Starfire (Peaches Monroe #3)(63)
Author: Mimi Strong

“Dalton,” the man said, snorting around the name. “If you ask me, David is a fine name for a young man. Dalton isn’t a name, it’s just good branding. My son always had a keen mind for getting inside people’s heads, though, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” He grinned, as if to prove that he wasn’t being incredibly rude.

“He’s sleeping in the room, and I’m sure he’ll be rested by dinner,” I mumbled to my lap.

“How should I address you?” my mother asked sweetly.

He gave my mother a scandalous look. “You can call me Daddy.”

My father cleared his throat and pushed his chair back.

The man quickly waved his hand for everyone to calm down. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “I’m used to the convention circuit, and it’s just my natural instinct to be friendly toward the ladies. My fans, they see me on screen, and they feel like they know me already, so I try to match their expectations. I apologize that I come across as too… friendly.”

“We’re going to be family,” my mother said.

My father cleared his throat, as if to say that last point was debatable.

“Call me Jake,” he said. “My real name is Richard, but I don’t care for people calling me Dick, unless the word Big’s in front.”

At this point, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I started laughing. Big Dick. Can you imagine? And my mother. And my father, his lips practically white from being pressed together so hard.

“Big Dick,” I said, between gasps for breath. In a moment, tears were streaming down my cheeks.

To my father, I said, “Dad, just ask him what kind of car he drives, would you? Someone, please. Be normal.”

My father took a breath, then asked, “Did you drive up here, Jake? We arrived in a plane, but I didn’t see another one back there at the dock. Just a few boats.”

“I’d love to have a boat,” Jake replied. “Everyone needs a hole to pour money down, especially in between wives.”

My father blinked and looked over at my mother.

“I’ll allow it,” she said, letting him know he could enjoy the joke without being taken to task for a smile later.

“Drove up in my Audi,” Jake said, moving on quickly to talk about his car.

By the time the waitress came to bring Jake a refill—“Make it a double, princess, and keep ‘em coming, because there’s nothing worse than the taste of melted ice.”—the two men were discussing gas mileage, and the cabin Jake had purchased from an environmentalist couple going through a divorce. Apparently, the cabin had solar panels and a wind turbine, and generated eighty percent of its own energy.

My mother, who I never would have pegged as someone interested in living off the grid, seemed fascinated by all of this. Or maybe she was just dazzled by his eyes, which were a darker hue of Dalton’s green emeralds.

We ordered our lunch and began eating. Jake ordered the full English breakfast for lunch, and he poked his fork into a big sausage, then held it up for us to admire. “The adult entertainment industry has changed a lot in the last decade or so,” he said, still waving the sausage.

My father, in all seriousness, said, “Of course. The whole distribution system has changed, with high-bandwidth internet.”

“Plus Viagra.” Jake winked at my mother. “If you ask me, I’d say that little blue pill was invented by women. Not that I ever touch the stuff. Don’t need to.”

“That’s enough,” I said, reaching across the table and taking the fork out of his hand. I shook the fat, greasy sausage off the fork’s tines. “Jake, I’m starting to see why Dalton has been avoiding you all these years. You can’t behave yourself for ten minutes, can you?”

“Peaches,” my mother hissed at me.

Jake swirled the amber liquid in his tumbler and brought it to his lips, his dark green eyes fixed on me.

“From what I’ve heard,” he drawled slowly, “you’re no stranger to bad behavior yourself.”

I grabbed a knife from my place setting and reached across the table toward Jake’s plate. “I’m no angel, but I don’t go waving phallic-looking greasy sausages at other people’s mothers!” I proceeded to dice his sausage into coin-shaped slices.

“You’ve raised a hell of a good woman,” Jake said to my parents, his face smooth with honesty. “I wish the boy’s mother was still around, because nothing would make her happier than to see the fine people he’s surrounded himself with. You Monroes, you’re good, but you know that. You’re not like me. Your daughter isn’t ashamed of you, hiding up in her room.”

My mother replied, “We are all just so sorry for your loss. Petra told us your wife passed away recently?”

“She passed unexpectedly. That’s what the papers said, because that’s their code for suicide. Cause of death was an overdose, but I don’t believe it was an accident.”

“Very sorry for your loss,” said my father, who had been quiet since the topic moved away from solar panels.

“I don’t touch drugs now,” Jake said, swirling his drink once more. “Booze, on the other hand, is perfectly fine in moderation.” He winked at my mother, smiling again. “Unlike women and love, for which there should never be moderation.”

My father looked up and caught my eye from his end of the table. His expression wasn’t angry, or upset. Just confused. As if he couldn’t understand why. Why did I keep doing these whimsical things that affected the whole family?

My mother responded by reaching over and grabbing my father’s hand. “I agree,” she said. “No moderation on love.”

Jake got a big grin on his face. His teeth weren’t nearly as perfect as Dalton’s, but he had a similar chin dimple, and some of my good feelings for his son were making me like him, even though he was crude and eye-fucking my mother way too much.

“No moderation on love,” he repeated. “I should write that down for the speech at the wedding.”

I pushed my chair back and stood. “Oh, HELL, no.”

He gave me a devilish look. “I promise the speech will be very tasteful.”

My mother grabbed my wrist and gently sat me back down. “You two threw everyone into a tizzy with your whirlwind wedding, so now you’re going to have to deal with it.” She asked Jake, “He’s your only child, is that right?”