by S. E. Hall
“Got it. First and second time, Rainman. We’re good. I get your frustration, believe me. You’ve only had a small dose of it. I’ve had a lifetime. Then again, your dick’s directing half your reaction and I don’t have that problem, so guess that makes us even. Warnin’ ya though, better chill out before heading back with the food. If you’re on ten, P’ll rise right the fuck up to meet ya.”
“I hear that,” this laugh’s authentic. “I’ve seen her plenty salty. Lemme’ let ya go, get her fed so I don’t have to see it again.”
“Yup,” he clips and hangs up… not that I blame him.
Chapter 19
Sutton
“It’s open,” she hollers when I knock… on the door I specifically remember locking.
“Why’s the d-, what the hell are you doing?” I set the bags of food down and rush over… to take the fucking couch away from her. For some reason I can’t possibly fathom, my Hot Shot got a wild hair up her ass and decided to move the fucking couch. By herself. “I leave you alone for what, twenty minutes, and you get a sudden urge to deadlift furniture?”
“Relax.” She flits a hand in the air. “I do it all the time. I like to change things up every once in a while, get a new vibe flowing. And since it’s just me here, kinda had no choice but to learn to do it myself.”
“Wrong. There was a choice,” I grumble. “At least today anyway. You knew I’d be right back. You couldn’t have waited? You talk about what a big guy I am all the time, but it didn’t occur to you to let me, again, the big guy, move the furniture for you? I’m starting to think you do shit such as this on purpose, some sick experiment to see if you indeed have the power to cause me an actual brain aneurysm. Now get your fine ass outta my way and tell me where you want this damn thing.”
“By the window please, big guy.” She crosses her arms over her chest, tapping a foot and tossing out a few little hoity noises. “Then we need to put the TV over-”
“We don’t have to put anything, anywhere. You go eat. I’ll do it. If absolutely necessary, you may point to guide me a little to the left or right, while sitting and eating.”
“Suit yourself.” She shrugs. “But you do realize, I managed just fine before you came along, right? I’ve rearranged this living room at least a dozen times. All by my lil’ ol’ self.”
“Yeah, you already mentioned that,” I laugh quietly, shaking my head. Miss Independent. As I work, I take a second to truly consider her apartment for the first time — eccentric to say the least. Everything, and yet nothing at all, screaming “Presley.”
For thriving on routine and control, it strikes me as odd that she has stripes, dots, and a riot of different colors in one room, yet in others, everything’s a neutral tan or gray, with no personal notes whatsoever. And then there’s the mice. Don’t think I’m not dying to ask about all the little figurines spread throughout her place, nowhere to hide from at least one set of beady ceramic eyes peeking at you from their secret spot. I won’t ask though… it’s just one more “Presleyism” that I want her to tell me about on her own.
Yep, her haven, much like her, is a mystery of contradictions that gives you a few glimpses of clues to build on, that really only lead to more questions. Makes me dizzy… in the most intoxicating way.
“Okay, anything else or this how you want it?” I ask when finished.
“I don’t know.” There’s a dull uncertainty edging her voice as she tilts her head this way and that, finally looking directly at me. “What do you think?”
“Sugar, I’m a man. That means, I thought it was just fine before. But you obviously didn’t, so take a minute, come over here and feel it out, and anything else you want changed, I’ll change.”
“Sutton, why are you so good to me?” She saunters my way, a sexy swing to her hips and naughty glint in her eyes. “Any woman with a lick of good sense would kill to have you. Why waste your time hanging out with me? You get nothing real out of it, nothing more than occasional sex in return. You deserve so much more, someone right for you, and you’re probably not gonna meet her in my living room.”
“Not havin’ this conversation again, Sugar. You have no idea what I get from my time with you, and wouldn’t believe me if I told you, so let’s go with this — I like it. Our time. You. Your living room. Deal with it.”
“Yeah?” she purrs, moving closer to skim a finger down my chest. “That’s good, I suppose, ‘cause I kinda like you too. In fact, I’m in just the right mood to deal with it, right now.”
