Page 8 of Elusive

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

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“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.”

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