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

by Mimi Strong

  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.

  CHAPTER 12

  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.

  Whatever.

  I tucked my chin against my chest and let myself out the door. Keith appeared at my side a few seconds later, looking dazed.

  We walked in silence to the van, and Keith helped me get my bag loaded into the back, on top of the bags of soil.

  Inside the van, I held my hand over my face, not sure how I felt, exactly, but part of the emotional mix was definitely humiliation.

  We started driving, putting space between us and the strangeness.

  After a few minutes of driving, I said, “Tell me what he told you by the door.”

  Keith frowned and shook his head. He wasn’t telling.

  “Was it something depraved and sexual? Turn this van around. Turn it around right now and I’m going in there to kick his ass properly, like I should have the minute I got there.”

  “Let it go.” He fiddled with the stereo and put on a station with easy listening music. “People are like living ghosts, haunting their lives with their issues. If you don’t like the story, change yourself or change your location.”

  “Meaning?” I reached back and dragged my suitcase closer to my seat so I could check that my laptop was inside.

  “He’s got his life, and his house, and I wouldn’t trade him, because he’s lost you, and none of his rich-guy stuff matters compared to losing a woman as precious as you.”

  My heart did that thing where it squeezes up when someone says something kind and unexpected.

  “You’re just saying that because you want to bury your face right here between my peaches.” I pushed my girls together with my upper arms and flaunted the food-catchers his way.

  “Don’t.” He shook his finger at me. “Don’t turn away from contact by making a joke. Don’t distract from true, deep physical intimacy by bringing candy into the bedroom.”

  “Technically, it was marshmallows, not candy, and you asked for it. And if we’re going to talk depth here, I took you pretty deep. Getting those last marshmallows from around the base made my eyes water.”

  He grinned. “Which I appreciated.”

  “I’ll say you did.”

  We drove in silence for a minute, then I asked him again, “What did he say at the door?”

  “He said it to me, not to you, for a reason.”

  “Fine. Don’t tell me. I don’t even care anymore.” I retrieved my laptop from my bag and opened it to make sure everything was working. I tried really hard to act like I didn’t care about what Dalton had said, even though it was killing me.

  “Wanna get some lunch?” Keith asked.

  “Definitely. Acting like a trash-monster from a reality TV show, picking up my things from one guy’s house with another guy as my escort, has really worked up my appetite.”

  “You’re not a trash-monster.”

  “I didn’t slap anyone or throw a drink in their face.”

  “The day’s not over yet.”

  “What was up with you two guys and the alpha-male behavior? I thought I’d seen your chest puff out when we were modeling, but that was intense. I thought you two were going to start chimpanzee-screaming and throwing rocks around.”

  “Now you’re making fun of me. I was in control of myself the whole time. If you ask me, Dalton could use a little meditation.”

  I giggled at the idea of Dalton meditating. He’d get so bored after two seconds, just
like me.

  After a minute, I said, “Thank you.”

  Keith looked over at me, his brown eyes gold in the bright sunshine streaming in the van’s windows.

  “Thank you for everything,” I said. “Including coming inside, even though I told you to wait in the van.”

  “I’m all for equality, but sometimes a man has to be a man, and stand behind his lady, so she can see how much he cares.”

  “Are you trying to get into my pants? Because you don’t have to try so hard. You are really, really sexy.”

  He shot me another moody look. “Be serious.”

  I shook my head. “It is really hard to be serious when I’m thinking about getting icing and sprinkles and decorating your body like a cupcake.”

  “Are all the girls from Beaverdale like you?”

  “No. Some of them are weird.”

  He started laughing, and soon I was, too.

  I stopped laughing abruptly when he pulled into the parking lot for an all-salad restaurant.

  I survived lunch at the salad place, but just barely. They had a few interesting salads that challenged my salad-as-a-meal prejudice, including one with grilled turkey and candied pecans. Paired with a fruit smoothie, it promised a delicious meal.

  Keith and I both commented on the Niçoise salad, because it sounded good, but he ordered something with kale and goat cheese instead.

  Our waiter was a rugged-looking older gentleman with silver hair at his temples, and whenever he came by our table, a wild animal thing happened. Keith stuck his chest out like a threatened primate, and his voice got so deep, I worried about vocal chord damage.

  I decided that most guys have a little alpha male in them, even if they’re not spanking you and bossing you around like Christian Grey.

  After our lunch, we browsed on our phones for other things to do during the day in LA, and I admitted that going on a bus tour of star homes was something I “could probably be talked into,” meaning I really wanted to go and was embarrassed by how cheesy that made me.

  If I didn’t already think Keith was a sweet guy, his reply that he insisted I accompany him on a bus tour of star homes would have won me over.