We Are Made of Stardust - Peaches Monroe #1

by Mimi Strong

  Vern guided the long, black car away from the heart of town, away from the two best restaurants in town.

  I looked around for the button that would lower the panel between me and Vern, but the toggle that seemed like the logical controller simply adjusted the angle of my plush leather seat.

  Mystery ride, it was.

  The scenery outside changed from town to fields and farmhouses, then just fields.

  I sent a text message to Shayla: If you don’t hear from me in one hour, Vern the Butler has abducted me for his own nefarious purposes. We’re heading north on Springer Road, so start looking for my body parts in that direction.

  Five minutes later, Shayla messaged me back: How special! I’m glad you’re wearing nice underwear!

  Me: I hate you.

  Shayla replied with a string of emoticons implying a series of adventurous sex acts, involving vegetables.

  The car bumped and jostled me as we turned onto a dirt road, and I lost my signal as we entered the dense trees.

  We were headed toward Dragonfly Lake, as best I could tell. I’d been there a number of times growing up, mostly to ride full-sized horses with a friend who lived on a nearby farm. It was a pretty lake, pristine and blue, but there was nothing out there but a campground, and certainly not any restaurants.

  My heart fluttered, and I regretted making those jokes about Vern murdering me, because they did not seem so funny now.

  The car stopped moving, and I seized my opportunity to escape. I flung the door open and jumped out, ready to run.

  My eyes were drawn by a silver cylinder glinting in the sun. An Airstream camping trailer, sleek and bullet-shaped, sat near the edge of the still lake. The trailer’s silver aluminum siding acted as a funhouse mirror, reflecting the surrounding trees and blue sky.

  The scent of charcoal briquettes hung in the air, and Dalton Deangelo stood over a barbecue, silver tongs in one hand and a plate of marinated, herb-flecked steaks in the other. He waved at someone—not me—and the car pulled away immediately, turning around and leaving by the road we’d just traveled in on.

  A dragonfly buzzed down from the sky, zipped around my head once, and disappeared on gossamer wings. I shuddered, because dragonflies creep me out, with their enormous bodies and their crazy-ass, in-air mating rituals. Blergh.

  “Do you like steaks?” Dalton asked as I approached.

  “Do horses poop in parades?”

  “I’m a city boy, Peaches. Is that a yes?”

  He set down the plate of meat and tongs to give me a hug. “Mmm, good to see you,” he said. “I’ll ask you again. Do you like steaks?”

  “Yes, I like steaks. I’m not that fussy.”

  He leaned down to kiss me, but I nervously turned my head to the side and he caught my cheek.

  “Of course you’re not fussy,” he said. “You’re here with me, aren’t you?” He gave me one of his charming winks. Between his green eyes, so bright in the setting sun, plus the cute dimple in his square chin, and the washboard stomach I could feel through our clothes, I melted.

  Forget dinner, I thought. Take me now. Take me on the wildflower-strewn grass, with revolting dragonflies air-humping all around us. Put your tongue in my mouth and your hand in my…

  “Nice lake,” he said.

  I thought for a second he meant the lake forming in my panties, and started blushing.

  “Oh, that lake,” I said.

  “Don’t be nervous.” He kissed my forehead. “You’ll make me nervous, and I’ll ruin this dinner and all my other plans. Fair warning, most of my plans are about getting you naked.”

  “Good think I wore nice underwear.”

  He pulled at the top of my blouse and peeked down. “Forget dinner.”

  I swatted his hand away and re-fastened the top button of my pink blouse. “Mr. Grabby Hands.”

  He reached down my back and found plenty to grab onto. His fingers dug into the globes of my ass, gently pulling me against his body—his hard, yummy-smelling, irresistible body. My ladyflower received the signal and blossomed in anticipation.

  He growled near my ear, “Tell me if I’m moving too fast.”

  “I’ve been here less than a minute and you’ve checked out the tits and now you’re frisking my ass for concealed cameras or something. I don’t know, is that too fast?”

  He moved his hands to a more respectable spot on my lower back. “Noted.”

