Page 55 of Elusive

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, thebig 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 absolutelynecessary, 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 laidany 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 whyI 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, your 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.

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