Starfire (Peaches Monroe #3)(23)
Author: Mimi Strong

“Can I mix you a drink?” Troy asked me, holding a fresh tumbler under the new refrigerator’s ice dispenser.

“I could use a drink,” I said, setting my purse on the wood table inside the small room. “Is that sushi?”

“Help yourself,” he said, gesturing to the platter of rolls on the table.

Shayla kept smoking her cigarette and smiling, no sign of making any moves to put on clothes.

I popped one roll into my mouth, followed quickly by another. “I should go upstairs and leave you guys to your… holy f**k, these rolls are unbelievable.”

I told myself I’d just have one more, then go up to my room. Or two more. I couldn’t go up on an empty stomach.

Troy stood next to Shayla, whispering something in her ear.

“You ask her,” she said. “Don’t be shy.”

He whispered something else.

She sighed. “Peaches, Troy would like to invite you to join us in my bedroom.”

I turned to face them, still chewing a mouthful of sushi roll. “Ha ha.”

“For real,” she said.

I crossed the kitchen and slammed the open window shut.

“What would you want with me in there?” I asked.

Troy was blushing, his cheeks red. Without meeting my eyes, he said, “You wouldn’t have to do anything you’re not excited about.”

“Can I sit in a chair eating sushi and offering commentary?”

Shayla rolled her eyes. “Peaches.”

I reached for the drink Troy had made me and took a sip. “Troy, tell me the truth. Did you put something in my drink?”

Shayla gave me a mean look of warning.

“I’m very flattered,” I said, giggling. “Listen, Troy, I’ll have a threesome with you guys, but I don’t think you can handle what I have in mind.”

He looked up, a playful smirk on his face. “Keep talking.”

I sloshed back the rest of the drink, then launched into describing a scenario, using words, hand gestures, and various items on the counter to demonstrate. The scenario became increasingly elaborate, and I dare say some of the positions surprised even me. I finished with, “And then I mount you from behind with my strap-on, Troy, and I will ride your ass until you don’t know if you’re coming or going, but you will cry, and you will call me by my stripper name, which is Luscious Hilda Mae Sparkles the Second.”

In the silence that followed, an ashen-faced Troy reached for Shayla’s cigarettes and lit one, hands trembling.

“Too far?” I asked Shayla.

She shrugged. “I’m turned on.”

I blew her a kiss. “My pleasure, sexy lady.”

She jumped off the counter, took Troy by the hand, and led him out of the kitchen and upstairs to her room.

I finished off the sushi and opened up one of the fortune cookies.

The slip of paper inside read: The grandest lies are the ones we tell ourselves.

I stared at the slip for several minutes. Was grandest even a word?*

*I looked. It is.

~

Wednesday morning, I opened the bookstore to find the lights on, the alarm off, and Adrian hunched over the computer. He was as still as a statue, his elbows on the counter on either side of the computer keyboard.

When he didn’t greet me, I approached cautiously, walking around to the front of him. His eyes were closed, and he was either playing a joke on me, or fast asleep. He used to sleep sitting up in chemistry class, but this was remarkable.

I pulled out my phone and took some photos. He still didn’t wake up. I looked around for something fun to do, settling on pulling my lipstick from my purse to give him a fun makeover. He woke up as soon as the lipstick touched his lips, and his sudden movement made me scream, which made him scream.

“Is this a dream?” he asked me, blinking and looking confused.

“Yes, this is all a dream.”

“Good.” His long arms snaked around me, pulling me into his embrace. His hands squeezed my bu**ocks as he buried his face against my neck, kissing me and groaning.

“And good morning to you, sir.” I shivered as he pressed his lower body against me.

He pulled away and gazed down at me tenderly. “I was here so late, and I decided to stay up and have breakfast with you.” He blinked a few times, then frowned. “But now I don’t feel so great.”

“You’re probably dehydrated.”

“Would you be offended if I went home?”

“No more offended than when you chased me out of here last night.”

We stared at each other for a moment.

“Did you have a good night?” he asked.

“I had some sushi and watched a movie.” I grabbed his arm and steered him toward the door. “Please go home. You’re making me tired just looking at you.”

He leaned down to give me a quick kiss. “You’re the best. Do you still have those other plans for tonight?”

“I do.” I dragged him to the door and sent him on his way. “Get some sleep!” I called down the street as he walked away.

I looked around to make sure nobody was looking my way. The scent of evil cupcakes wafted over from the bakery.

Shaking my fist at their fiendish vanilla-cinnamon smell, I ran back into the bookstore. The piece of cardboard I’d taped over the ceiling vent was still doing its job of keeping the scent from infiltrating.

The cardboard gave me a surprising blast of nostalgia. I’d been taping it in place when Dalton Deangelo had first crashed into my life, knocking me into his arms. What if he’d run into Java Jones that day instead? Kirsten wasn’t as curvy as me, but she wasn’t skinny, either. He could have dated her as “research” for his indie film, then claimed the research became genuine feelings.

Imagining him spouting all those cheesy lines to Kirsten made me cross my arms angrily. How dare he be so damn charming! And how dare he have me checking the time every ten minutes, nervously awaiting our date that night.

There were still no customers in the store, so I snuck back out, locked the door, and ran over to the door to the bakery. It was going to be a two-cupcake day.

CHAPTER 10

Vern, Dalton’s butler, driver, and personal assistant, knocked on the door of my house at 7:01. He apologized for being late.

“Looking good!” I said, admiring Vern as I stepped out onto the porch. He’d gotten a haircut and lopped off the weird ponytail.

“You’re too kind. And you look very well yourself, Miss Monroe.”

We both looked down at my gold, strapped sandals. “Is this footwear okay for what’s in store tonight, or do I need hiking boots?”