Elusive: Princess Presley Duet Book 1 (Full Circle Series)

by S. E. Hall

  “Nice to meet you,” her friend mutters, looking just as uncomfortable as me.

  “Damn. I am so out. Good luck,” Presley mumbles under her breath, standing, about to walk away and leave me stranded, but Hailey lets go of me and quickly reaches out to grab her arm.

  “Hang on, I want to ask you something.”

  Not good.

  I’m on my feet in a flash, ready to stop the ass-kicking Presley’s about to deliver.

  “Listen,” Pres shocks me with her bored tone, “I get it, you don’t like me. I even get why. Understandable. So, take your hand off me, and I’ll leave. Let you two talk.”

  “How nice of you,” Hailey sneers.

  “Hailey, stop,” the friend pleads with her. “She’s trying to be nice.”

  “Listen to her.” Presley’s warning is politely loaded. She’s about to blow, having already taken way more shit from Hailey than I would’ve ever imagined her capable.

  “Hey, what… uh...” Bellamy’s talking, well, pausing, the four “dancers” having now joined us. “I’m Bellamy. And you, grabbing Presley’s arm, are?”

  “Goddamn lucky,” JT’s snarl matches the look he’s shooting me. “I don’t remember your name, but I remember you’re crazy. Sutton told ya he was done fucking with you, I was there, heard him, so why you’re here I’m not sure. I can tell ya, though, you need to take your hand off my cousin and get the fuck gone. Now. Maybe head to a doctor, or pharmacy, and ask them to double your dose.”

  “Jefferson,” Bellamy gasps, swatting his arm. “You can’t talk to a woman like that.”

  “Thank y-”

  “But I can,” Bellamy cuts Hailey’s moronic ass off and edges in menacingly close. “Mind telling me who you are, exactly, and what your problem is? Strike that, I don’t care if you mind. Tell me anyway.”

  “Bellamy, I appreciate it, won’t forget it, but let it go, girl. Crazy loves company, don’t give her any.” Presley wrenches Hailey’s hand from her arm, then tries to pull Bellamy back, but gets brushed off faster than JT just did with his attempt to do the same.

  “Like hell I’ll let it go! Sutton, why are you just standing there, allowing this? Presley, why are you allowing this? Has everyone lost their fucking mind?” Damn, Bellamy’s spunky.

  “Baby,” JT tries again, hand on her lower back. “Not your problem, P can handle it. Come on, let’s go get some air. Brynny, you too. No one gets to ruin your night, Lord knows when you’ll get another one.”

  “Yes, you little girls should listen to him. My issue isn’t with you, so mind your own business.” Hailey just doesn’t know when to quit.

  I move to intervene, only a single step taken when shit gets so real, it’s unreal. One of those “had to see it to believe it” moments. Brynn, yeah, Brynn, surges forward in warrior mode, and jabs a finger right in Hailey’s face. Literally pokes her in the nose. Brynn. The youngest, sweet, quiet one. Pokes her in the damn nose. “I don’t need to know, and don’t care, who you are. I do know what I’m seeing. Insecurity. Classic, misplaced insecurity, which you’re projecting onto my cousin, in the form of bitchiness. Waste of time, and dignity. It won’t win Sutton over. I mean, seriously, how many of those God-awful teen movies do they have to make where the malicious, popular priss tries the same thing you are and it doesn’t work before you dummies catch on? Although, I do love me some Mean Girls.”

  “She doesn’t even go here,” Bellamy plugs in… no clue what it means, but she laughs.

  “I’m not trying to embarrass or belittle you, but attacking Presley won’t make Sutton want you. He either does or he doesn’t. And speaking of Presley, I’m not sure if she took a Valium or what, but that’ll only hold her off from kicking your ass for so long. I’m shocked you’re still standing, in her dad’s club. You’re on her turf, and obviously blessed by several angels, so stick an extra ‘thank you’ in your prayers tonight and knock it off! And Sutton,” Brynn pivots, stabbing me with a deserved scowl, “man up! Set this one straight, like ten minutes ago, or stay away from my cousin, but quit trying to pussyfoot your way down two lanes of traffic at once!”

  “Damn, Brynny,” JT sputters with pride, “how long you been sitting on that?”

  “Needed to be said,” she mutters, seemingly used up all her gusto.

