Starlight (Peaches Monroe) (Volume 2) Paperback – September 2, 2013 (21 page)

Whispering, he said, “That was intense.”

I licked my lips. “That was fun.”

His phone started buzzing around again.

“Shit. That’s Tabitha again,” he said. “My ex.”

“Figured as much. Now what? Does she really, really have to make popcorn, and you still have her other favorite popcorn bowl?”

The phone kept buzzing, demanding to be answered.

“Close. She wants her folding patio chairs back.” He tipped his head to the side, looking apologetic. “Her grandmother was a medium. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is her psychic side coming through, and she only thought of the chairs because we were using them.”

“Really, Keith? Psychic stuff? What next, voodoo?”

He pushed the buzzing phone away from him, as if some physical distance would help.

“The world is a strange place, full of possibilities,” he said.

The phone kept buzzing.

“Oh, just answer it,” I said, feeling annoyed.

As he did, I got up and went to the bathroom to freshen up, including washing my finger. (I know you were thinking about the finger and getting worried about hygiene. Please rest assured that I gave my dark-cave-exploring finger a good scrub, with soap.)

When I came out of the bathroom, still naked, he was just finishing the call. After setting the phone down, he said gravely, “She’s coming over to get the chairs.”

I shook my fist. “And for me to punch her some new freckles.”

Keith didn’t laugh. He didn’t appear to be in a very good mood at all, considering the Top Grade blow job I just gave him. That was some premium servicing, and for my efforts I was getting a long, miserable face?

I got on the bed and rolled to my side, striking a pose straight out of an old-timey painting. “Hey, would you say I look Rubenesque like this?” I squeezed my tatas together, crossed my eyes, and stuck out my tongue. “How about now?”

He started sorting through the clothes on the chair, oblivious to my cuteness.

I relaxed my pose, pulling the sheet across to cover my nakedness. “Do you want me to leave?” I asked. “I could be elsewhere. I don’t need to be here.”

“Where would you go?”

My inner bitch dialed up a notch or two, and my voice got angry and sarcastic. “I don’t know, Keith. Is Disneyland still open?”

He slowly finished getting dressed, keeping his back to me the whole time.

A little softer, I said, “I’ll go to that coffee place that’s walking distance. Jitter bugs. Jitter beans. Jitterpalooza. Jizzing Bed Bugs. Fuck. What is that place called?”

“Jitters?”

“Yeah.” I got up and tried to get dressed with as much dignity as I could while still giving off the vibe I was pissed as hell, yet also couldn’t give a single fuck.

“Great, now
you’re
upset with me, too,” Keith said. “What are you unhappy about? I’ve been playing by your rules, but it’s not enough, apparently.”

“Uh, my rules? Do you mean
coming
? As opposed to holding back your pleasure like some sexual anorexic?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really, Dr. Phil. Tell me more.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” I had my green sundress back on, and took a seat on the edge of the bed. “That was out of line, and I’m sorry.” I looked up with puppy-dog eyes. By this point, I actually had forgotten what I was angry about, and hoped he wouldn’t ask. I may have a big mouth and be prone to fits of hilarious pouting, but I’m not without self-awareness. Keith hadn’t done anything wrong. I was nervous and jealous about his long-legged ex coming over, and trying to hide my insecurity. Poorly.

“I’m completely over Tabitha,” he said. “I don’t care what she thinks about how I live my life, and I don’t care who she’s fucking. She can fuck every one of our friends if she wants. I don’t need them, and I don’t need her.”

Keith picked up his phone and scowled at the screen. “This is so like her to suddenly need her chairs back.”

I sensed a big speech coming, and I wasn’t wrong. After a rant about her chairs, he went blah-blah-blah about Tabitha and how she liked to have picnics, but she had to buy a whole set of matching plates and bowls for four people, and God forbid Keith use one of the plastic bowls for his granola, because then it would go through the dishwasher more times than the other ones and the red plastic would fade, and…

Keith went on and on about all the things Tabitha used to do to irritate him. Honestly, the complaints weren’t that bad. I found myself siding with her, because everyone knows you don’t leave wet towels on the bed. Come on, Keith. Do you want your whole apartment to smell like mildew?

