Starfire (Erotic Romance) (Peaches Monroe)

by Strong, Mimi

  “Of course I’m hungry,” I said. “I’m totally hungry for our… date tonight?”

  “You forgot all about me.”

  I was standing behind the store’s counter, so I did what I always do and dumped out the pen holder for a good sorting.

  “Remind me what we have planned,” I said, smiling down at the pens as I arranged them by color.

  “We’re getting a quick bite to eat then hiking out to Phantom Bog.”

  “Hiking?” You’d think I’d remember agreeing to something so ominous. “Oh, right. Good thing I’m already wearing my most rugged sneakers. Do I need hiking boots? Because I don’t own hiking boots, so we’ll have to do something else, instead.”

  He leaned on the counter and peered over at my footwear. “Nice try, but those are fine.” He paused, his face inches from mine. “Do I get a kiss hello?”

  I kissed his cheek and he leaned back again, satisfied. “Want some help closing up shop? You count up the float while I get the sandwich board and lights.”

  “Yes, boss.” I started punching the end-of-day codes into the credit card terminal.

  As Adrian helped with the closing, I counted up the totals. I had to keep restarting my count because my mind wandered. This is nice, I kept thinking. Having Adrian help with closing and winding up the exterior awning for me… it was downright fucking romantic.

  What the hell was I doing messing around with Dalton Deangelo when I had the guy of my dreams within reach?

  Eyes open, Peaches.

  Over the past few whirlwind weeks, I’d forgotten about the promise I’d made to myself many years ago, to keep my damn eyes open. Life isn’t about closing your eyes and making a wish. That way leads to denial, disappointment, danger, and a bunch of other D-words. Smart people keep their eyes open and make their own good fortune.

  CHAPTER 13

  We got takeout from Burt’s and drove west in Adrian’s mother’s car.

  People in Beaverdale will argue over the name of Phantom Bog. Some people say it’s named after the Phantom Orchid, which is native to Washington State. This rare orchid only blooms in conjunction with perfect soil conditions and a specific fungus it has a symbiotic relationship with. Local legend says this chlorophyll-devoid orchid will only blossom near the fecal droppings of Forest Folk.

  These local supernaturals are not anything you’d want to encounter in the wilderness, unless you enjoy the company of human-sasquatch-hybrid cannibals. According to local parents, Forest Folk eat the toes of children who don’t clean up their bedrooms, and they have Santa Claus on speed dial. (Unlike regular sasquatch or yeti, Forest Folk have telephones.)

  If you happen upon a giant, hairy beast in the local forests, don’t stop for photos. Run for your life. Not even lumberjacks would survive an encounter. Forest Folk regenerate body parts instantly, so even if you have an ax and chop off their terrifying arms, they’ll grow new ones and use the old ones to beat you to death. Or so the local legends go.

  What were we talking about again? Oh, right. Phantom Bog.

  Some people say it’s named after the ghosts that float up at dusk and go to their night jobs, making the floors of old houses squeak extra loud.

  Speaking of scary things…

  GRRRR.

  A growl pierced the calm of the car as we drove through the woods. In the back seat was Cujo, the retired police dog who was living out his golden years with Adrian’s family.

  “I forgot he was back there,” I said, fanning my face with both hands, which we all know is the best method for making your heart slow down to its normal resting speed.

  “We can’t go hiking without protection,” Adrian said. “The Forest Folk will gobble our toes.”

  “They only eat your toes if you’re naughty.”

  Adrian turned and raised his golden eyebrows, his cool blue eyes wordlessly reminding me of our session dry-humping at the skating rink, and then the oral showdown in my kitchen.

  Were those things actually naughty, though? We were both consenting adults, being honest with each other, and any minute now I was going to casually let him know I might be dating another man soon—my husband.

  Cujo growled again, and I hunched down guiltily in my seat. The dog was totally onto me, sensing my guilt.