  Camden tactically maneuvers himself, seeing to it that Brynn can get a punch off if she wants, but Hailey would only hit him, dare she asininely try. JT notices, hiding his pleased smile in Bellamy’s hair.

  And I make strides, literally, and finally, figuratively. “Hailey, can I talk to you privately please?”

  “You can say whatever it is right here,” she spits, hands on her hips, eyes wild with… who the hell even knows anymore.

  “Hailey, please. Let’s go someplace quiet.”

  “Say it!” she screams, springing at me and banging both fists on my chest.

  “Nope. We’re done. Had enough,” Presley decides the show is officially over, striking like a viper to manhandle Hailey into submission, carrying her toward the exit before I can blink. Or laugh. Fist pump. Stop her. Anything.

  Never mind on the laugh. Thought just hit me — won’t Sawyer Beckett be thrilled when he hears about this. He’s got four bouncers on payroll tonight, yet his only daughter is ushering the troublemakers out the door. Awesome. I’m as good as fired. And possibly dead.

  Then again, he might get a kick out of it… never can be sure with him.

  “I guess I should follow them. I’m so, so sorry.” The friend, Manda was it, waves and calls over her shoulder as she darts off in the direction in which Hailey was escorted.

  “Brynn,” my shame is a hushed grovel, “I tried.”

  “Try harder!” she snaps. “JT, can Camden please give me a ride? Straight home, I swear. This isn’t fun anymore.”

  “I don’t know, can he?” J flings daggers at Camden, asking in facetious warning.

  “On my life.” Camden extends his hand for a shake. “Straight home.”

  “Did you drink?” JT gnarls, while, we’ll call it returning the handshake, instead of the more accurate “doing his all to rip dude’s arm out of socket.”

  “Not a drop. Dehydrates ya, makes training hell. Not worth it. Plus, didn’t want Brynn to feel left out.”

  “Okay, I’m givin’ ya a shot, Major League. One. Shot. Fuck it up, I fuck you up. I’m texting Dad, Brynn, so he’ll know precisely when to expect you.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. Surprised you’re not already done typing, slacker. Camden, you ready? If you don’t mind, that is?”

  “Not a bit. Y’all try to stay out of trouble,” he laughs, taking Brynn by the hand.

  The rest of us just kinda stand around, shell-shocked, shooting each other “what do we do now” looks until Presley returns… and with one glimpse at her, I know she’s done for the night too.

  “I placed your girlfriend in an Uber. Her friend apparently drove, but conveniently forgot to offer her a ride home, too busy running in the opposite direction,” she tells me, refusing to make eye contact. “JT, you straight, or do I need to get another Uber?”

  “I’ll drive you home,” I offer.

  “No, Sutton, you won’t. Worry about getting your, whatever, squared away. I’m good, can worry about myself. And whatever you do,” she shoves both hands in her hair, and maybe the lighting in here is deceiving, but I think I see a sheen of moisture in her eyes, “don’t consider me, at all, when deciding what to do about her. I’m not the kind of girl you base major decisions on. Isn’t that right, JT?”

  “That’s not what I said, P, and you damn well know it.”

  “It better fucking not have been,” I snarl.

  “It wasn’t. Not that you have room to say shit.” He steps up to me. “She’s just drunk, gettin’ all sad. And yes, I drank. I’ll call us a ride. You really think I’d let you drive her anywhere after what happened tonight?”

  “Not your choice.”

  “How ‘bout both of
you put your dicks away? I’m standing right here, capable of hearing, and unimpressed. I’ll call myself an Uber,” Presley fumes, then dashes, disappearing into the crowd.

  Chapter 8

  Presley

  What I often lack in rationale, I do make up for in self-preservation, even with a few drinks in me — so I cut my “dramatic exit” short of the actual exit — and wait just inside the door for my Uber to arrive.

  My phone vibrates in my hand; the same gut instinct that keeps me from doing dumb shit like waiting outside tells me… it’s not an alert that my ride’s here.

  JT: Don’t even think about it. Not fucking kidding. Your choice, me or him.

  Me: You or him what?

  JT: Which one of us do you CHOOSE to see you home safe?

  “I’ll assume you would’ve said me,” Sutton’s growl startles me, but not near as much as feeling myself suddenly sail through the air does. “Answer him so he doesn’t worry.”

