only can I hear you when you talk out loud, but I need no encouragement. Even if I was stranded alone on an island, I’d converse with the trees, telling them vulgar things, using all the dirty words. Face it, I’m me. Always will be.” I hitch a shoulder. “And speaking of vulgar and dirty words, have you met your husband? You can’t try to pull off prude and be married to him at the same time. That’s round peg, square hole, definitively.”

  “True, but you’re a young lady,” she replies.

  “Let’s not toss that term around too loosely,” JT laughs.

  “Which term is that?” Daddy snarls at him for me.

  “So,” Uncle Evan interrupts using his “outside” voice. “Presley, you had something you wanted to discuss with us?”

  “Yes, thank you.” I sit up a little straighter, a lift to my chin. “You’re my family, which means you have to be kind, gentle and supportive to my face, it’s a rule. So save your snarky comments and jokes to share amongst each other behind my back. This isn’t easy for me, and I’m being serious with what I’m about to say, so your best attempts at loving, non-judgmental, helpful input would be greatly appreciated.”

  “Princess, you’re making me a lil’ nervous with the dramatic buildup, let me go ahead and warn ya now, if this big announcement of yours contains the word or words pimp, pole, dealer, escort, entertainer or abroad, I will beat your ass all the way home and handcuff you to your bed,” my dad grates, his face redder than... something really fucking red.

  “You done?” I snip.

  “Yep.”

  “You sure? Don’t wanna add anything else? ‘Cause you left out sex-slave, pregnant, brothel and Playboy.”

  “Playboy stopped publishing nudes.” He smiles, proud of himself, until… “but you do have a point. I’d like to amend my list to include pose, pictures, pasties, thong-”

  “Think we got it,” Uncle Zach stops him. “My food’s getting cold, Beckett. Shut the hell up. Presley, let’s hear it.”

  “Says the man who doesn’t have a daughter,” Dad grumbles under his breath.

  Nowhere near far enough under his breath though; this whole family has long-since honed their hearing to equal that of Wonder Bat.

  “Actually, Asshole, I consider myself as having three daughters,” Zach stakes his claim on me, Skylar, and Brynn. “And my oldest one is trying to tell us something, so put a damn dick in it and let her fucking talk!”

  Lord, Zach’s usually not such a potty-mouth; I think Dad’s “no daughter” comment hit a nerve.

  And suddenly the fun and games gets shut down cold — because Dane Kendrick’s had enough. By far the scariest of all my uncles. Hell, anyone’s uncles. He bangs a fist on the table and poor Bellamy, still not used to him, squeaks and hides behind JT. “My house, my table, my say-so. The next, and only, person to utter a single word will be Presley, or so help me God, I’ll boot all your crazy asses out of here. Now then,” he looks to me, already shifted from rattling-the-ceiling-beams mode back to cool as a cucumber, “enough preamble. Presley, Out. With. It.”

  “Okay, yes, yes sir.” I make direct eye contact with each and every person at the table, except Uncle Dane, of course, as I warn them. “Laugh and I’ll kill you. Interrupt, and… I’ll kill you. I…” I stop again, strumming up the courage I don’t often find myself lacking, “was wondering if any of you might know of any guys around my age that I could maybe try and date?”

  I wait, with baited breath and a fixed, expressionless expression, as the Cricket Tabernacle Choir finishes up their performance of “What The Fuck Did She Just Say,” then try a different approach. “It’s come to my attention that I may be a bit remiss concerning men, dating, feelings…” I flit a hand in the air, “that kinda stuff, so I thought I’d try adjusting a few of my viewpoints and habits while I still can. Ya know, before my ass and tits start sagging. But, while my body’s still bangin’-”

  “And you’re still humble?” Aunt Bennett sasses.

  “What’d I say about interrupting?”

  “I didn’t interrupt, I salvaged the rest of the sentence for you. Now that I have, by all means, please continue.”

  I give her narrowed, stink eyes and continue. “While I can still, perhaps, be selective, I’d like to be. Selective. So, there’s a few things I’d like you to keep in mind before suggesting someone. Not trying to sound uppity, and I certainly don’t think I’m better than anyone, but I have a right to have preferences. Hell, they purposefully ask you about them on any dating website, so don’t go jumping me. Having cleared that up, I’d prefer they be twenty-five to thirty years old, no kids, rap-sheets of any kind, crazy exes, or iffy he said, she said stories in their past. And he must, yes, we’ve moved on to non-negotiables, be financially independent; as in, no mama’s boys, who still live with her. Let’s shoot for a guy with his own, decent vehicle, a steady job, good hygiene and teeth, who’s taller than me, by a lot, shall we? Oh, and his hair absolutely cannot be longer than mine.” I shiver at the thought. “Being athletic, funny, and smart are all bonuses too, feel free to scout out those types.”

  There, got the hardest part out of the way. I already feel better about myself — admittance the first, most important step — and exhale the last of my nervous energy, rolling my neck and shoulders. I did it, and survived. Now I just have to make it through Round Two — their feedback. Which I only just realize… they’re not giving.

