Starlight (Peaches Monroe) (Volume 2) Paperback – September 2, 2013 (13 page)

“I thought you didn’t approve.”

He waved his hand. “Cat’s out of the bag now. May as well have some fun while we’re all on this planet.” He leaned in closer and whispered, “Is Keith the reason you and Dalton broke up?”

“No, those were completely separate events.” As I said the words, I detected a lie. It was a small lie, but the events weren’t entirely unrelated. I’d already kissed Keith, and I was at his apartment when I broke up with Dalton. If I’d been at Dalton’s house that night, or even at a hotel—one that didn’t have the waiting arms of another man on the other side of my door—would I have done the same thing?

Did Keith break us up?

I felt dizzy. Everything in my life was happening so fast, out of my control.

Dalton would be back in LA the next day, and my stuff was still at his house. The clothes were expendable, but I had to get my laptop. What would seeing him do to me?

The hostess took us to a seat in the window and told us we were a beautiful couple. I wrinkled my nose, because Mitchell was shorter than me and probably weighed the same as my purse, but he gave her a heartfelt thank-you anyway, which I suppose is the proper response to a compliment.

The menu had twelve pages, with photographs of everything. I’d never seen anything like it, and admitted to Mitchell I was in way over my head, and that he should order for me.

He did, and we enjoyed a sumptuous feast with a bit of everything. Even the rice was delicious, and it was just plain rice, but cooked perfectly. The thing that surprised me was the spinach
gomaae
, which was lightly cooked spinach with a peanut sauce. It was delicious, and probably my second favorite thing of the night.

My
favorite
thing was Mitchell telling me all his hilarious stories about dating models. He dated one guy who was obsessed with crafting the perfect root beer, and succeeded mainly in spraying sticky soda all over the kitchen. Another one had a chew-and-spit eating disorder that was the cause of many fights—not so much about the disorder, but the wasting of pricey food, because he also liked fancy restaurants. A third male model was just exceptionally dumb and sent sexy text messages that were incomprehensible. Mitchell received one of his texts, then responded with a naked torso shot, which he thought was what the guy wanted. It turned out the man’s brother had been shot in the chest and was at the hospital. Now, before you get all bummed out thinking that last story was just sad and not funny at all, I should mention the brother was just fine, as he’d actually been “shot” in the chest with a champagne cork, right before he fell over a railing and broke his leg.

I could have stayed all night, eating green tea ice cream and hearing Mitchell’s stories, but I had to get back to Keith’s place.

Mitchell drove me there, and made sure we had each other’s phone numbers in case I needed anything else from him while I was in LA.

“Just gimme one of those awesome Mitchell hugs,” I said, and he gave me one.

I knocked on Keith’s door, which had regular music playing on the other side—top forty stuff.

He opened the door wide, wearing absolutely nothing but a big grin. “Hi, honey, you’re home!”

I herded his naked body back into the apartment and pulled the door shut behind us. “Are you drinking?” I asked, though the empty bottles on the kitchen counter should have been my first clue.

“Let’s go swimming,” he answered, his goodies waggling back and forth.

“Only if you put some shorts on.”

Keith waved his hand clumsily. “They don’t care around here. The neighbors are very lacka—” He hiccuped. “Lacka-da-da-daisies. That word.”

“Lackadaisical.”

“Yes. Let’s go swimming. Just us. Nobody else.”

I looked around the apartment for signs of drugs, but this seemed to be a garden-variety, one-person booze party, and I can’t say I haven’t done the same from time to time.

He walked into his bedroom, so I followed his cute buns and watched as he rooted around inside dresser drawers for a swimsuit.

“Keith, I’m so sorry they pulled you off the shoot. They’re absolute idiots. That Sven guy is a big jerkwad, and I’m sure the photos won’t be good. I’ll probably have a look of disgust on my face in every shot.”

He stopped rummaging and turned to me. “Disgust? Did he do something to you?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll kill him.” He seemed to sober up instantly.

“Let’s go for that swim,” I said, reaching into the drawer around him and pulling out what looked and felt like swim trunks. “It’s been a long day, and I’d love to go for a swim with you.”

“Swim first, then we find and kill Sven.”

“The hippie boy has a caveman side.”

“Grrr.”

I ran my fingertip down the center of his tanned chest. I would have much rather posed with him all day, but at least we were together now.

“I bet we can think of some other things to do after a swim,” I said.

“Just like a woman. Always trying to prevent war and homicide.”

“I do what I can.”

As he pulled on his red swimming trunks, I stripped off my clothes down to my underwear. The bra and panties I had on were black, and as long as nobody looked too closely, they would pass for a swimsuit.

Keith pulled me in for a kiss, and his lips felt good, but he smelled of something I didn’t like—maybe whiskey—and I held back.

“I’ll go brush my teeth,” he said, picking up on my reluctance right away. “I’ll grab some towels for the pool, too.”

I followed him out of the bedroom and waited on one of the chrome kitchen counter stools, checking my phone messages.

There was a reminder for my commercial shoot on Monday, along with directions to be wearing loose-fitting clothes when I arrived. Thinking about that little adventure in my future made me glance over at the booze available, but luckily the wooziness passed in a minute.

A message from Amy, my junior staff member at the bookstore, simply said:
I’m sorry. It was really fun working with you.

The next message was from Gordon Oliver, my boss and the owner of Peachtree Books, telling me that those sheep-fuckers from the other bookstore in town (hate them!) had poached our employee, and he was on the verge of shutting the whole thing down. I don’t want to get Gordon in trouble, but he seemed awfully vengeful. He actually used the words “fire” and “collect the insurance.”

With my hand on my forehead, I shook my head like a weary father in a TV sitcom. I leave Beaverdale for business, and before a week goes by, all hell breaks loose? Would there be any buildings left standing amidst the rubble when I returned next week?