  “I used to ride horses around here,” I said, pulling away from his embrace. With one hand still on one of his muscular arms, I rubbed my other palm against the fabric of his polo shirt. He wore jeans, but the shirt had a waffle-like texture and was the purest white. Not appropriate for camping, really.

  His muscles reminded me of the horses, and now I couldn’t stop thinking about the thrill of riding, and the smell of their sweat after a good run.

  “Horses, you say? I can make some calls,” he offered. “Vern’s just over the hill in a cabin, and there’s a land line there. We can rustle up some horses, if you’d like.”

  “Not on my account! It’s nice just to be here.” I looked out over the lake, at a bird with long legs stalking the shore. “Is that a heron?”

  “You’re the local. You tell me.”

  “Oh, definitely a heron.” I squinted at the bird. “That’s a Knock-Kneed Beige-Spotted Heron.”

  “I think you made that up.” He took my hand in his and grinned at me. “Shall we go for a little wander before dinner? Or can you think of some other way to work up our appetite?”

  I let out a nervous laugh, high and ringing, echoing over the lake.

  “A wander sounds perfect.”

  We set off for a stroll along the lake’s shoreline, stopping whenever we found round, flat stones suitable for skipping.

  Dalton was really competitive about the stone-skipping, getting excited every time one of his stones went farther than mine (which was pretty much every time, given those beefcake arms of his.)

  We walked past the heron, who calmly watched us, probably wondering why a couple of noisy, pink birds were walking around his lake and fighting each other for perfect flat stones only to throw them into the water.

  We talked a bit, including me telling Dalton about the summer we came out to the lake with my family and found the water black with tadpoles. Shayla was with us at the picnic that day, and insisted that since we’d worn our swimsuits and brought blow-up toys, we absolutely had to go into the water. We’d both grimaced as we stepped into the teeming lakeside, stepping slowly so the tadpoles wouldn’t be crushed under our feet.

  Once I was in to my knees, my father called out asking if the water was warm from all the tadpole pee. Tadpoles, like the frogs they turn into, are amphibians and thus their pee is not warm, but on that day, the mere suggestion was enough to turn the water warm via my imagination.

  Shayla was already treading water, out beyond the shore, so I had to keep going. I checked the elastic fit on the legs of my swimsuit to reassure myself that tadpoles wouldn’t get in there and wiggle into the new opening I’d recently discovered, and I pushed ahead through the squirming water.

  I don’t know how long we were in the water that day, or what we did on our floating toys, because all that stuck in my mind was the tadpoles. Even as I stood on the shore telling Dalton, I could still feel the slippery squirming of them against my legs.

  He rubbed his arms after I finished the story. “You gave me goosebumps,” he said. “And the worst part is, I don’t think I can go in this lake again until I get a tight-fitting Speedo to protect myself.”

  “I’ll go shopping for Speedos with you, and you can model a few pairs for me.”

  He pretended to be shocked, his mouth dropping open. “You are a cheeky one. Thanks for the offer, but Vern does all my clothes shopping for me.”

  Now it was my turn to show shock on my face. “You don’t go shopping? What’s the point in being a big TV star if you don’t get to shop and spend money on ridiculous things?” />
  “I don’t know,” he said, stooping down to pick up some flat stones for skipping.

  He handed a stone to me and I chucked it, getting four good jumps. The sun was moving lower on the horizon, painting a gold streak across the lake.

  His stone skipped so lightly, it seemed to disappear from sight without sinking.

  “Crossed the lake with that one,” he said, beaming.

  “You are the champion.”

  He reached for my hand and gave it a proud squeeze, then we turned and headed back to the trailer.

  “The Airstream’s design is based on aircraft wings.” He pointed his chin at the silver trailer, poised gracefully at the edge of the lake. “It’s designed for minimal wind resistance, so it hugs the highway, which makes it more stable and also lighter on gas.”

  “Sounds like you’re in love with that trailer. How will you ever leave it after your movie finishes?”

  “No need for heartbreak. I’ll take her with me.”

