Starlight (Peaches Monroe) (Volume 2) Paperback – September 2, 2013 (16 page)

Me:
Do you really think dating pretty boys is eating my soul?

Shayla:
Yes. No. I don’t know. They’re not regular people.

Me:
The sex is insane.

Shayla:
Sex is always insane. That’s the whole point of sex. Turn off your brain and check your sanity at the coat check.

Me:
There’s a coat check for sanity?

Shayla:
Yes. Don’t forget to tip the girl who works the counter. She’s got a freezer full of vegan hot dogs and nobody to smother.

We texted back and forth for the next hour, getting progressively weirder and more
in-joke-y
, like all the best conversations, until my phone beeped sadly, begging for a charge-up.

In the main area of the apartment, Keith was off his phone and bustling around tidying up, by the sound of it. I checked one last time for new messages and saw one.

Dalton:
Come get your laptop before five o’clock today, or I’m throwing it in the trash.

“You fucking asshole,” I growled at my phone.

I burst out of the bedroom and told Keith I had to run an errand, and also beat some sense into someone.

He said, “How did my sister get your phone number?”

“Not her. Dalton. I need to get my stuff from his house before he does something even stupider than all the stupid things he’s done to date.” I held my hand out, palm up. “Do you think I could borrow your van? Or should I call a taxi?”

“I’ll drive.” He grabbed a lightweight jacket and slipped on some leather sandals.

I crossed my arms and allowed a small amount of sanity to wash in around my crazy. “You could drive me to Dalton’s, but you’d better not come inside the house.”

Keith grinned, looking boyish and adorable, his black hair ruffled up from him messing with it while he talked on the phone. “Don’t worry, Peaches. I’m a pretty zen dude, or hadn’t you noticed?”

“Eep.” I grimaced. “Pardon my selfishness, but I forgot to ask how things went on the phone. Are you going to Italy?”

He shrugged, then jingled his keys. “To the Batmobile.”

“My dad used to say that.”

We were almost out the door, when I caught sight of my reflection in a mirror and begged for some time to fix myself up.

“I’ll eat my bagel,” he said.

I ran into the bathroom and shut the door. Alone with a big mirror, I frowned at my face. Hot sex was supposed to make you glow, not give you bags under your eyes from the sleep you lost. I put on my concealer and foundation, then had to start all over again, because my regular makeup looked too pale thanks to the sun I’d gotten over the previous few days.

I was putting on dark brown mascara when Keith knocked on the door and said, “Please tell me you’re not taking half an hour to pretty yourself up for your ex-boyfriend.”

“No,” I lied. “I’m totally… taking a big, smelly one in here. Don’t get too close to the door crack.”

I flipped on the switch for the fan, then quietly died of embarrassment. To his credit, Keith demonstrated what a gentleman he was by laughing on the other side of the door.

Being a classy lady, I can assure you that I’ve certainly never farted in my entire life, much less taken a “big one.” Oh, I’ve
heard
about pooping, but it’s just something other people do. When I was a baby, babysitters loved my never-soiled diapers. I bet if I had to make one, some day, it would smell like rose petals and look like potpourri.

In Keith’s green van, we drove up to the Hollywood Hills. We fit right in, because the roads were populated with both fancy convertibles and gardening trucks.

“So, this is what smoldering vampire eyes gets you,” Keith said as he parked in front of Dalton’s gate.

“Apparently.” I unfastened my seat belt and pointed at Keith. “Stay.”

He looked hurt by my command, his brown eyes puppy-dog-like. I appreciated everything Keith had done for me, including the ride up there, but I had enough sense to know bringing him into Dalton’s home would be a disaster.

Glowering just a little, Keith stayed in the van, with the engine off and the windows rolled down. I opened the heavy gate and started toward Dalton’s front door.

The door itself was tall and plain, cold gray brushed metal. I pressed the doorbell three times before someone finally came to the door: Dalton’s butler, Vern.