I just nodded and tried to be a good Rebound. Listening to Keith’s laundry list of gripes got boring pretty fast. I surreptitiously pulled out my phone and checked for new messages. There were some details about the commercial shoot on Monday. Four days away. Time was just flying by. I smiled, thinking that if I could keep Keith talking about all his complaints about Tabitha, it would slow time down, like a time dilation field in a sci-fi show.

He sat down beside me on the bed, all talked out. He put his arm around my shoulders. “You’re a good listener.”

I tucked my phone away quickly. “Just trying to be a good whatever-we-are.”

He lay back on the bed, his hands over his eyes. “Peaches, sometimes I don’t even know if I want to date someone. I question if people really want to have relationships. Maybe what we truly desire is half an hour a day to complain about everything, while someone else pretends to care.”

He patted the bed next to him, so I rolled onto my back and cuddled up next to him. “I’d love to have half an hour a day to complain. But it wouldn’t be about anything important, like human rights or politics or global climate change. Just personal things, like when you eat a whole bag of chips thinking it’s only three hundred calories, then you realize that was the
suggested serving
size, and the whole bag was ten servings. Who the fuck eats one tenth of a bag of chips?”

Keith chuckled. “Keep going. You have another twenty-nine minutes.”

“I feel better already.” I nuzzled my face against his chest. “I heard this talk, once, by one of the happiness scientists. If you list off three things you feel grateful for, every day, the gratitude changes your mood.”

“I’m grateful for the beautiful dinner you made me. That was a nice surprise to come home to.”

“I’m grateful for the surprise you gave me, when you bent me over the kitchen counter and stuck your hand in me like you’d lost your keys in there.”

He laughed. “Wait, are you being sarcastic?”

“No, it was really…” I rolled one leg over his leg and nudged my pelvis against his hip. “Good.”

He said, “Number two, I’m grateful for good health.”

“Same.”

“No copying.”

“Fine. I’m grateful that I got embarrassing photos taken of me in my bra, because it led to me coming here to LA and having this adventure.”

He kissed my cheek. “I saw those photos the day they came out. You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. That was the first day of my crush on you.”

I squirmed, giggling. “You’re so full of crap.”

He continued, “Number three, I’m grateful for how comfortable you are in your skin, because you’re teaching me how to relax and be more playful. I think of my body as this tool, that either gets me modeling jobs or lets me down when I don’t. When I’m with you, though, in bed, or floating around in the pool, I can see that arms aren’t just for flexing biceps and selling shampoo. Our arms are made for wrapping around each other.”

I stretched my top arm over him and squeezed. “You’re absolutely right. They’re the perfect size for hugging.”

“What’s your number three?”

“I miss my family. I’m grateful that I’ll get to see them again in less than a week.” I squeezed him tighter. “No offense. I really like being here with you, but I miss them. Kyle’s going to be an inch taller. He’s only seven, but you know how it is.”

“That’s your little brother?”

The air in the room held its breath in the golden light.

“He’s my son.” My voice was soft and distant, like it was coming from somewhere else. “I had him when I was very young, and as far as everyone knows, he’s my little brother.”

Keith was silent for a while.

I started crying.

He heard me sniff, and pulled me against his chest, tighter. “Don’t be sad. Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know. It’s this secret I have, and sometimes it feels like a balloon inside my heart. Everything aches, and I don’t know if it’s because of the secret, or if that’s how everyone feels about their child.” I sniffed and wiped my eyes on the corner of the bed sheet. “Why were you so quiet? Were you worried that I was a single mom? That I had a whole bunch of baggage and baby daddy drama?”

“Peaches, I was quiet because I’m not very good at math. How old were you? Fifteen?”

“Barely.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

Laughing, he said, “Are you going to get out your phone and show me some pictures of the little guy, or do I have to beg?”

I pulled out my phone, realizing my hands were shaking. I’d never told anyone except my closest family members, my therapist, and Shayla. Even when I told people about Kyle, I said his name, and didn’t specify he was my brother, because I didn’t like lying.

I pulled up a photo of Kyle, shirtless and grinning with no front teeth. “This is my son,” I said.

A chill went up and down my spine. It was a truth I felt in every cell of my body, but rarely got to say.