This is it — my chance to do the right thing — pull her hand off me and make her talk about what matters. I want more than physical with Presley, much more than emotionless, misguided, extremely unhealthy deflection, which is exactly what she’s gearing up to give me. If I allow this to continue, handing my dick the lead, I send her a very deceitful message — that she’s won the battle, and I’m easily led off important paths — thus forfeiting the war. Which couldn’t be further from the truth; I’ve only just begun to fight for her.
And as I stare down into her eyes, seeing past the glaze of ‘present’ to the real Presley Beckett, guilt overwhelms me. I won’t let her let me use her, but I also won’t push for more… until I’ve confessed my sin… for which, she might never forgive me.
“Pres,” I sigh, wrapping my hand around hers to remove it. “When I left, you were listening to songs that, well, had some pretty telling lyrics. I get back, and you’re changing your furniture, also telling… that you’re trying to ‘start over,’ like last night never happened. And now, you’re coming onto me because you want me distracted from the bigger picture. Babe, you gotta start dealing with stuff head-on. I’ll help you. Let me help you. I, um-”
“What?” That one frigid syllable lowers the entire room temperature by immeasurable degrees as she cuts into me with hurt-filled eyes.
“Please hear me out, calmly, before getting all defensive? Can you do that?”
“I’m calm,” her sharp clip anything but, “go ahead, let’s hear it. You, um, what?”
I take a deep breath, rub the back of my neck and bite the bullet. “Presley, I’m not altogether sure I’m not already in love with you, but I’m fucking positive we’re gonna start doing things differently, if I get your time, or any sort of a chance, after I tell you what I have to, that is. Not being cocky, but I can get laid any night of the week. I do work at a club filled with women offering up that and more on the regular. Granted, it wouldn’t be as good as anything with you is,” I toss in a wink, “but my point is, I could get my dick sucked. Yet here I am, with you, asking to talk. Go ahead and gimme shit if you want, maybe I am too sensitive for my own good, but I’m not willing to set myself up for another ‘fuck and run’ from you. I. Want. More. I want it so bad, that I’m prepared to go through agonizing droughts of nothing until you’re ready to give me your all.”
“Jesus, Sutton!” She wails at the top of her lungs, throwing both hands in the air and pacing in circles. “Why must you be So. Fucking. Difficult? What red-blooded male turns down no-strings sex and shit? When we first hooked-up, you weren’t like this. You were a ‘fuck and run’ Heisman holder your own damn self, remember? That’s why I thought it’d be okay, cool between us, no mushy-ass complications! I’m not nice, my nipples aren’t beer or jerky flavored, and I’m pretty sure my pussy doesn’t cast magic spells, so What. The. Fuck?”
Her pussy absolutely casts magic spells, but I refrain from interjecting — not the time.
“Holy shit,” she gasps, “I think I figured it out!” Now she giggles, brown eyes bulged and brimming over with amusement, at my expense I’m sure. “You’re suffering from PTGD, otherwise known as Post Traumatic Girlfriend Disorder. That one-cent-shy-of-a-penny interior decorator of yours threw you off your game. You’re still shell-shocked from her crazy. Or, same path, slight curve — she scared you so damn badly, completely understandable so nothing to be ashamed of — that you subconsciously programmed yourself into reverse psychology mode. As in, y
our brain’s trying to protect you from further irreversible damage by guiding you to do the exact opposite of everything you did with her. Putting off sensitive, clingy, very annoying vibes, so they’ll run before you have to, again. Hell’s bells, I’m a damn genius!” She thrusts a fist in the air and whoops in celebration. “Sutton, this is great news! I’m already the walking, talking poster girl for the absolute best end result of reverse psychology a man can hope for! You know I don’t want a commitment, to track your every move and no way in fuck am I decorating your apartment. You just have to tell your brain that I’m not one to fear. And now that we’ve gotten to the root of the problem, I also just so happen to be the perfect woman to deprogram you.”
She raises some interesting points, and with such convincing enthusiasm, that chances are, anyone else listening would probably pay it some credence. Unfortunately for her though, she’s stuck with a one-man audience and he’s calling bullshit.
