Starfire (Erotic Romance) (Peaches Monroe) (11 page)

What probably had the biggest impact on me was the emotion on her face. I’d seen Shayla enjoy a four-cheese pizza, and I thought
that
was her O-face. But this was like pizza and Christmas morning and getting a raise, all at once. With her cheeks flushed and eyelashes fluttering, she was beautiful and real, a woman with curves and folds, and not a glossy magazine image. I’d never seen anything like it.

I was still standing there, probably with my mouth open and looking like a tourist in Las Vegas, when the guy between her legs turned around and said, “You must be Peaches.”

“Oops,” Shayla said, crossing one tanned leg over the other for modesty.

“I haven’t been standing here for long,” I said.

He stood and extended his hand to me. “I’m Troy, and I’m learning about the value of a college education.”

Even though I had a pretty good idea about whose taco his hand had just been stuffing, I shook it anyway.

“I’m a college drop-out,” I replied. “Consider me an example of what not to do.”

He grinned, his smile making him seem more attractive. Troy had medium brown hair, brown eyes, and an average build—average for people, not actors and models. He actually looked like one of those young comedians who loses a few pounds and gets cast as a love interest opposite a hot blonde way out of his league.

Shayla had pulled a pack of cigarettes from somewhere and lit one, the tobacco sizzling in the otherwise quiet kitchen.

“Shay, not in the house!” I crossed over to the window and opened it all the way. She usually smoked on the porch. Actually, she usually snuck out under the pretense of taking out the garbage and puffed away over the Ninja Turtles ashtray, where she thought I couldn’t see her.

“Can I mix you a drink?” Troy asked me, holding a fresh tumbler under the new refrigerator’s ice dispenser.

“I could use a drink,” I said, setting my purse on the wood table inside the small room. “Is that sushi?”

“Help yourself,” he said, gesturing to the platter of rolls on the table.

Shayla kept smoking her cigarette and smiling, no sign of making any moves to put on clothes.

I popped one roll into my mouth, followed quickly by another. “I should go upstairs and leave you guys to your… holy fuck, these rolls are unbelievable.”

I told myself I’d just have one more, then go up to my room. Or two more. I couldn’t go up on an empty stomach.

Troy stood next to Shayla, whispering something in her ear.

“You ask her,” she said. “Don’t be shy.”

He whispered something else.

She sighed. “Peaches, Troy would like to invite you to join us in my bedroom.”

I turned to face them, still chewing a mouthful of sushi roll. “Ha ha.”

“For real,” she said.

I crossed the kitchen and slammed the open window shut.

“What would you want with me in there?” I asked.

Troy was blushing, his cheeks red. Without meeting my eyes, he said, “You wouldn’t have to do anything you’re not excited about.”

“Can I sit in a chair eating sushi and offering commentary?”

Shayla rolled her eyes. “Peaches.”

I reached for the drink Troy had made me and took a sip. “Troy, tell me the truth. Did you put something in my drink?”

Shayla gave me a mean look of warning.

“I’m very flattered,” I said, giggling. “Listen, Troy, I’ll have a threesome with you guys, but I don’t think you can handle what I have in mind.”

He looked up, a playful smirk on his face. “Keep talking.”

I sloshed back the rest of the drink, then launched into describing a scenario, using words, hand gestures, and various items on the counter to demonstrate. The scenario became increasingly elaborate, and I dare say some of the positions surprised even me. I finished with, “And then I mount you from behind with my strap-on, Troy, and I will ride your ass until you don’t know if you’re coming or going, but you
will
cry, and you will call me by my stripper name, which is Luscious Hilda Mae Sparkles the Second.”

In the silence that followed, an ashen-faced Troy reached for Shayla’s cigarettes and lit one, hands trembling.

“Too far?” I asked Shayla.

She shrugged. “I’m turned on.”

I blew her a kiss. “My pleasure, sexy lady.”

She jumped off the counter, took Troy by the hand, and led him out of the kitchen and upstairs to her room.

I finished off the sushi and opened up one of the fortune cookies.

The slip of paper inside read:
The grandest lies are the ones we tell ourselves.

I stared at the slip for several minutes. Was
grandest
even a word?*

*I looked. It is.