  “Put me down!” I wiggle against his hold, and shoulder, which I’m being flung over. “Unfortunately, I’m perfectly capable of walking. I was too drunk to manage, but your psycho girlfriend killed my buzz a long time ago.”

  “Don’t blame ya for being mad, have at it, but I’m not putting you down. And I’m really sorry about Hailey. Not my girlfriend,” he clarifies with angry emphasis, “but for sure my fault. Now text JT back or I will.”

  Upside-down, in more ways than one, I manage to type and hit send.

  Me: Riding with Sutton. I’m fine.

  He replies instantly.

  JT: I know, saw him give ya a lift. LOL. Figure shit out. I love ya, P.

  It takes a few seconds before my mind settles around JT’s message and my weary whisper breaks the silence. “Sutton, please put me down. I can’t, I can’t think straight when you’re touching me.”

  “Welcome to my world,” his muted chuckle isn’t real, unlike his long sigh as he carefully places me on my feet. “I haven’t been able to tell up from down since the second you decided to pop back into my life, Hot Shot.”

  “Sutton,” I pause, to try to squelch the tremor of unnamable emotion in my voice, “I should’ve left well enough alone. I’m the one who’s sorry. You had something going with Loco Lady, and I screwed it up for you. We all have our “inner crazy” that we try our best to keep hidden, as long as possible, until we’re provoked. In fact, I shouldn’t call her names, she’s only acting out because of me. Because I provoked her. But if, no, when, when I disappear on you again, so will her erratic behavior, don’t worry. And the faster we get on with my disappearance, the faster you can get on with your life. If you’re gonna insist on taking me home, do it, then go talk to her. Oh, by the way, I’ve never had a Cocker Spaniel, forget what I said and give him a chance too. So, where’s your bike parked?”

  His hands come up to cup my face with demanding tenderness and those deep jade eyes, that I’ve never been able to see to the very bottom of, trap mine. “Presley Beckett, you are the single-most infuriating woman on the planet. And that’s saying something, considering what said Loco Lady’s put me through lately.” This laugh’s fake too, more an audible release of disbelief. “You don’t get to take credit, or blame, for Hailey’s behavior. She’s a big girl, makes her own choices, so that’s all on her. But it is my fault she was even around, and that I didn’t say something sooner. Regardless, you also don’t get to assume my life starts and stops with her. I assure you, it doesn’t. Gimme some fucking credit. And, Miss Priss, need I remind you that you haven’t been, nor will you ever be, on the back of my bike when you’ve been drinking? Good thing I drove my truck tonight, which I’ll be taking you home in here in just a sec, but so help me God, Presley-”

  Out of words, breath, patience, or perhaps all of the above, he’s done talking, and is so fast, I never see it coming. His mouth crashes down over mine in a kiss so intrusive and greedy… I’m gonna go ahead and consider it oral sex. He’s fucking my mouth with his.

  Every last inch of my flesh draws tight under an onslaught of goose bumps, and I get embarrassingly wet… from a kiss. Seriously, I’ve owned two-headed, tri-speed vibrators that couldn’t get the job done, and here Sutton is, turning me into a needy mess with his kiss alone. His hand glides up my leg, hoisting it around his hip, and I respond instinctually — grinding, fast and crazed against him.

  My body’s screaming for me to beg him to fuck me, right where we stand, damn the consequences. Which may include a public lewdness arrest, or a security camera aimed at this very spot, footage my father could review at any time. Yeah, none of those sound fun, so my mind unwelcomingly triumphs, and I jerk my leg down, body back, as I push him away, fighting for breath.

  “Fuck!” he roars, clomping off in the opposite direction, both hands rubbing furiously over his beautifully shaved head. But just as fast, he turns and comes stalking back toward me, his face a tortured contradiction of lust, fury and puzzlement. “Goddammit, Presley! What did I ever do to you that was so terrible?”

  “Nothing,” I choke out, hating myself for what I can clearly see I’m doing to this wonderful man, who deserves the best a woman can give him — he’s that amazing. He is. Truly. I’ve known it from the word “go,” and done everything in my power to fuck up the chances of ever being worthy to hold the spot. “Sutton,” I strive for soothing, resisting the all-but-undefeatable temptation to go to him; hold him, stroke his handsome face… surrender. “That kiss shouldn’t have happened, can’t happen again. I won’t lie and say I didn’t like it, you know I did. And I’ll spare you some lame version of the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech, but that’s pretty much what it boils down to.” My laugh’s appropriately bitter, paralleling the acid churning in my stomach.

