Starfire (Erotic Romance) (Peaches Monroe) (7 page)

He gazed down at me affectionately, then tucked my hair behind my ear. “Discussing… your perfect, gorgeous, raspberry-shaped nipples in my mouth?”

I clamped my hand over his mouth. “I have nosy neighbors,” I whispered.

He glanced suggestively at the door. “Here we are again.”

In a flash, I remembered us being there, not twenty-four hours before. As I thought of him leaving me, my body heated with indignation.

“Not tonight, loverboy,” I said.

He made a face, shrugging my words off. “Fine. I didn’t want to come in anyway. I have to work in the morning.” He fake-yawned, watching me out of the side of his eye.

“I’ll see you back here Monday. Make it seven-thirty, since I have to work at the bookstore all day and straighten out whatever disaster my incompetent co-worker has made over the weekend.”

“He’s not incompetent, just inexperienced.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to teach him a thing or—”

I was cut off by Adrian’s lips on my mouth. His long arms encircled me, his kiss electric and charging my whole body. When he let me go, every inch of my skin was tingling, from my scalp to my toes.

And then he turned and walked away, a bounce in his step.

I opened the door, slipped in, and kept the interior lights off as I stood in the dark living room and watched the car’s red tail lights streak away in the night.

Alone in the dark, I asked myself out loud, “Peaches, what the fuck are you doing?”

~

On Sunday, I had a ton of energy, and I not only cleaned my room and did my laundry, but I also put all the laundry away instead of giving up partway and leaving the clean stuff in the basket. It wasn’t even my week to clean the bathroom, but I did it anyway, grinning with satisfaction as I scrubbed the antique claw-foot tub to a sparkling shine. Whenever I started to think about something I didn’t want to think about, I just found a new zone to clean!

Ladies, if you want to get your house into tip-top shape, I recommend you send the guy you’re dating out on a date with another girl. Yes, you’ll get some conflicting feelings, ranging from curiosity to outrage, but your house will ultimately benefit.

And, remember, it was all your idea! So when you fluff up all the pillows and start punching them, that’s all you, baby.

At six-thirty, my father came by to pick me up for dinner at their house. I’d only seen him once since my trip to LA, and he had a million questions for me about the underwear photo shoot and the commercial filming. I filled him in as best I could in the car, summarizing the awkward details regarding my love life.

“And your boyfriend Mitchell is modeling underwear in France?” he asked, getting all the details jumbled.

“No, Mitchell’s just a friend. Keith was my, um, boyfriend while I was in California, and he’s in Milan now.”

“But Mitchell took you to Disneyland, right?”

“No, that was Keith.”

“Disneyland can be very romantic.”

“Dad, are you feeling okay?”

We pulled into the driveway of the house, and he tapped on the car’s odometer. “The mileage on this thing is terrible. I like to buy American, but this is ridiculous, and when
is
the movie star coming back to town?”

(I swear, that’s exactly how he asked me about Dalton Deangelo—as though his car’s fuel economy and the actor’s visit were obviously tied together.)

“He’s more of a TV star than a movie star, and I don’t know when. His butler was here on Friday getting a cabin or something set up. I haven’t talked to Dalton since I left LA.”

We got out of the car and walked up to the house. My father’s gaze was straight ahead as he said, “You’re more than good enough for anyone, Petra. Never forget that.”

My mother swung open the door to greet us. Kyle ran through the house behind her, chasing another little boy with a big, plastic shark raised high over his head.

“The famous model is here!” my mother exclaimed.

The boys’ yelling diminished slightly as they clambered up the stairs and down the hall toward Kyle’s room. My mother’s cheeks were rosy, and her blond hair looked dark, as though it hadn’t been washed in a while.

I gave her a big hug, still puzzling over what my father had said.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

She squeezed me, hard. “Nothing a little girl talk with my favorite supermodel can’t cure.”

Dad stopped for a moment to straighten the lid on the cut-crystal candy dish where we keep the spare keys, then he disappeared back out the door muttering about having left some lights on in the workshop.

“Really, Mom, what’s going on? Dad just tried to talk to me about boys, sort of.”