“Vern!” I was so happy to see him, that I just hugged him without waiting for an invitation.

“What’s happening?” he asked softly. “Mr. Deangelo is all worked up.”

He waved me into the space. I wiped off my shoes on the matt in the foyer, then followed Vern into the large entertaining space, with its polished concrete floor, fifteen-foot-high ceilings, and giant ceiling fans that looked like airplane propellers.

Dalton was reclining on one of the white leather sofas, watching something on his phone.

“Vern, her things are in the master bedroom. Please pack everything in her luggage.”

“
Her
luggage?” I sputtered. “I’m right here. You’re going to pretend I don’t exist?”

He glanced up briefly from his phone, his dazzling green eyes looking wounded. “It’s either that or offend you in some way,” he muttered.

Vern glanced over at me. “I’ll just go pack your things and give you a moment.” He exited quietly, leaving us alone.

“I’m not falling for the old madder-than-you trick,” I said. “You’re not allowed to hate me, because I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You got your fame ticket to LA, sweetheart, but guess what? It’s a round-trip ticket this time.”

Quietly, I assessed the situation. I knew someone else who acted offended when he was in trouble. Kyle. Who was only seven years old. And what was the best way to deal with him when he acted this way? Sympathy.

I crossed the room and took a seat in the chair adjacent to Dalton’s sofa. He was still lying there, so the top of his head faced me.

“I can see that you’re not happy,” I said. “Do you want to talk about this?”

He sighed and rolled over, still not looking at me. “I knew it was over when I left you that morning at your house, but I hoped I was wrong.”

“Dalton, I only took the modeling contract because it made me feel like I was somebody—like how you’re somebody. If I had my own thing, and wasn’t just some small-town girl who worked in a bookstore, then a person could sort of squint and see that maybe you and I could be a couple.”

“But I liked you exactly how you were.” He sat up slowly, and turned to face me. As he looked into my eyes, he said, “I like you exactly how you are.”

I folded my hands together nervously on my lap. The room was cool, but suddenly felt hot and dangerous, like the ceiling could fall and crush us.

“When we first met, you said we were future old friends. Can’t we just skip to that now? I can get over how hurt and betrayed I feel over you stringing me along with lines from a script, if it means we can be friends.”

He looked down, and I searched his beautiful face for clues. He had a scar I hadn’t noticed before—a tiny pock like a chicken pox scar—right between his eyebrows.

He turned his eyes back up slowly, a sly grin on his face. “Does being friends mean you’ll come for a dip in my pool? It’s not a natural hot spring, but it can be refreshing.”

“Stop looking at me like you’re thinking about eating me.”

He didn’t stop smirking. “Just one of the hazards of playing a vampire for so long.”

“If you’re always playing roles, how do you know which personality is you?”

“Does it matter? I’m whoever you want me to be. We all are.”

I shook my head and thought about storming out in a huff, but I had one question I’d been dying to get an answer to.

“Why’d you do it?” I asked. “Did you seduce me for research, or because you needed entertainment?”

“Seduce you? Excuse me, but you were the one grinding against me at your cousin’s wedding, running your hands up and down my body every chance you got. You were the one who said she wouldn’t be shushed, but shoved her gorgeous lips or tits in my mouth whenever I said something you didn’t like. You were the one who took what she wanted and ran out like a thief in the night on more than one occasion.”

“Stop changing the subject. I know what I did, because I was there. My eyes are wide open. Now answer my question.”

He pursed his gorgeous lips once, twice. “Research.”

The word hung in the air like noxious gas.

“Research in the beginning,” he said.

“I knew it.” I slammed my palms on the armrests of the chair, making a slapping noise.

He shifted along the sofa, moving closer to me. He put both of his hands on top of mine, and then held my hands in his.

“But it stopped being research when I made love to you.”

I yanked my hands out of his, and started scrambling back to get out of the chair and away from him, but the doorbell rang, and I froze.