  Cujo and I had a “meet cute” story in which he thought I was a perp running through the forest, and I thought he was a mutant cannibal sasquatch, and he took me down like a bag of chips at a stoner party. We’d tried to make friends since that, but I could see in his big, brown eyes that if I so much as darted sideways quickly to avoid a bee, he’d gleefully make me eat dirt. Even there in the car, he was staring me down. I should have given him some of my burger, even though Adrian had a “no people food” rule.

  Adrian pulled the car over to the side of the dirt road, and we rolled bumpily to a stop near the trees. To the left and right of us were some ruts in the ground, from other vehicles, but other than that, the spot didn’t look any different from anywhere else along the road. If this was the condition of the parking lot, I had some concerns about the hiking trail.

  Adrian turned off the ignition and let Cujo out of the car. The dog bounded off into the woods, wagging his tail like a puppy. When he wasn’t biting the fleshy part of your ass, Cujo was a cute German Shepherd, and not nearly as terrifying as his namesake, the rabid St. Bernard in the Stephen King book and movie.

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” I asked Adrian. “I don’t see any signage.”

  Adrian propped his long running-shoe-clad foot up on a rock and leaned forward. “Stretch your calves and hammies. The bog is about a half hour’s walk in there. The terrain’s mostly flat, but a stretch now will help prevent injuries if you stumble.”

  “Hammies?” I stretched up and then leaned forward to stretch my hamstrings. “Do you really say hammies or is that just for my benefit?”

  “I say hammies. This is the real me, Peaches. For better or for worse, I genuinely thought walking to a bog to see a rare orchid was a good date idea. I don’t have a bunch of money to buy a cabin or a float plane, but I’ll never lie to you, not even if it’s to tell you what you want to hear.”

  “Back it up. Dalton bought a float plane? An actual airplane?”

  “Yes, and he probably did it to impress you. Meanwhile, I take you to the woods to get eaten by mosquitos. Kind of a self-sabotage move now that I think about it.”

  “Forget about him, because I’m having fun doing this, and we’re going to get some sweet orchid photos for our moms.”

  He let out a low chuckle. “Fair enough. I’ll shut up about my insecurities.”

  “Dude, you’re dating two of the hottest girls in town, plus you’re fucking sexy as hell. In LA, I had to pose in my underwear with this blond dude who was about your height, but not nearly as cute.”

  “You really think I’m cute?” He grinned at me, his gorgeous smile only making the question more ridiculous.

  “Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”

  I rested my foot on the rock next to Adrian’s and stretched my calves, facing him. At least I’d worn stretchy jeans that day, which would be fine for the walk. An hour’s walk sounded just fine to me. Walks are fun. When people say hike, I always imagine myself dangling from the side of a mountain, like a ripe plum about to plummet from a tree.

  When we were done stretching, Adrian grabbed a backpack from the car. In the bag was bottled water, two extra jackets made of polar fleece, and some emergency supplies. I left my purse in the car, tucked under the front seat.

  Adrian scooped my hand into his, and we started off into the woods, following some hand-lettered arrow signs nailed to trees. As we moved deeper into the woods, where the summer evening’s sunshine didn’t reach, the name Phantom Bog became more ominous.

  Along the walk, we talked about the upcoming move for the bookstore, and all the things that needed to be done. Adrian had a neat idea to put a sliding door in between the new location and the coffe
e shop next door, so that some of their seating would spill over into the bookstore and bring a happy buzz to the space. We’d have to put up signs reminding people to purchase the magazines before taking them into the coffee area, but it would probably boost sales enough to be worth the annoyance of a few people treating the place like a community center.*

  *Not that I have any issues with people coming in for a browse, but some folks seem genuinely clueless about how business works and think that the mere presence of breathing human bodies within a space generates revenue to pay the rent and electricity. No, sir, and no, ma’am. The first rule of retail is that the money goes into the register. I’d love to get revenue for the shop some other way, such as presence of bodies, so that our main objective could be creating happiness and promoting literacy, but until that funding comes through, they should just pay for their damn copy of Vanity Fair before they get biscotti crumbs between the pages.**

  **Elderly ladies who copy the recipes out of cookbooks (Yes, this happens.) are still fine by me. I’m not a monster.

  ~

  Still holding hands, Adrian and I stepped out into a clearing in the trees. Before us, some tattered orange ribbon stretched between posts in the ground, marking off an area the size of a high school track field.

