Paisley Dreams Part 1 đ” is available for Early Access NOW on Patreon!
Paisley Dreams, Part 1 đ”đđ„: Elvis encounters Pepper, a no-nonsense, practical Vegas showgirl, in a precarious situation. Despite Pepper's need to appear strong and capable, Elvis helps her realize she may not be as alone in the world as she thought.
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This night is turning out to be incredibly strange, Pepper thinks as she shakily unlocks the door to her apartment. She hates that she canât seem to stop shivering after the whole ordeal in the alley. No matter how many deep breaths she took in the car, she is still shaking like a leaf and she canât decide if the fact that Elvis Presley is at her elbow is making it better or worse.
Finally jimmying the door open, she nearly falls inside, feeling all too unsteady in her high heels. Exhausted, it doesnât help matters that she canât remember if she ate today, between her waitressing shift at the diner and her showgirl gig at the Palace. She forces herself not to cry the stupid tears that pool stubbornly in her eyes. No, she doesnât think she ate today and sheâs cursing the fact because sheâs quickly turning into an embarrassing pile of weepy nonsense, in front of Elvis Presley, no less.
This isnât like her. She is no damsel in distress. Sheâs a strong, capable young woman whoâs been dealt a bit of a shit hand, but sheâs got it under control. Sheâs always got it under control.
Pepper turns in the doorway to say goodnight and thank you to the man who so annoyingly but luckily had her back in that alley. She doesnât want to think too hard about what could have happened if Elvis hadnât appeared when he did, like some sort of movie star hero. Unfortunately, the spin towards him makes her dizzy and her wobbly knees start to give way.
âHey now, little one, letâs get you settled, huh?â Elvis drawls out at her as he puts an arm around her waist and effortlessly ushers her into the apartment. Sheâs suddenly too exhausted to protest. Itâs not often that anyone takes care of her. Honestly, she canât remember the last time someone did, or the last time there was a man in her apartment.
He deposits her on her secondhand couch and its one of the many things tonight that has her embarrassed. Then again, she wasnât expecting an incredibly handsome superstar to be gracing the walls of her tiny, dingy apartment.
Elvis stares down at her for a moment and his gaze is heavy and all-encompassing. Itâs not what she expectsâsheâs used to the heated, horny looks she attracts from menâbecause itâs as if heâs surveying the situation, reading her with an intuitive intelligence she is not prepared for. She knows how to deal with men gawking at herâbut treating her kindly with no expectations in return? This is unfamiliar in every way.
He nods to himself, making some sort of decision. His stance, one hip jutted out, hands on his hips and looking off to the side with his pouty lips parted, makes her feel a little funny in her belly.
Or maybe thatâs just the hunger talking.
Her pride wants him to go, to not survey her poor existence and pity her. But the rest of her, the weak part of her desperate to have someone take care of her for once, wants him to stay.
Surprisingly, his face is devoid of judgement of her circumstance when his oceanic blue eyes meet hers again. There seems to be only concern and a bit of humor there. This confuses her.
âIâm starvinâ,â he declares suddenly. âWhat would you say to some hamburgers?â His eyes sparkleâactually sparkleâwhen they look at her for approval.
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