“Damn fine speech, Hot Shot. Your ability to think outside the box is impressive, obviously superior to everyone else that just, ya know, thinks normally.” I cover my mouth and rub my chin as though deliberating on her groundbreaking epiphany, instead of what I’m really doing — concealing my grin and low chuckle. “And you may very well have just made some breakthrough psychological discovery. But as it pertains to me? Sugar, you’re adorable, intelligent, captivating… and Dead. Fucking. Wrong.” I take her gently by both shoulders and lean in to rest our foreheads together, brushing my nose along hers and snaring her gaze. “I don’t need rehabilitated. Nothing traumatized about me. And I’m sure as hell not pulling any kind of reverse voodoo on you. Well aware it’s unnecessary,” I snarl. “Crystal fuckin’ clear on what I can and can’t have from you, which is the biggest, actual problem I have. And by the way, you are nice, babe. Why do you take pride in giving yourself undeserved credit to the contrary? You love and protect your own in a good kind of scary way, always looking out for them. Like when you masterminded the plan that got Brynn out, with your date, ‘cause you knew she was feelin’ him? Yeah, not a nice thing about you,” I laugh.
“I meant you, Sutton! I’m not nice to you!”
“No?” I cock a brow. “You try your damndest, Sugar, but I already told ya, I. See. You. When you curl up closer in my arms, sneak a smile my way, accidentally let a compliment slip out, strut up in the club wearing an outfit we both know you picked out and painted on for me? I see you, Presley. And,” shame weighs my head down, dropping to my chest, “now I recognize even more, see things clearer,” my voice resigned with culpability.
“Enough with the cryptic, philosophical double-talk! Speak in plain, I’m a twenty-five-year-old guy English! You’re not the only extra-perceptive one here, Sutton. Something’s still stuck in your throat, spit it out! What aren’t you telling me? What more do you see, clearer?”
I lift my head to bind our stares, her eyes furiously curious... but mostly, scared. I gulp down my own fear — fear that I might never get the privilege of being this close to her ever again — and slowly drag in oxygen, putting to memory everything I can, just in case. Absorbing her sweet, addictive scent, and the hushed hum of her soft, shallow breaths, I let my eyes torture me, serving up my due punishment, as they slowly roam over her every one-of-a-kind beautiful nuance. No doubt she’d deny my touch right now, so that sense will have to be fed by memories only. And sadly, my last taste of her no longer lingers on my tongue... but, I remember every second of that too.
If what I want, and ask of her, is open honesty, that’s what I must give, so here goes…
“Presley, it was wrong of me, the shadiest, most dishonorable thing I’ve ever done in my life, and there’s no excuse for it, but,” I scrub both hands on my head, refusing to break eye-contact, “I just, so desperately, want to be the one you trust.” A loud facetious laugh at my own hypocrisy escapes. “Your very best friend. The one, the man you never hesitate to come to, with anything, because you know that I’ll know how to help you. And although I’m about to test your belief, I hope, deep down, you do know… I can be trusted. I can. And Sugar, I can be, do, exactly what you need from me most. An ear? I’ll listen, without judgement, or offering solutions, unless you ask for them. A distraction? I’ll take you out of your own head all night long. Valor? I’ll make whoever wronged you suffer beyond the things of their worst nightmares. I can even do the whole chick-flick and keep your ice cream bowl full thing when needed. God, Baby Girl,” I take a step closer, the fear in my voice deafening, “I fucked up so damn bad. I admit it. But you, everything about you, short-circuits my sense of reason. So, when the chance for insight, some understanding, presented itself…” nearing desperation, I infuse as much sincere, best-of-intentions infliction into my plea as I can before finishing, “I took it. I’m so sorry, on most counts, not at all on others, but-”
Her body language and piercing glare exceed the deceived, disappointed hurt I was expecting, an incensed fury radiating from her in hateful swells. “You. Read. My. Journal.” She doesn’t have to ask in a hateful hiss.
“I did, yes. Some of it.”