  We were at the bog already, the walk having passed quickly due to conversation and flirting.

  Both of us looked up in response to a buzzing from the sky. I saw something uncommon for Beaverdale, because there’s no airport nearby: an airplane flying overhead.

  “Wow,” I said. “He really did buy a plane, didn’t he?”

  Adrian frowned at the sky. “How did he learn to fly, though? It’s not like pretending to be a vampire. You can’t just act like you can fly. Actors can’t fly.”

  “No, but butlers can, if they used to be pilots.” The plane disappeared, so I turned back to Adrian, who had a sour expression. “Hey, don’t be sad. You’ll just have to build up another empire and get your own personal-assistant-slash-butler-slash-pilot.”

  Adrian snorted. “Don’t think I won’t.”

  “I’m sure you will. You’ve done all this stuff with the bookstore in a few weeks. You’ll be running half the town in no time.”

  “You’re only saying that to make me feel better.”

  “Duh. That’s why people say nice things, or that everything’s going to work out.”

  Adrian turned to frown at the empty sky, not even listening to me.

  I continued, “Saying platitudes sure beats the hell out of saying everything’s going to get worse and worse and then we all die.” I grabbed his shoulders and tried to shake some sense into him. “Adrian, snap out of it! You never cared about planes before, did you?”

  Weakly, he murmured, “I like planes, and boats, and cars.”

  “Snap out of it!” I shook him harder. “I don’t care about that stuff, and neither does any girl worth being with.”

  He grumbled, “But the rich guy always gets the girl. When I was rich, I could get any girl I wanted.”

  I waved toward a fallen log. “Let’s have a seat, crack open those granola bars, and you tell me all about the girls you got when you were rich. I want to hear about gold-digging sluts. In fact, that’s why I came with you out to this amazing bog.”

  He shook his head, smiling sheepishly. “That was Greedy Adrian making a guest appearance.”

  Cujo trotted over and sat expectantly at our feet.

  “Good dog,” Adrian said, slipping off the backpack to retrieve the dog treats. The elderly German Shepherd accepted a big Milk Bone and settled down to crunch it with his remaining teeth.

  The two of us humans walked over to the log and took a seat overlooking the view. The bog wasn’t as muddy as I expected, and didn’t look much different from the surrounding trees, except the ground was lower and no trees grew within the area. White and purple wildflowers dotted the sparse grass, and small birds hopped around feeding on seeds and looking at us sideways.

  “Is Greedy Adrian a bad guy?” I asked.

  The log was bumpy, and I wiggled around to where I didn’t have a knot or branch trying to get to third base with me.

  Adrian put his hand on my knee and rubbed his palm casually along my thigh. Under my jeans, my skin registered his touch with interest.

  “Greedy Adrian is a hard worker,” he said.

  “Does he work through the night at bookstores?”

  “He can be obsessive.”

  “Does he want to be the boy with all the toys?”

  “How did you guess?”

  “He’s been staring at my bean bags since we sat down.” I snapped my fingers in front of my chest. “Hello, Greedy Adrian. My eyes are up here.”

  “Grr,” he replied. “Greedy Adrian wants what he sees.”

  I rolled my eyes. “First the bog and now the hot, sexy talk. I’m under your spell. Kiss me now.”

  Adrian took my sarcastic comment as a command and immediately planted his lips on mine.

  I would have pushed him away, but his lips were so pleasant. And his tongue. And his hands, first on my back, and then slipping up the front of my shirt and greedily rubbing my breasts through my silky bra. All of these things were very pleasant, and the forest setting became very romantic. The dappled light was certainly better than the dark of the roller rink or the bright light of my kitchen.

  My skin was practically steaming by the time he pulled my shirt off over my head. The cool air on my bare skin was a relief, cooling me momentarily before the burning-hot kisses that rained down from Adrian’s gorgeous mouth.