~

Wednesday morning, I opened the bookstore to find the lights on, the alarm off, and Adrian hunched over the computer. He was as still as a statue, his elbows on the counter on either side of the computer keyboard.

When he didn’t greet me, I approached cautiously, walking around to the front of him. His eyes were closed, and he was either playing a joke on me, or fast asleep. He used to sleep sitting up in chemistry class, but this was remarkable.

I pulled out my phone and took some photos. He still didn’t wake up. I looked around for something fun to do, settling on pulling my lipstick from my purse to give him a fun makeover. He woke up as soon as the lipstick touched his lips, and his sudden movement made me scream, which made him scream.

“Is this a dream?” he asked me, blinking and looking confused.

“Yes, this is all a dream.”

“Good.” His long arms snaked around me, pulling me into his embrace. His hands squeezed my buttocks as he buried his face against my neck, kissing me and groaning.

“And good morning to you, sir.” I shivered as he pressed his lower body against me.

He pulled away and gazed down at me tenderly. “I was here so late, and I decided to stay up and have breakfast with you.” He blinked a few times, then frowned. “But now I don’t feel so great.”

“You’re probably dehydrated.”

“Would you be offended if I went home?”

“No more offended than when you chased me out of here last night.”

We stared at each other for a moment.

“Did you have a good night?” he asked.

“I had some sushi and watched a movie.” I grabbed his arm and steered him toward the door. “Please go home. You’re making me tired just looking at you.”

He leaned down to give me a quick kiss. “You’re the best. Do you still have those other plans for tonight?”

“I do.” I dragged him to the door and sent him on his way. “Get some sleep!” I called down the street as he walked away.

I looked around to make sure nobody was looking my way. The scent of evil cupcakes wafted over from the bakery.

Shaking my fist at their fiendish vanilla-cinnamon smell, I ran back into the bookstore. The piece of cardboard I’d taped over the ceiling vent was still doing its job of keeping the scent from infiltrating.

The cardboard gave me a surprising blast of nostalgia. I’d been taping it in place when Dalton Deangelo had first crashed into my life, knocking me into his arms. What if he’d run into Java Jones that day instead? Kirsten wasn’t as curvy as me, but she wasn’t skinny, either. He could have dated her as “research” for his indie film, then claimed the research became genuine feelings.

Imagining him spouting all those cheesy lines to Kirsten made me cross my arms angrily. How dare he be so damn charming! And how dare he have me checking the time every ten minutes, nervously awaiting our date that night.

There were still no customers in the store, so I snuck back out, locked the door, and ran over to the door to the bakery. It was going to be a two-cupcake day.

CHAPTER 10

Vern, Dalton’s butler, driver, and personal assistant, knocked on the door of my house at 7:01. He apologized for being late.

“Looking good!” I said, admiring Vern as I stepped out onto the porch. He’d gotten a haircut and lopped off the weird ponytail.

“You’re too kind. And you look very well yourself, Miss Monroe.”

We both looked down at my gold, strapped sandals. “Is this footwear okay for what’s in store tonight, or do I need hiking boots?”

He peered behind me as I pulled the door closed. “Where is your overnight bag?”

“You’re scaring me, Vern. Am I leaving town? Do I need a passport?”

“Not tonight.” He abruptly stopped talking and tried to cover by quickly adding, “Great shoes! The car is right this way, and of course I’ll drive you back home this evening when you’re ready.”

He held open the back door of a dark car with tinted windows—the same vehicle from my first date with Dalton, but not the one Dalton had been driving himself in LA.

“How many cars does
the ol’ Dalt-meister
have?” I asked as I settled into the back seat. The glass divider was only open a crack. “And please lower this. I’m not a fancy person.”

The window lowered silently. “Mr. Deangelo has a few vehicles.”

We began driving, the car’s luxurious suspension making the pothole-filled street feel like a runway. Vern guided the vehicle north. I guessed we were heading to Dragonfly Lake, but I played it cool and didn’t ask. Instead, I amused myself by probing the limits of Vern’s confidentiality boundaries.

“How many turtlenecks does Dalton own?”

Vern chuckled. “Zero. He doesn’t like how broad they make him look.”