She turns away from me, I suspect to hide her crying... damn, am I wrong. Whirling back around, she hurls a picture frame at my head, the sharp corner clipping my ear as I too-slowly dodge. “How dare you! Trust you,” her snorts of disgust, “my ass! Man, you’re good. You almost had me fooled, you did. Almost. The clever ways you went out of your way to be my date. Racing to the pound to help me mutt shop. Last night,” her voice cracks, splintering me, “holding me, your big, strong arms so tight, like they were made to fit around only me. Always saying the perfect thing, the things I act like I’m not buying, yet they speak right to my soul. ‘Hot Shot’ when we’re fighting, ‘Boss’ when we’re fighting together, and ‘Sugar,’” she whispers, “you always seemed to mean it.”
“I did, do, mean it. Baby, please. I didn’t go snoopin’ for the helluva it, to invade your privacy, or just be nosy. I did it because, because I love you, Presley Alexandra Beckett. I do, I love you so much, that even though I knew you’d be livid and might never forgive me, I read it anyway. I had to try… try and find a way, a clue, how to reach you. The real you. The hurting you… that I’d die trying to heal. And now that I know what it is holding you back, haunting you, Presley, we can fix it. Together. I’ll love you through every step.”
She ignores, or dismisses, everything I just said, her tone venomous as she screams, “who’d you tell? Who knows now? What part did you read?” She is hysterical, scared beyond rational, tears gushing down her scarlet cheeks. “You know what, never fucking mind, doesn’t matter. Even if it did, I can’t stand to look at you long enough to hear the answer. Just get out. NOW!”
“Sugar, please-”
“Don’t call me that! Don’t call me anything, ever again! Get your sorry, lying, fake ass the fuck out, now!” Her scream’s choppy, broken up by agonized whimpers... and I actually feel my heart crack right down the middle. “Now!” She yells again, impossibly louder, then storms down the hall and slams her bedroom door so hard, pictures fall off the walls.
Goddammit... what the fuck did I do... and how do I possibly fix it?
Acknowledgements
Jeff, Lyndsey, Brooklyn, Shelby, and the rest of my family- you are the best family, support system, a person could hope for, and I cannot thank you enough for accepting/loving/tolerating me exactly how I am.
Emma Mack- girl, you rock!!! I asked above and beyond of you with this book; I lost count of the versions, rounds of hand edits, and other chaos that makes up the process that is “S.E. writes a book,” and you took it all with support, strength, and encouragement. THANK YOU.
Meredith Wojo- In a time when you needed me to hold you up, you did all the holding. Your strength and genuine kindness is not only amazing, but a true inspiration. I cannot thank you enough for being the person you are.
Kellie “Monkeybutt” Montgomery and Virginia Carey- Thank you for your keen eyes and help! XO
To Gigi Hoggard, Gina Sevani and Blake Sevani- Thank you for my beautiful cover, which perfectly depicts this story! I love it!!!!
Ashley Suzanne, Hilary Storm, Joanne Schwehm- Thank you for being my friends, peers/mentors, and sounding boards. I appreciate you all so much and couldn’t run this maze without what each of you bring to my life! XO
My Betas- Xana, Jasper, Ashley, Beth, Darlene, Elaina, Emily, Jade, Joanne, Kylie, Cotter, Lisa, Manda, Meagan, Weaver, Melissa, Retta, Tanya and Toni- THANK YOU so much for all your help, input, catches and love for my story! XO
To My Crew- you are all amazing!!! I cannot thank you enough for your continued support and love! XOXO
To all the readers, bloggers, authors and friends who support me- THANK YOU SO MUCH! Without you, I couldn’t make a living from my dream, and that privilege is unbelievable.
If I forgot anyone, please know I am so sorry… this part is always scary, that you’re gonna do just that, and I’d never want to hurt feelings or miss telling someone how much I appreciate them! XO
COMING SOON— Exclusive— Book Two in the Princess Presley Duet.
S.E. Hall is the New York Times & USA Today bestselling author of the Evolve Series, standalone contemporary romances Pretty Instinct, Pretty Remedy and Unstable, and her standalone spinoff from the Evolve Series—Embody.
S.E., which stands for Stephanie Elaine, resides in Arkansas with her husband of 21 years and three amazing daughters of the home. She is also blessed with an older, married daughter, and son-in-law, who graced her with three beautiful grandchildren. And last, but far from least, is Roscoe—her precious lil’ lamb of a dog and best friend in the entire world… who can always be found right by her side.