Page 3 of Elusive

I want to sit here, alone in my car, and dissect, then dismiss, every part of what just happened that’s gnawing at me. But should he happen to come around the corner and catch me, my humiliation would skyrocket to proportions from which I’d never recover. So, I pull my head out of my ass, and my car out of the parking lot, no idea where I’m headed.

****

“Hey, you busy?” I ask my cousin JT when he answers his phone, now pitifully camped out in a different parking lot. His girlfriend’s. I’m a traveling shit-show tonight.

“Not too, what’s up?”

“Bellamy home?”

“Of course she’s home, or I wouldn’t be. I’d-”

“Be where she is, I know.” I roll my eyes as I finish his sentence for him. So his father’s son. “Let me ask you, is Bellamy good at listening to people vent without passing judgement, which would piss me off?”

“Oh, this sounds fun,” he drones. “Hold on. Baby,” he speaks away from the phone. “Think you’d be able to listen to Presley scream, cuss, and whine ‘withoutpassingjudgement’or telling her what she needs to hear, which, of course, would only cause her to scream louder, and cuss more?”

Well isn’t he a funny fucker? Why’d I call him again?

“Um… I think so?” Bellamy answers with a question.

“Close enough. I’ll take it. I’m coming up, put some clothes on.” I end the call and dash from my car to her apartment in double-time, desperate to dump the weird wildness in my head onto someone else. And perhaps listen to their input.

JT’s waiting for me with the door open, leaning against the jamb with his arms and ankles crossed, classic smirk in place. “Why, hello there, P. Real quick, before you enter, let me make one thing crystal clear. You’re not the princess here. Bellamyis. Donoteven think about screaming or cussing at my woman, understood?”

“Eat a scabby, diseased dick, pretty boy. I love Bellamy and would never do either. Now move your punk ass outta my way.” I shove past him. “And you better have booze.”

“Hey, Presley, you okay?” Bellamy greets me with a sympathetic smile... and an ice-cold already opened beer. Yep, definitely love her.

“I don’t know what I am,” I sigh, collapsing onto the couch in a boneless heap, without spilling a drop of my beer, suddenly finding the energy to jerk my head toward her. “Do I come off as scorned? Hardened? Do I deflect?” I ask.

“Don’t answer that, it’s a trap,” JT advises, rushing to sit at Bellamy’s side and throw a protective arm around her shoulders. “Let me take this one.” He offers, then looks at me, an epic battle of worried sarcasm in his eyes. “Yes. To all of the above. Why?”

“Don’t be a smartass, J. I’m serious. Do I really?” I down my beer, and before I’ve got it all swallowed, Bellamy’s up and headed to the fridge.

Keeping her. Hope it works out between them… family might fight me on dumping JT.

“Yes, you really do. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, it’s just who you are… and I like who you are. But you asked, and we don’t bullshit each other. Precisely the reason you’re here, for the truth. So, I’m giving it to you. The answer is yes.”

“Reminds me of someone else I know,” Bellamy adds, handing J and me both a fresh, frosty bottle before retaking her seat.

“Baby, if you keep giving the stray cat food and drink, it won’t ever go home.”

“Which one of you is the stray cat?” She quips, with a loving smile attached.

“Funny,” he grumps. “And just who does it remind you of?”

“You,” she snickers. “As if you didn’t know who I meant.”

“Well, fuck. Su… uh… somebody else said the same thing to me tonight! JT and I are nothing alike,” I set the record straight.

“First of all,” Bellamy’s voice steels as she scoots to the edge of the couch, sitting up pin-straight. “Yes, you are. Andsecondly, resembling Jefferson is not a bad thing.”

“I love you too, woman.” He buries his face in her neck, only to be immediately rebuffed.

“Love you, but don’t interrupt me.” She nudges him away. “I wasn’t finished. As I was saying, there are a lot worse things you could be than like my Jefferson. So, when I say you remind me of him, it’s far from an insult. And as for your original question, I probably wouldn’t choose the words ‘scorned’ or ‘hardened.’ I’d call it… selective, or picky. Which,” she raises a finger in the air, “is a wonderful compliment to whomever you do finally fall for. Again, just like Jefferson. I know I felt pretty darn special that the picky playboy saw something game-changing in me.”

“Thanks, Bellamy.” I offer her a weak smile. “I like your take on it a lot better.”

“Better than what?” She’s lightning fast to ask.

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