Vern came jogging through and went straight to the door.

Dalton grabbed my hand again, and stood up over me, learning forward so his face was inches above mine. “What’s scaring you?” he asked. “Was it the idea of love? The idea of making love?”

I looked around his shoulder, at the foyer. Keith would be coming in any second, and I didn’t want him to see me like this.

“I’m not scared,” I said. “I’m not scared of the dark, or of things in the woods, and I’m not scared of love. I love my family and my friends. I just don’t feel it for you.”

“Do you love this new guy?”

Keith walked into the room, looking young in his leather sandals and camouflage-print shorts, yet walking with a deliberate swagger, his chest puffed out.

Dalton leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Tell me. Do you love him?”

The idea that he thought my private feelings were any of his business, coupled with the fact he was trapping me in that chair and making me claustrophobic, made me seethe with rage. I could have punched him in the solar plexus, and if the wind had been blowing another direction that morning I might have, but I had another way to hurt him.

“Yes,” I whispered. “We just met, but yes.”

He stood up slowly, his expression cold. “Nice.” He flipped his chin at me in a gesture of detachment.

Turning, he reached his hand out. “Dalton Deangelo,” he said to Keith, his voice way deeper than I’d ever heard it.

“Keith Raven,” Keith said, his voice equally deep in pitch. “This is quite the home you have here. I was looking at a Spanish in Outpost Estates, but the renovation wasn’t as high quality.” He looked up at the ceiling fans, his hands on his hips, and his chest broad enough to take up half the spacious room. “Are those functional?”

Dalton snorted, but not with derision. It was a good-natured snorted. He raised his arms over his head in a V-shape. “The central air keeps me chill, but I like to turn those bad boys on and feel the power.” He glanced over at Vern, who nodded and went to some switches on the wall. A second later, the fans were moving the air, and the room took on a different dimension that included swirling motion.

Keith also raised his arms in a V. “Ah, that’s good.”

Dalton lowered his arms, but moved to the concrete coffee table and propped one foot on the surface, displaying the bulge in his trousers my way while also taking up more space in the room. “With fans that powerful, you need sturdy furniture that won’t blow away.”

Keith took a wider stance. Scoffing, he said, “That’s good air flow, but my grandmother’s wicker rocking chair wouldn’t rock in that breeze.”

Dalton nodded at Vern. “Turn it up to maximum.”

Vern nodded and cranked the dial.

The huge ceiling fans whirred as they sped up, faster and more powerful than I’d expected, and then faster again. The indoor plants started swaying and rustling like a rainforest in a storm. The wind got stronger. The top sheet from a stack of papers on a side table lifted into the air and flew across the room.

Papers and plant leaves swirled through the air, and my hair whipped around, getting in my eyes and mouth.

Paper and debris swooshed by Keith, who took two steps back, looking confused and unsure.

Dalton began to laugh, and then he actually—and I swear, I fib about a few things here and there, but I’m not making this up—began to beat his chest like a gorilla in a nature documentary. He didn’t yell out the Tarzan cry, but he did bounce his fists on his chest once, twice, before resting them back on his hips.

My voice full of sarcasm, I yelled over the sound of the industrial fans, “Thanks for the amazing demonstration. Really.” I gave him two thumbs up. “Very impressive. You’re obviously the big man here.”

He grabbed a piece of paper from the air and crumpled it up. “Thanks for dropping by! I really should entertain more. This is fun.”

Across the swirling room, Vern waved to catch my eye, and pointed down at my luggage.

That was my cue to leave, so I grabbed Keith in one hand, the handle of my luggage in the other, and ran for the door.

Dalton beat us to the door and offered Keith his hand to shake. We were in the foyer, which was windy, but more like an unenjoyable vacation than a full-fledged tropical storm.

With a sportsmanlike nod, Keith put his palm in Dalton’s. Dalton grabbed him in a bear hug and murmured something in his ear.