She led me into the kitchen and handed me a bottle of white wine, cold from the fridge, and the corkscrew.

“Kyle’s been acting out lately,” she said.

“Do you want me to talk with him?”

She smiled wanly as she set out two wine glasses. “When did I get to be so old? What do you think of those no-surgery facelifts?”

“What did Dad do now?”

“It’s not your father.”

I poured the wine, and she switched the subject to me, asking questions about my time in LA, and nodding at the answers while staring off into the distance.

We put together the salad and got all the food out onto the table.

Dad came in and we sat down to eat.

Kyle’s friend had shockingly bad table manners, but his behavior seemed to improve when we stopped paying any attention. The boys wolfed down their food, and when they asked to be excused, my mother seemed relieved.

She finished her third glass of wine, and finally she spit out what was bothering her. “A woman at the summer camp meeting thought I was Kyle’s grandmother.”

The three of us were alone.

My father calmly and quietly said, “But you
are
.”

I turned and patted my father’s hand. “You may be excused.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the age that brings wisdom,” he said.

I nodded. “Okay. Bye. Have fun in the workshop.”

He stalled for a moment, gathering up a few dishes and putting the lids on the pickles.

After he walked away and left us in the dining room, I said, “Tell me who it was, and I’ll punch her some new freckles.”

“One of those yummy mommy types.”

“Gross. I hate her. Does she drive a Range Rover and wear tiny little designer jeans?”

My mother grinned. “Yoga pants. The designer kind, though.”

“Yoga pants. Uh-huh. With perfect hair and full makeup?”

“Plus diamond earrings.”

I shook my head. “Don’t you worry about her. Those chicks have it the worst. I see them at the bookstore. Do you know how many self-help books they buy?”

She sighed. “It was just the way she looked at me, you know? She invited me to some party she’s having, obviously out of pity.”

I glanced up at the antique grandfather clock standing in the corner of the dining room. Was Adrian on a date with Golden?

As my mind wandered, my mother kept talking about the way the yummy mommy had looked at her.

A gentle presence settled over me, and I thought of Keith Raven, my sweet LA rebound boy. We’d talked about our days a few times, and agreed that what most people desire more than anything, more than money or fame or stuff, is someone to complain to for thirty minutes a day.*

*Not talk to.
Complain to.
Let’s be honest here, it’s not a conversation we’re after, not always.

My mother had stopped talking.

“You said Kyle was acting out lately?” I prompted.

“Boys are not like girls,” she said, and launched into a tirade about the weird things he’d been doing. When she got to the part about him not doing a great job wiping his bum and leaving streaks in his underwear, I had to stifle my laughter.

Describing the lengths she went to sanitizing the laundry did seem to give my mother satisfaction. I patiently listened without interrupting.

We moved out of the dining room and cleaned the kitchen. When it was bedtime for Kyle, we pulled out the trundle bed for his friend, and I helped her get both boys settled in.

I don’t know how much I feel differently toward Kyle than I would if he was actually my brother, and not the child I gave birth to at fifteen. I never had a brother, so how would I know to compare? I do love the little guy. I love every hair on his head, but he’s a sweetheart, and who wouldn’t?

He never nursed from me. Despite understanding the health benefits, and understanding that it would be the right thing to do, I hadn’t been emotionally able to do it. Honestly, that probably made it easier for my parents to bond with him as their own.

Still, there were times like that night, when I was around both him and another boy his age, and I would compare. Was the other boy taller and stronger? Did he seem smarter, having benefited from pre-natal care? Comparison is the thief of joy, but we all do it with our children, or our appearances.

After we closed the door to Kyle’s room, my mother began to cry, smiling through the tears. “I’m so blessed,” she whispered. “So what if I have some wrinkles? I have two beautiful children who make me happy.”

“And one of us knows how to wipe properly.”

She held onto my arm as we walked down the stairs. “He’ll figure it out. None of us is born knowing all the answers.”

“Except Dad.”

“Hah! Your father is exceptional, of course.”

“Of course,” I agreed, both of us giggling.

~

Monday.