  “My bad, figured ‘The End’ was obvious. So, yeah… I’m done, you may dialogue now. Any of you know someone who might work?” I ask.

  And still, nobody says shit. All staring at me as if I suddenly grew a third eye in the middle of my forehead.

  I can’t take an encore from the cricket choir, so this time, I yell. “What is up with the mute, bug-eyed intermission? Isn’t input what this family does best? And Mom, why are you crying?”

  “B… because,” she whimpers, “I’m not sure if this is the healthiest, or most unhealthy, thing you’ve ever said.”

  “Oh, thank God,” my dad blows out a huge breath I didn’t realize he was holding. “I thought for sure you were u
pset that I made pole and entertainer sound negative earlier. Since, uh, that’s kinda how I met you, Shorty.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Beckett, you’ve gotta be the dumbest motherfucker I know. Ya don’t point out why she could’ve been mad after she tells you it’s not the reason she is. Think, man, before speaking. Presley, I’m sorry hun. Not because that’s your dad,” Uncle Zach laughs while shaking his head. “Well, not only because that’s your dad, but I don’t know anyone to suggest for ya to date. So, I’m out… and going back to eating.”

  “No!” Aunt Laney suddenly screeches, stopping my dad, whose mouth is already open, by shoving a hand in his face. “Say nothing, Sawyer, I’ve got it from here. Presley, sweetie, I think I speak for all of us when I say, we’re just a bit concerned about why you’re doing this. It’s wonderful, and perfectly normal, if you want to date, give people a chance, but is that what you want, or are you just trying to make others happy?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer in a voice so soft and riddled with confusion it’s unrecognizable, but it’s speaking the truth. “Both? Maybe? Guess I won’t know for sure ‘til I try.”

  My Aunt Laney — truly one of the coolest people alive — sends me a smile overflowing with unconditional love. “I think that’s a great answer. And,” her eyes light up, “I have just the guy in mind. He’s younger than twenty-five, but you won’t care about that once you meet him.”

  “Just the guy, huh? Who is he?”

  “His name is Camden Dean. He goes to school at Southern, plays baseball. In fact,” she shifts in her chair, “Brynny, you might know him.”

  “I do,” my baby cousin mumbles, forking the food around on her plate.

  “Oh, good, a second opinion. Don’t you think he’d be perfect for Presley?”

  “Sure. He’s pretty busy though, with ball, school, work.”

  “What’s he look like?” I ask Brynny.

  “Like a regular guy. I guess.”

  A scoff sounds from the silent section and I glance to the source — Bellamy… having come out of hiding. She looks at JT with big, doe eyes and rubs his arm. “Babe, I’m going to elaborate on Brynn’s answer, all the while madly in love with you, okay?”

  Laney coos, Uncle Dane laughs, and JT frowns. “How do you know him?” He asks her.

  “Well, let’s see. I, too, go to Southern, I’m best friends with Brynn, who’s friends with him, oh, and I have eyeballs. I also have my hand on your arm, at your parent’s house, and no clue where he is right now. So, any jealousy, don’t even go there.”

  “Yes, she just did!” Skylar, unable to resist celebrating JT’s “schooling,” speaks up and gives Bellamy a high-five. “Any rebuttal, brother dearest?”

  “Yeah, suck-”

  “Watch it,” Judd cuts him off. “Remind me to make you a list of words and phrases you are no longer allowed to say to my wife. She may be your sister, but, like I said, she’s my wife, first and foremost.”

  Bellamy ignores their noise and looks directly at me. “Third-baseman, very physically fit, short brown hair, doesn’t date a whole lot from what I’ve seen or heard, and tall. Probably about-”

  “Six-two,” Brynny all but whispers, then excuses herself, Uncle Zach, hot on her heels.

  Chapter 4

  Sutton

  When it rains, it comes pouring down in hurricane-like sheets. All week, there’s been hints of a torrential fucking downpour headed my way… that I shouldn’t have ignored. Somehow, when I told Hailey — very nicely, and clearly, or so I thought — that we weren’t exclusive, and she should look for a guy looking for the same things she was, that’s… not what she heard.

  I just worked all night, busted opened three knuckles on the jaw of some drunk bastard who tried sneaking in the back door after I tossed his ass out the front one, and stayed over to help Roman clean and restock. Which means, I haven’t eaten in almost fifteen hours and I’m tired as hell.

  So, the fact that there’s another “hint” smacking me in the face right now — a fugly, flowery circle thing… a wreath, yeah, that’s what it’s called — hanging on my front door, pisses me right the fuck off.

  She seemed normal, sweet even.

  And reminding me it can always get worse, the door swings open and Hailey pops out at me like a deranged Jack-in-the-Box.

  What’d I say? Hurri-fucking-cane.

  “You’re home! Come in,” she graciously invites me… into my own apartment. How she got in… I don’t even want to think about; one psychosis at a time. “I’ve been a busy girl. I have so much to show you! Close your eyes,” she coaxes, taking my hand.

  No way in hell am I closing my eyes with crazy in the vicinity.