  “What’s you? Can you just, for once, say what it is you fucking mean? No riddle. Code. Half-thoughts. The whole thing, and use words normal people can understand. Ya know, for someone who prides herself on being this ‘no bullshit or filter, tell it like it is’ badass, you sure as hell don’t say much of anything to me! Oh, your mouth’s constantly moving, but nothing real ever comes out. I’m done waiting. Done wondering. And definitely done with the games. You. Want. Me. Admit it. You want me so fucking bad that you hate yourself for it, because you aren’t in control. Your heart and body are, and you can’t stand it. Well guess what? I want you too! Have since before the day I really met you. You think I went to a Country concert for shits and giggles? I went because you were gonna be there. So unless you can spit out an actual reason we can’t be together in the next ten seconds, one that I’ll buy, your sweet ass is going back over my shoulder and I’m taking you home… to my bed. My life. And you can kiss my ass with all your talk about ‘disappearing!’”

  Not only is his rage warranted, he was long overdue a chance to let it out, so I take it without argument or interruption. Also doesn’t hurt that it’s hot as hell — the passion and intensity in his voice, wicked eyes, the rigidity in his every bulging muscle. It’ll make for the perfect last memory of him… exactly what it’ll be.

  He awaits my response, heavy breathing soundless, weighted with frustration, his eyes now a vibrant green. The hue of harmony, growth, renewal — all my intangibles.

  Serene, yet laced with conviction, I finally speak. “There was already an Uber on the way, which I was willing to forget about until you mentioned ‘your bed.’ I thought accepting a ride from you wouldn’t be a big deal. I was wrong. So, back to Plan A. And I apologize, again, for… everything. I mean it, Sutton, I had no right to come crashing into your life with no warning, trying to get a job at Lit, choosing to come here instead of anywhere else tonight. I’ve been stirring up a pot of shit for you at every turn. I’ll stop, I swear. You never have to worry about another surprise from me, in any areas of your life.”

  “You,” he kicks the ground, shaking his head, “you are absolutely incapable of listening when I talk, aren’t you? Nothing, you hear nothing. That, or you choose to ignore me. So save your se
lf-sacrificing act, Presley, because the ‘falling on your sword’ bullshit only works if you take the other person’s feelings into account. This big ass body?” He slaps himself in the chest. “If you’d let yourself fall, it, I, would catch you!”

  “Why?” My sincere wonderment sounds, and I cower from the noise, unable to take it back now.

  A smug calmness drapes over him, his angry face softening into a smirk, eyes alive with hope, and a cool, relaxed swagger as he closes the gap between us. “Why’d you try to get a job here?” He asks in a gravelly, seductive timbre while arching one coy brow.

  I hear a car pull up behind us and stop, idling. “That’d be my Uber,” it’s a hoarse whisper. “I have to go.”

  He snares both my hips in a merciless grip, rendering me immobile. Pressing his forehead to mine, his gnarl heats my lips. “Over my dead fucking body are you getting in a car with any man other than me. So either you tell him never mind, or I will. Up to you.”

  “I already booked it.”

  “Don’t care. I’ll pay him for his trouble. Now. Tell. Him. Never. Mind. Three,” he slides his hands up my sides. “Two.” Turns me by my shoulders. “O-”

  “Geez, okay, I got it! Uh, thank you, sir,” I shout, and the guy rolls down his window. “Thank you,” I repeat, “but it looks like I won’t be needing a ride after all. Please charge my account double for the inconvenience.”

  “You got it,” he says, happily confused, then rolls up the window and speeds away. No, this huge guy behind me isn’t a serial killer with a gun shoved in my back, but thanks for asking.

  “Good girl,” Sutton hums in my ear, pressing his half-mast erection against my ass. “See those truck lights coming on?” He presses his fob and the big red Chevy across the lot unlocks and lights up. “That’s your chariot home. With me. Can you be trusted to walk over by yourself, or you planning on giving me more trouble? ‘Cause I’ve got no qualms about carrying ya.”