Contrary to what I expected, the bookstore was not a disaster on Monday morning. Adrian had been distracted by the negotiations with Black Sheep Books, and hadn’t moved any of the fixtures around.

Gordon Oliver came over from next door, and we had a heart-to-heart about the future of the store.

“Change is hard,” he said, his elbows on the counter.

Gordon has black hair and almond-shaped brown eyes. One of his parents is Thai and the other is Eastern European. He’s a handsome man for a guy in his forties, but he’s never been married, as far as I know. He enjoys his fine wines and his trips around the world, and dating a new divorcee every year or so.

His latest girlfriend had allergies to a number of common wine additives, so he had thrown himself into sourcing organic wine they could enjoy together.

When he said that change was hard, I wasn’t sure if it was about the bookstore or avoiding allergens. The woman was vegan, too, which explained why he’d been coming over to the bookstore side to wolf down takeout from Burt’s Burger Barn. As we talked about plans for moving the store to the bigger location, the scent of his recently-devoured burger with feta-cheese dressing hung around us in the air.

“I’ll miss having you right next door,” he said.

“But you’ll be able to expand the wine store.”

He got a mischievous look. “Oh, right. I guess I will.”

“You love the wine more than the books.”

He poked around at the pens in the tin can pen-holder on the counter. Kyle had made the cup for the grand re-opening of Peachtree Books after the Big Split, when Gordon had divided the space to open the wine store.

“The lease negotiations are pretty much final. We’re moving. Do you think Dalton Deangelo will come to a grand opening party?” he asked.

“That won’t be for another month or two, will it?”

“I imagine he’ll be back and forth all the time,” Gordon said.

“We’re not actually a couple.”

“Sure, but he’ll have ties to the town. He bought the Veiner cottage.”

“He did what?” The Veiner cabin was a historical site at the edge of town, between Beaverdale and Dragonfly Lake. It had belonged to the town’s founding father, Leonodis Veiner. Our main street had been named after him until 1942, when my great-grandfather accidentally renamed it Leonardo Street. This all caused a bit of a scandal that resulted in several properties being zoned historical sites, including the cabin.

Gordon explained that his girlfriend was the real estate agent who’d brokered the deal with Dalton to buy the cabin.

I stammered, “But that cabin is falling apart. Does it even have running water?”

Gordon waggled his eyebrows. “You’ll see. I hear it’s very romantic.”

“We’re not together. We’re just friends.”

“Friends with benefits?”

“Gross, Gordon. You’re my boss. I’m not discussing it with you. We have a highly professional relationship.”

He laughed, because over the years, we’d enjoyed a number of lengthy chats about… well, everything. After a bottle of ice wine, I’d given him oral sex pointers, complete with a diagram drawn on a napkin. For years, the poor guy had been trying to use his tongue for penetration only. After that talk, he’d expanded the store’s selection of sexuality books. “See, books open new worlds, and knowledge is power,” I’d teased him when he’d reported back to me that his divorcee at the time was a satisfied customer.

But enough about Gordon’s sex life.

I had a date that night with Adrian.

The day passed quickly, and I locked up right on time. I was buzzing with excitement as I picked up groceries after work and hurried home to start cooking.

Shayla swung by the house on a break from her job to help me get everything ready.

“I’m ashamed of how much I’m enjoying this,” she admitted as she set the table. She knew all about Adrian dating both me and Golden, having heard from both girls. “This is like one of those dating shows, but in real life, and I have an all-access pass.”

“Remember the rules,” I said. “No telling the other contestant.”

When I’d informed her about Adrian’s plans to date both me and Golden, I thought she’d try to talk me out of it, but she was too fascinated. As friend to all three of us, she was in the unique position of getting to know everything. Like some omniscient being. She actually rubbed her hands together in excitement. I asked if she wanted to book herself into the rotation, but she declined. (Not that Shayla would go after a guy I was interested in, anyway. Her loyalty to me overrode any lust, which is one of the many reasons I love her and would give her a kidney without hesitation, whether she needed one or not.)

I asked her, “Speaking of kissing and telling, who or what did you have in your bed that night I heard you singing the O song?”