  “Hailey, really trying not to be a dick, but I thought we… uh… had an understanding. And, gotta say, didn’t think ‘breaking and entering is not okay’ needed pointing out. Took it as a given.”

  “Geez, grumpy. I didn’t break in, I used my key.”

  “That actually makes me feel worse. Gonna need you to give me that key of yours.”

  “Sutton,” she purses her lips and juts out a hip, “you’re not acting very appreciative. I’ve been working really hard, and you haven’t even let me show you on what yet. Now cheer up, buttercup, and come see.”

  I drudge my way through the apartment, the voices in my head screaming out their warnings over her item-by-item commentary. The living room has new curtains, a rug, and the picture I specifically remember returning to her back on the entertainment center. My bathroom. Dear Lord, my bathroom. It’s pink. Everything. Everywhere. Top- to-bottom pink. Shower curtain, towels, candles, bath rug… and who knew they even made those fuzzy toilet lid covers anymore?

  As I’m mentally compiling the list of each and every place to include as a “no-go zone” on the restraining order, she leads me to my bedroom. It’s slathered in sunshine — feathery blankets that must’ve cost many a canary their life to make, and about twenty pillows so damn bright, I’m now wide awake from their high-beam, cover my bed. I take a look around, instantly regretting it, my head spinning. There’s countless vases of yellow flowers on every available surface, and wait for it… the pièce de résistance… a giant picture of her, and that damn dog, hanging on the wall directly across from my bed.

  “Wh… what,” I cough and point, “is that, like an eight by… a lot?”

  “Psshh, only the best for my man. It’s a twenty-by-twenty-four. You like it?”

  “Like isn’t even close to the right word.”

  “Yay!” She bounces in place. “I can’t wait for you to meet Mister Muffinbutt in person. You’re going to love him.”

  “I assume you mean the dog?” Could just as easily be one of her imaginary friends.

  “Yes, silly. Okay, I’ve got to run a few errands and pick up our new coffee table. You can go to sleep now.”

  “Yeah, before I do that though, we need to talk.” I sit on the bed and pat the spot next to me. “Have a seat.” She hesitates, a suspicious bend to her brows, so I tack on, “I won’t bite.”

  That did it — instant smile and a bound up on the mattress, right beside me.

  “Hailey, what posses-” no, don’t call her possessed, “prompted you to do all this, um… redecorating?” I speak calmly, in spite of the panic whirling inside me. “And having a key made? What happened to our last talk, the one about cooling off, seeing other people?”

  “I love you.” Crazy chick say what? She leans in for a kiss, but I dodge it faster than “Hailey Patches O’Houlihan” can peg me with that wrench. “And,” her tone bitters, probably because I avoided her black widow kiss of death, “I decided to show you how much, convince you that we don’t need to break up. We need to go the other way, take this to the next level.”

  “Hailey, I’m gonna need you to pump the brakes, girl. Pump. The. Brakes.” Sweat trickles down my temples and my throat may be swelling shut. What decent guy, which I consider myself to be, wants to stomp all over a sweet girl’s feelings? Not me,
but come on… you gotta be shittin’ me!

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She looks down, haughtily picking non-existent lint from her clothes.

  “Don’t do that,” I sigh, gently taking her chin between my thumb and forefinger, turning her face to me. “It’s only us here, no need for a big production. Just, tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours. I’m a decent listener, and would like to think, easy to talk to. I don’t want to hurt you, or end on bad terms.”

  She peers up at me, those baby blues clinging to the insecurity about to topple out in the form of tears, and her bottom lip quivers. “I don’t want things to end at all. Everything was fine until… her. And now, now I’m trying to get us back to where we were. I can’t stop thinking about it, worrying. I feel like I’m going insane!” That feeling’s certainly valid. She runs shaky fingers through her hair, her next words loud and screeched. “She’s slept in this bed! And Lord knows what happened in it the last time.” More than sleeping, but it wasn’t in this bed. “I did some snooping too. Sorry, that isn’t like me, but I had to! You told me the two of you barely had anything, that you knew her from around. But your job? Her father owns Lit, Sutton! You work for her dad! That’s not barely, or around. That’s… that’s…” she’s too flustered to articulate, having suddenly developed a stutter, “that’s like your future father-in-law grooming you to take over the family business!”

  I can’t help it, enough’s enough. I laugh right out loud — the full-body shaking, hard to breathe, water leaking from your eyes kind. This chick kept it hidden, well, for a while, but she is certifiably, padded-room, five-point restraint, draw pictures on the wall with your own shit crazy! When I said “pump the brakes,” one of her personalities obviously instead heard, “floor the fucking gas and drive straight off Crazy Cliff.” Much like no “version” of her listened the first time I said we were through.

  Once I can talk without laughing, I say the only thing I can think to. “Hailey, sit here for a minute and try to calm down. I’ll be right back. Can you do that, just sit here, settle, not follow me?” Truth is, I need a minute too, no idea what to do with, or about, her. Nice isn’t working, and I can’t beat her ass. Seems shitty to call the cops. So yeah… I got nothing.