“He has your eyes,” Keith said.

We scrolled through a few pictures. Kyle eating pizza. Kyle having a bath while wearing a cowboy hat. Kyle hammering things with his play set, in my dad’s workshop, next to my father working with real tools.

“He was a nightmare when he was two. Terrible Twos. Always getting into my makeup, the little brat.”

“Typical brother behavior, I think. I’m the same age as Katy, and I used to do terrible things to her dolls and stuff. There’s something about making a girl cry that’s just so appealing.”

I laughed, snuggling against Keith’s warm body. “I hope you outgrew that, because crying sucks. Fuck crying.”

He reached over and touched my cheeks. “Crying happens. I learned that from having a sister. You should always date guys who have sisters. We’re more sensitive.” He rolled over, on top of me. “Why are we both wearing clothes?”

“I don’t know. You started it.”

He kissed me, rolling his weight up and pressing against my chest. I love that feeling, where you’re already breathless with lust, and then the guy shifts his weight on top of you and you can hardly breathe at all. I sucked on his lips and tongue, hungry for him.

Soon the hem of my dress was riding up, and he was between my legs, grinding against me with his jeans still on. Panting, I wrapped my legs around his hips and kissed his lips, his chin, his neck.

He shifted to the side, reached his hand down between my legs, and stopped.

His head lifted up. “Did you hear that?”

“What?”

Footsteps.

Someone was in the apartment.
A burglar?

Something moved near the bedroom’s doorway. I shrieked.

“Hello,” came a girl’s voice, sounding forlorn.

Not a burglar.

Honestly, I would have preferred a burglar to Keith’s ex-girlfriend, but it was her, Tabitha.

Tabitha stood in the doorway, interrupting our intimate moment. At least she didn’t have Keith’s nasty-mouthed sister Katy with her this time.

Keith rolled off me and started straightening his clothes.

I jumped up and went to the door. Pointing feebly past her, I said, “I clean bathroom now. I clean real good.”

Tabitha staggered back, then forward, both of her slender hands landing on my shoulders. Her hands were cool on my skin, my shoulders bare except for the straps of my sundress. She smelled like a variety of boozes.

“I know you,” she said, slurring her words. “You’re-the-fat-ssssssupermodel.”

“Yes, I was on that show with Tyra Banks. I’m America’s Next Top Fat Supermodel. Very good. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

The girl had a strong grip for a big-lipped girl under one hundred pounds.

“You’re all woman,” she said.

I glanced over at Keith, who was not making this any easier by sitting on the edge of the bed looking mortified.

Tabitha stared down at my breasts like a hungry baby who smells milk.

“So pretty,” she said, smiling a goofy smile.

I looked over at Keith again. “Dude, I am
so
not down with having a threesome. Please tell her that.”

Tabitha started to laugh, one of those slow-motion, drunk-girl laughs, then did a full-stop into Serious Mode. “You are so funny and pretty. I see why Keith likes you, because I like you. I like you a lot!”

I squirmed away finally, because she looked like she was about to kiss me. I love my ladies, but not like that. Maybe a tiny crush back in high school, but that was on Chantalle Hart and you’d have to be a robot to not feel something for her.

“The chairs are right over there,” I said, pointing to the romantic set-up. “You’re not driving, are you?”

“Oh, Keith,” she said, transitioning into sobbing mode.

Drunk. Crying. At her ex-boyfriend’s place. Classic. I rolled my eyes pretty hard, but just to keep me from cringing up into a ball of cringe.

“I’ll just leave you guys to talk,” I said, walking over to the other room.

She staggered into Keith’s bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

My eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling. Oh, no. She did NOT just go into the bedroom with Keith and shut the door. No, she did not, because that’s how you get your hair extensions yanked out.

I paced back and forth, then a calm broke over me. Whatever happened, it was out of my hands. I stomped back to the kitchen, being really loud to remind them I was still there, got the strawberries and Cool Whip I’d picked up for dessert, and took them into the spare bedroom.

I shut the door most of the way and turned on the TV to mask the murmuring of their voices. Keith had returned the set to the spare room because he didn’t like the negative ions electronics gave off in the bedroom.