Starfire (Peaches Monroe #3)(62)
Author: Mimi Strong

He began gasping. “Window.”

I ran for the window and opened the sheer curtains and then fumbled for the handle, praying nobody outside could see me in my underwear.

When I turned around, I found Dalton sitting on the carpet, his spine curved and his head between his knees.

What was this new side of him all about? He’d gone so quickly from joking about f**king a dozen roses to being a nervous wreck. I thought being overwhelmed with emotion was my job.

“Dalton?”

He just kept rocking.

I sat behind him and rubbed his back. His skin felt feverishly warm. “You’re having a panic attack. I used to get these at college. You’re okay. Just keep breathing.”

Between gasps, he said, “I can’t breathe.”

I put my arm around him, the way other people had comforted me when I got upset. “I’m right here, and we’re not going to move or do anything until you feel ready. Want me to cancel lunch?”

He rocked forward and back, emitting no words, just a low groan.

“Can I get you some water?” I asked.

He shrugged away my hand, flinching from my touch.

I stood up, not sure what to do next. My mother was just down the hall. What would she do? It was almost one o’clock already, and I could sense my mother getting ready to knock on our door for lunch.

Dalton kept rocking, lost in his own world.

I grabbed the bedspread and tossed the clothes off, then carefully draped the bedspread, fuzzy side down, over Dalton.

“You’re getting a Time Out,” I said gently. “For as long as you need, and nobody’s going to bug you.”

I stood with my hands on my hips, wondering if I was doing the right thing. Should I be calling for medical assistance? Or trying to find Vern?

From deep within the blanket, came a feeble, “Thank you.”

“Are you good in there? In your blanket?”

“Yup.”

“It’s almost one o’clock. Do you want me to go down to the lunch without you, or do you want me to stay here?”

Brightly, he said, “You go.”

“Okay. I’ll be wearing the green shirt, FYI. With a purple skirt, because I’m crazy like that. Woo! Green and purple. With silver sandals.”

I got dressed, one eye on the rocking blanket.

“You look pretty,” he said.

“You’re under a blanket and you can’t see me.”

“You’re always pretty.”

I looked around the room and did a last-minute mirror check on my hair and makeup. “Dalton? Do you want me to stay here with you?”

The blanket answered, “No, you can go. I might have a nap.”

“Don’t fall asleep under the blanket and suffocate.”

Sounding very calm now, he said, “I’ll get into the bed and tuck myself in.”

Pretending this wasn’t the weirdest f**king thing ever, I went to the door and said, “Okay, I’m off to lunch with my parents and your father, whom I’ve never met before. We’re just going to…”

The blanket didn’t move. “Have fun!”

I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, muttering, “We’re just going to have the world’s most awkward lunch, ever.”

My parents emerged from their room down and across the hall, wearing entirely new outfits.

My mother asked where my fiancé was. I explained that he was in the room, exhausted from work, and having a nap. She seemed more than a little disappointed, and I had to push her down the hall, away from the door.

Once we were a few doors away, I explained, “He’s having a panic attack about seeing everyone, so I gave him a Time Out.”

She nodded and said I did the right thing, as if leaving your fiancé in a room with a blanket over his head was a completely normal thing. My father just kept on walking, more interested by the portholes in the floor than anything else. In light of the recent revelations, about him hiding his true feelings about my underwear modeling contract, his nonchalance did seem suspicious to me.

We walked into the resort’s dining room, ready to meet Dalton’s father, the  p**n  star.

CHAPTER 27

We got to the resort’s dining room, where we had little challenge spotting Dalton’s father.

Was he the round-faced, bald man reading the same thriller novel my father had brought on the plane? Was he the silver-haired man walking through and leaning shakily on a cane? Or was he the man with the jet-black hair and his first three shirt buttons undone, a gold medallion worn proudly against his tanned skin, flirting with not one, but two waitresses at the same time?

My father, bless his heart, started to move toward the round-faced man with the novel. Giggling, my mother grabbed his arm and directed him toward the flirty man with the black hair. I had no doubt he was Dalton’s father. The man seemed to be commanding the whole room from his seat in the middle.

The two blushing waitresses pulled out chairs for us before walking away.

I don’t know how he did it, but Dalton’s father managed to stare at both of their asses as the girls walked away.

He stood and reached his big tanned hand toward my mother. “The luscious Peaches,” he said.

She tittered predictably, then introduced herself, my father, and me.

“Where is my son, the handsome and legitimate actor?” the man asked loudly.

His breath carried a sample of the amber liquid also in his tumbler on the table.

I took my seat, smoothing down my purple skirt in an identical motion to my mother smoothing her own skirt, sitting next to me. My father chose the end seat of the table set for six, facing us from the head position and leaving an empty seat between himself and Dalton’s father.

“Dalton’s not feeling well,” I said. “He was exhausted from working on set all week—”

“Don’t I know what that’s like!” the man shouted proudly. And then, for several seconds, I’m sure all four of us imagined the forty-something man bouncing around on big boobs and round asses, plunging in and out of…

I tried to shake the images from my mind, but they were persistent. The next wave of horror was worse, when I noticed he had the same ears as Dalton, and the same nose and lips. I thought male  p**n  stars were always average-looking, except for the g*y stuff. Holy mothershit. Did he do g*y  p**n ? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but now a whole bunch of very different round, bouncy things sprang to mind.

I rearranged the silverware in front of me and rolled the cloth napkin out onto my lap—as though an extra layer would make me feel less exposed.