As I was holding the phone, it tickled my hand with another message. The number wasn’t in my address book, but the sender seemed to know me, because he or she said:
Hey, Peaches.

I asked who it was, and the tickle spread all through my body when he said: Adrian Storm.

Hot buttered noodles with cheese.

Me:
What’s going on?

Adrian:
I’m your new coworker.

Me:
You didn’t.

Adrian:
Oh, yes, I did. Gordon hired me just now. And I’m going to reorganize this whole bookstore before you get back. I think there should be more of an emphasis on Men’s Adventure books.

Me:
Don’t touch anything! You are my subordinate!

Adrian:
Yes, boss.

Me:
Your secondary job is to sell books. Your main job is to speak to Gordon in a soothing voice and talk him out of expanding the wine store into our space.

Adrian:
HOLY SHITSNACKS! I think that wall just moved.

Me:
Very funny.

Keith came out of the bathroom, two bright orange towels in his arms. “What are you getting all giggly about?”

I felt my cheeks flush hot, like I’d been caught lying.

“Everything’s falling apart at home without me.”

“And that makes you giggle?”

I batted my eyelashes, and in a funny voice, said, “I’m not like other people.”

“You can say that again.” He went to the front door and pulled it open.

I followed him out to the courtyard in nothing but my black underwear, and the sun’s evening rays glanced off my milk-hued, Washington-white-girl skin and blinded everyone in a thirteen-block radius. (Sorry, LA.)

I watched Keith lower himself into the pool, which was rectangular and tiled with mostly blue and green tiles, dotted with the occasional yellow tile, standing out like a dandelion in a lawn. Surrounding the pool were a few weathered teak loungers, some potted palm trees, and a trio of ceramic turtles that made me look twice—not because they were realistic, but because I am gullible.

“Hey!” Keith said. “Some kids left their pool noodles.” He grabbed two of the long, foam pool toys and wrapped them under his armpits so he could float easily.

I came around to the side with the steps and stepped down cautiously, pleased to find the water was warm.

“You need those to float,” I said. “You have no body fat.”

We were alone in the courtyard, and if there were kids living there who owned the pool noodles, they were quiet ones.

I swam up to Keith and wrapped my legs around his waist playfully, pretending to pull him under like a shark.

Smiling, he said, “Be gentle. I’ve had a tough day.”

I looked down at my body under the water, warped and rippling, a distorted version of myself.

“I feel awful about what happened today,” I said.

“Don’t. It wasn’t your fault.” He gave me a pretend-serious look. “Unless it was. Did you have me fired?”

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him in for a hug, the two plastic pool noodles between our chests keeping us afloat without effort.

“Of course I didn’t,” I said.

He stared down at my lips for a moment, then kissed me. Despite the cool water surrounding us, I felt a heat rise from my core.

Pulling back, he said, “I’m going to be fine. Please don’t let any of this stuff take away from what is actually a victory.”

“A victory?”

His hands found my buttocks and massaged me there, and up and down my legs as I continued to hold on tight to him.

He kissed my eyelids, my cheeks, the tip of my nose, and then my mouth, before moving down my neck. The pool water splish-splashed with our movements. I ran my hands through his damp hair.

“Today is a victory for curvy women,” he said.

I reached down into the water with both of my hands and grabbed his firm, muscular ass. “Today is a victory for my hands,” I said.

“Be serious for a minute. You’re part of something that’s bigger than just you.”

I reached around between us and grabbed something interesting through his shorts. “Speaking of bigger…”

He took in a quick gasp of air, raised his hands over his head, and quickly sank, slipping out of my grasp. He reappeared at the other end of the pool, slicking his inky hair back with both hands.

“You’re not very patient, are you?” he asked, grinning at me.

“My roommate flips to the last page of every book to read the ending. I’m a lot more patient than she is.”

He swam close enough to retrieve one of the pool noodles for himself, then swam away again.

“When you were ten, did you long to be twelve?” he asked.

“Doesn’t everyone? I wanted to be sixteen, so I could drive a car.”

“I wanted to stay ten forever.” When he said that, his youthful face looked even more innocent, his brown eyes wide and honest. He continued, “When our eleventh birthday came, I told everyone that only Katy was turning eleven, and we weren’t twins after all. I said I was younger than her, and the whole twin thing had been a prank.”

I took the pool noodle he’d left behind and wrapped it under my legs, balancing on it like a chair.

“I didn’t know you and Katy were twins. Did people believe you?”

“Yes. Even teachers believed me. I knew it wasn’t true, of course, but the idea that people would just believe whatever an eleven-year-old told them—it shook me. That’s my first memory of realizing how chaotic the world is.”

“That’s a tough age for a lot of people. I was about that old when I figured out that eventually everybody dies. Not just sheep dogs and goldfish, but everyone.”

“It’s tough to be a kid,” he said solemnly.

“It’s tough to be an adult.”

The courtyard was so quiet, I could hear cars in the distance and people inside their apartments running water and washing dishes.

As the sun set and the light disappeared, Keith’s muscle contours picked up shadows, and he looked less like a boy and more like a man—like a sinewy god of the sea, with a lavender pool noodle.

We both started paddling, moving in a clockwork direction. We moved slowly at first, then sped up, like each was trying to catch the other by the foot, but pretending that wasn’t the real goal.

Finally, Keith snarled like a dragon and shot out of the water, seizing me around the waist. I let out a startled cry, then was pulled under.

Once underwater, he released me, and we opened our eyes and found each other under the surface. He opened his mouth like he was speaking, but only bubbles came out. I did the same, and he smiled. We repeated this until we were both out of air and had to surface, laughing and gasping to catch our breath.