  “The trailer’s yours?”

  We’d just reached the barbecue, which was hot and ready to cook our steaks.

  “Go ahead and have a look inside while I finish getting dinner ready.” His green eyes twinkled, and by the tone of his voice, I sensed the trailer meant a lot to him.

  I backed toward the trailer. “Is it really yours or are you pulling my leg?

  “All mine. And in case you’re wondering how big it is, I’ll tell you. It’s twenty-eight feet of awesome.”

  “Wow, that’s big.” I kept walking backwards, unable to take my eyes off Dalton, his skin looking delicious and tanned against his bright white shirt.

  “Not too big, though.”

  “Of course.” I turned away, blushing. He sure had a way of flustering me with the most innocent-sounding lines. That had to be his acting talent at work.

  I opened the screen door keeping the dragonflies out of the trailer, and stepped up into the silver bullet. CREAK went the Airstream.

  My heart sped up and sweat beaded on my forehead.

  Great. Just great.

  I imagined the trailer rocking visibly as I walked to the front and the back, the whole thing swaying under my footsteps. My next steps were careful, my breath held. The Airstream seemed solid enough, past the first awful CREAK, but I had to be cautious.

  I couldn’t tell how old the trailer was, but the interior looked new, custom, and expensive. To my right, the front of the trailer held a cozy seating banquette, upholstered in red fabric, and a pedestal table. The round table was already set for dinner for two, complete with fresh flowers—pink peonies the size of cabbages, not from the lakeside, but probably from a florist in town. That part of the trailer looked like a photo in a magazine, all pink and red and gorgeous. Here we were at the edge of a lake, and Dalton had asked me to dress casually, but I felt underdressed in my pink blouse and blue jeans.

  Then again, maybe I was dressed perfectly. Maybe when we’re in situations that make us feel underdressed, there’s actually something else going on, but it’s easier to blame the clothes. Hadn't Dottie said something about that at her workshop?

  “Just be yourself,” I whispered to myself. “Except be more fucking charming and not weird. And stop talking to yourself.”

  The kitchenette looked like a regular nice kitchen with wood cabinets, but in miniature, with the cutest little round sink. Across from the counter and cupboards was more seating, and a built-in desk sized perfectly for a laptop.

  Stepping carefully, so as not to rock the trailer off its axles and send myself rolling into the lake, I made my way back to peek at the tiny bathroom, which packed a lot of luxury into a gleaming white small space. In fact, if I’d been hired to write about this place for a fancy magazine, this is how I’d describe the washroom: packed with luxury, and nicer than most regular people’s homes, despite being a tenth the size.

  I stepped back from the washroom and peeked into the back area, which you would call a bedroom, simply because it did contain a bed. This “room” was up on a raised platform, and the only way to enter was to crawl up on the bed. The mattress, covered in luxurious red-toned linens, ended about a foot short of either side of the platform, which was a wood surface, empty except for an alarm clock and small* stack of books.

  *There were twelve books, which I consider a small stack.

  I reached out and ran my hand over the crimson bedcover, which felt silky to the touch. If I did sleep with Dalton Deangelo, it would be right here, on these red sheets. I glanced up at the coved ceiling and gasped. A mirror!

  I shuddered, because seeing that mirror changed absolutely everything. No longer was the Airstream a high-end camping trailer. Thanks to that sex-mirror, it was now a bordello on wheels, and I didn’t feel so great about being the next conquest.

  “The mirror wasn’t my idea,” came a deep voice at the trailer’s doorway.

  I turned on my heel to find Dalton’s tall, muscular frame blocking the only exit.

  “What mirror?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

  “Look up, over the bed. My designer came up with that. I’d been complaining that there was nowhere for a full-length mirror to check my clothes in, and she put that on the ceiling. I keep forgetting to have it taken down.”

  He stepped into the trailer, the whole thing rocking gently under his footsteps, and set the fragrant cooked steaks on the round table at the front.

  “I guess this is the part where we eat,” I said, stepping carefully over to the seating area to join him.

