Page 26 of Exclusive

Ever since the day of the pool party, the day she truly met me halfway — declaring “us,” and confirming we were on the same page, together — things have been great. Busy, but great.

I’ve been working every shift I can get, investing the extra money and watching my risks/returns like a hawk, and slowly but surely laying the groundwork on some major plans. I want to build a life with Presley. A life that starts at, and belongs to, only us. I want to move in together… in an apartment, condo, or maybe even a house… that isn’t in any way connected to her family. And I want to pay for that place with money in no way connected to her family. Not that I don’t like and respect her family, and appreciate my job, but, like I told Presley before, I want to build our foundation from the ground up — and I’ve been busting my ass to do just that.

But today, I’m taking a break, nothing on my schedule or mind besides spending time with my girl.

“Alright babe, your choice; there’s a Walking Dead tour that sounds cool, hiking, or we can Pluck the Fuzz. What’s it gonna be? Castello can go with us on either of the last two.”

She climbs in my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Why do we have to go do something? Let’s just hang here, chill, and I bet we can find something to do, more than once.”

I run my hands along her arms and lay my forehead on hers, getting all cozy-like, only to say, “Not gonna work, Hot Shot. We already did that today, and I’m more than willing to give it to ya again tonight, but while the sun’s out, we’re going to try doing other things. So, which one do you pick?”

She pouts, bottom lip pooching out just a tad, crinkles forming between her eyes. “You exhaust me sometimes. I’m not really an adventure type gal; especially not an adventure-every-damn-chance-we-get type gal. And where do you even find this endless list of activities of yours?”

“The Internet,” I deadpan. “Super tricky. Now, pick one, or I’ll pick for us.”

“Give me the choices again,” she drones. “I was countin’ on changing your mind, so I wasn’t listening.”

“At least you’re honest,” I chuckle, swatting her butt. “Okay, first, there’s a Walking Dead tour where…”

“Pass. Hard pass,” she interrupts, shaking her head. “Never got into that show.”

“Alright, next was hiking. There’s some pretty cool looking trails, caves, spots to stop for a picnic, and it’s not too far away.”

“Hmmm, not tossing that one out, yet. What’s the last option?”

“Pluck the Fuzz. It’s-”

“Pluck. The. Fuzz? Is that…” She actually looks down at her crotch and I fucking howl in laughter. “What? That’s what I think of; am I wrong?”

Last tear of amusement wiped away and breath regathered, I arch a brow and answer her. “Um, yeah… you’re wrong. Presley, did you seriously think I was proposing we spend the day at some naturalistic, hippie camp where one plucks their,” I snort, “their fuzz out, with what, tweezers? Really? That’s where your mind went first?”

“Well, yeah; first, only… what the hell else could it mean?”

Classic. Definitely one for the books. The take I’ll tell any time, every time, someone asks about the story of me and Presley.

“Babe, try to stay with me on this.” I’m still simpering. We live in Georgia, right? The… blank state?”

“Coolest? Best?”

“Those too, but what’s the first thing that pops in people’s heads? Like, we grow them here?”

“Ohhh, athletes! SEC football! Bulldogs! It’s Bulldogs!”

What the fuck? How is she not getting this?

And why’s her sudden-onset cluelessness do damn cute?

“Peaches, babe; the answer is peaches.” I bust up in laughter again at her little scowl of genuine confusion.

“Peaches? Boo; boring, and terrible clues.”

“Were they though? And what’s on the outside of peaches? Say it with me; fuzz,” I say alone, head and shoulders shaking with humored disbelief. “Pluck the Fuzz means peach pickin’. Slow, long trip gettin’ to that. You may have just exhausted me too.”

“So, my choices are a Walking Who Cares tour, picking peaches, or hiking, with a side of cave-dwelling?”

I wink. “Yep.”

“Man,” she drawls her sarcasm, tapping one finger to her chin, “decisions, decisions. As equally awful as they all sound… I’m gonna go with hiking. Maybe a rabid bat will fly outta a cave and bite me, thus, cutting our trip short.”

---