  I slipped my hands under his T-shirt, palming his chest and the ridges of his stomach muscles before tugging the shirt up and over his head.

  We both turned on the log so we were facing each other, straddling our seat.

  “You look like a goddess,” he breathed as he admired me.

  “Goddess of the bog?”

  He reached around to my back and unlatched my bra, drinking me in with his eyes as he slipped off my bra and tossed it onto the pile of our clothes.

  “You look like a sexy forest nymph. No, a forest nymphomaniac. Is that a real thing? Because maybe it should be.”

  I giggled, covering my mouth with one hand.

  He cupped his palms around the bottoms of my breasts and tilted them up. His voice deep and husky, he said, “I’m feeling greedy again.”

  “You talk too much. Put my nips in your mouth.”

  He flashed his eyes at me and took a delicious mouthful of breast, giving it a hard suck to send tingles all around my seat.

  He licked and sucked my breasts for what felt like hours, until I felt like a tea kettle about to whistle. I unbuttoned my jeans, guided his fingers down, and after a few more minutes of fingers swirling, I was whistling, indeed. All the way to completion.

  With my moans of pleasure still fresh on my lips, I moved back on the log, leaned forward, and unbuttoned his hiking shorts. Adrian’s wood came out to match the forest surrounding us, and I got to work making the most of the local natural resources.

  This time, I didn’t ask him to say any dirty things. The serenity of the forest was too beautiful, plus I already felt dirty enough, with all the little birds and creatures watching.

  When we were finished exchanging pleasantries, we celebrated by sharing a ginger-ale and a couple of granola bars.

  The timer alarm on Adrian’s phone jarred us out of our reverie. Sundown was less than an hour away, and the walk back would take less than that, but only if we hurried.

  I told Adrian to wait for me while I found somewhere semi-private to tinkle. I was embarrassed to be talking to him about bladder business, but wetting my pants on the walk or drive home would be worse.

  “Go right here. I won’t look.” He shook his head at my modesty. “Fine, go wander off, but don’t go far, and take Cujo to watch out for bears.”

  What I should have said was, “What bears?” Instead, however, I called the dog to come with me, an
d I stupidly blundered off into the bushes looking for somewhere semi-private.

  I found a nice spot to wee, grumbling to myself about how much easier it is for boys, who don’t have to locate an incline so as to avoid muddying their shoes. After I was done, I stood up to button my jeans, and Cujo growled.

  Cujo wasn’t growling at me, though, but at something behind me. Naturally, I assumed the shadowy shape was just Adrian, with his shirt pulled up over his head or something equally ridiculous.

  “Oh, help,” I squealed. “Please don’t eat my toes, Mr. Scary Forest Folk Man!”

  Cujo kept growling, his lips curled back in a snarl and his haunches up, his fur standing up.

  I looked more carefully, and found a black bear less than forty feet away. The bear was still at first, then raised its snout up, sniffing the air. I could actually hear its breaths as it sniffed, then raised up slowly, standing on its back legs.

  Cujo began barking, still holding his ground.

  Adrian called out my name from nearby.

  I didn’t answer, because the bear seemed focused on the dog, and I didn’t want to alarm it. I began slowly backing away.

  Adrian seemed to be calling out my name, but I couldn’t hear him over the dog barking and the pulse rushing in my ears.

  I kept backing up, until something grabbed me. A hand clapped over my mouth, stifling my scream.

  “You’re okay,” Adrian whispered in my ear. “I’ve got you and you’re okay. We’re going to quietly back up. We’ll just back on out of here.”

  He pulled his hand from my mouth. Cujo stood halfway between us and the bear, still barking and growling. The bear was bobbing from side to side in a way that was both cute and mind-blowingly terrifying.

  We backed up, putting more distance between us and the bear. Adrian finally called out softly, “Cujo, down. Come. Come here. Heel.”

  The dog turned to look our way, momentarily distracted, and the bear leapt forward, making its move.

  I screamed. Adrian grabbed my arm tightly and commanded that we run.

  CHAPTER 14

  “No! Cujo!” I howled.