“Nobody looks good in a turtleneck.”

“I’m sure you do, Miss Monroe.”

“Does he have any food allergies?”

“Just an imaginary one to fresh-baked bread, but I’m sure you’ve heard all about that.”

“Does he date many women?”

Vern stared straight ahead at the road, the edge of his face, from what I could see, not giving away any clues.

I added, “Just stay absolutely silent if it’s a
lot
of women.”

“Not many,” he said quickly. “Between the series and now these films in the summer, Mr. Deangelo has a very busy schedule.”

“He doesn’t have time for a girlfriend.”

“Not really.” He turned and glanced back at me apologetically. “But he would make time for the right girl.”

“And if he has to stay late on set, then what happens? Do you order pizza with the girl and watch a movie together?”

Vern laughed in response.

I continued, “But you do live in the house with him, right? If a woman moved in, you’d be a threesome. Just a cozy little family of three.”

Still laughing, Vern reached for a button, and the glass divider between the seats began to rise.

I clicked my seatbelt undone. “Vern! Don’t you dare! I will Indiana-Jones my way over that glass and into the front seat.”

The barrier moved back down again.

We gave each other a hard time (mostly me bugging him) all the way to the woods. I pulled out my phone and was pleased to note my wireless connection actually worked. They must have put up the extra cell phone tower that had been in the works for a while.

Using GPS, I got a good look at where I was. We didn’t have this technology back in my childhood, when Shayla and I were braving the tadpole-infested shoreline. I could see that the southeast edge of Dragonfly Lake had what looked like a miniature lake, extending out like a bubble. A clump of trees lay between the water and the Veiner cabin, which explained why I hadn’t realized the cabin was lakeside, back when we visited on a school field trip.

“Everything okay, Miss Monroe? If your battery is low, I have several formats of chargers.”

“I’m fine. Just a bit nervous about—oh, HELL, NO.”

He parked the car on some grass and turned off the engine. “What’s wrong?”

“That.” I jabbed a finger through the air at the glinting UFO-shaped object. “Why did he buy a cabin if he’s going to hang out in that little sardine can?”

Vern exited the car and circled around to hold my door, but I was already out.

A good look around answered my question. The serene setting was now a construction zone, with three bright green port-a-potties, various trailers with piles of lumber, and bright orange excavation and landscaping vehicles.

The Veiner cabin, constructed of local logs, appeared to be levitating, propped up on metal legs.

A dark-haired man appeared in the doorway of the cabin and carefully stepped down the muddy plywood ramp leading to the ground. Because of how he was dressed—steel-toed boots and a red-checked flannel jacket—I thought he was a construction worker, until he flashed me that million-dollar smile.

Banging and sawing noises continued from inside and around the cabin.

“We’re running late,” he shouted over the noise, striding toward me. “This noise will stop within the hour, and these guys will skedaddle out of here.”

He waved to Vern, saying he had everything he needed, and the assistant/butler got back in the car and drove away.

“I’m glad you decided to stop by.” He stood before me, swaying slightly, as if he wanted to hug me but needed a sign.

“Like I had a choice.”

An alarming ringtone came from his pocket, and he hurriedly retrieved his phone. “I have to take this.”

He turned his back to me, the phone held to his ear. “Yes, Jamie, I know.” He kicked a rock from side to side between his boots. “These things take time, and I’m doing everything I can.” His shoulder slumped. “Of course.” He seemed to shrink down by an inch. “Hold off on the press release. She’s here now, and she doesn’t look happy. Gorgeous as always, but not happy. Blue dress that matches her eyes. Yes. I know, I know.” He said goodbye and put the phone away.

I rubbed the goosebumps on my arms, regretting that I hadn’t bought a jacket. The summer sun hadn’t gone down yet, but the wooded lake area was always cooler than town.

“Should I even ask who was on the phone?”

“Probably not,” he replied.

“You always keep me guessing, don’t you?”

Dalton slipped off his flannel jacket and swept it around my shoulders without asking. He gazed at my mouth, looking like he might kiss me, but he didn’t.

With a nod of his head, he turned and led me over to the barbecue set up near the round, silver Airstream trailer.