  “You look beautiful tonight,” he said. “Every time I see you, you’re more luminous.” His gaze moved down to my mouth. “Your lips leave me breathless.”

  I picked up a napkin and pretended to fan myself. “Slow down, big fella, or you’ll make me too nervous to eat.”

  “We could skip ahead to dessert.” He blinked innocently, fluttering thick, dark lashes at me.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Skip ahead to dessert?” I asked innocently.

  “Yes. I trust you like fresh panna cotta?”

  My extremely helpful brain flashed a preview image of me licking panna cotta off Dalton’s chiseled chest. I crossed my legs and draped the napkin over my lap.

  I hadn’t eaten since lunch, and I should have been hungry, but nerves had scrunched my stomach. Dalton put greens and fixings on my plate, and we started eating.

  “Why an Airstream?” I asked between bites. “Did you go on a lot of camping trips with your family?”

  “Not exactly. My family wasn’t the conventional type.”

  “Are your parents also actors?”

  He made a funny expression, as though we were enjoying a private joke.

  “No, I stayed in this very trailer for another film I worked on about two years ago. It was a rental, and not in the best condition. At night, you could hear the vermin moving around in their home, inside the lower pan.”

  I gulped and lifted my feet up reflexively, which made Dalton laugh.

  “They’re gone now,” he said. “Along with the skeletons of the things they ate.”

  “Wow. Some people have skeletons in their closets.”

  He raised his eyebrows, grinning again. “They sure do.”

  My brain flashed an image of me, screaming on the tile floor of a bathroom. “Some things are best left undisturbed,” I said, slicing into the seared steak. “So, you bought the trailer and restored it?”

  “I had a company do the work. I wish I had the time to do things with my hands, but the show takes a lot of time and energy.”

  I looked down at his hands, poised over his plate. “You have nice hands,” I said softly.

  He set down his steak knife and reached over to wrap his hand around mine. Without looking away from my eyes, he steered my hand, along with the fork and a chunk of steak, toward his mouth. He slowly bit the meat off my tines and gave it a thoughtful chew. Still staring at me, his green eyes dark and moody, he said, “Tender enough for you?”

  “Very t
ender,” I whispered.

  “Why aren’t we drinking wine?”

  I held still, my eyes held by his, my hand in his. “I don’t know. Is there wine?”

  He pulled my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers. “Red, white, or pink?”

  I giggled. “Pink?”

  He looked down, breaking eye contact and letting out a nervous laugh. “Just kidding about the pink, but I do have red. It’s all the way over in the kitchen.”

  “Oh. All the way over there?” It was all of four feet away in the Airstream trailer. “Do hurry back before I get lonely.”

  He got up, ducking artfully to dodge the light fixture above the table.

  “Do you know anything about wine?” he asked as he pulled the cork from a bottle.

  “I usually just buy the mid-priced wine with the cutest animal on the label.”

  He turned the label my way. “This one has a koala.”

  “Oh, yes. That’s a very good one. I’ve had it before.”

  He grinned, revealing his TV-perfect teeth and making me feel fun—more fun than I’d ever been.

  “You look right at home in my Airstream.” He sat back down next to me on the banquette. “I might have to keep you.”

  I brought the glass to my nose to smell the bouquet of the wine, rich and earthy. “You mean chain me up and keep me as your personal…” I took a sip. “Housekeeper?”

  He stifled a laugh, his face red and his mouth full of wine. Fanning his face, he swallowed, then said, “I think your talents exceed mere housekeeping.”

  “I also play the French horn.”

  He snorted, his hand over his mouth. “New rule. You don’t say anything scandalous while I’m taking a sip.”

  I batted my eyelashes. “Whatever do you mean? I really do play the French horn. It’s not a euphemism.”

  He turned his head and gave me side-eye. “First your extensive wine knowledge, and now this. You were a band geek, weren’t you?”

  “Guilty as charged.” We both picked up our utensils again and started eating. I’d never felt such an unusual combination of being completely at ease with someone and also utterly nervous.