Starlight (Peaches Monroe #2)(22)
Author: Mimi Strong

“Stop looking at Keith like that,” I joked.

“Why don’t you come here and make me?” In the background, dishes crashed to the ground, followed by sarcastic applause. “Great,” she said, then, “I may need to quit again. That could be my new thing. I’ll keep quitting every shift.”

“I miss you, buddy.”

“I miss you, too. Hey, before I go, what’s wrong with Keith? Why aren’t you open to a relationship with him beyond this trip?”

Without thinking, I said, “He’s not Dalton.” Hearing my own words gave me a strange feeling, like walking by an electronics store and seeing your own face on the large TV.

“Interesting,” Shayla said smugly, then she was gone, and I was alone with the truth. I didn’t want to be with Dalton, but I didn’t want to be with anyone who wasn’t Dalton, either.

I rolled across the bed and stood the framed photo on the nightstand back up again. Katy and Tabitha. The nasty, overprotective sister, and the mysterious ex-girlfriend. His parents had let it slip during dinner that Tabitha was a model, and her career was doing well, albeit mostly catalog work and nothing too glamorous.

What was the story of their breakup, and why wouldn’t Keith tell me? Why did I care?

I came out of the room and gently tapped on Keith’s door. The earth muffin music was still playing, and he didn’t answer. I pushed open the door to find him sitting cross-legged on the bed, a relaxed expression on his face.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

His eyes stayed closed.

“You seem busy,” I said.

His mouth twitched up momentarily into a smile.

“Maybe I’ll just watch some TV,” I said, backing away.

He seemed to nod in agreement, so I closed the door again and went in search of the television.

After twenty minutes, I finally found the television, not in the most logical place—the large armoire in the living room—but inside a smaller armoire in the spare bedroom. Nestled in alongside the old tube-style set were multiple purple rocks—amethyst crystals—and a lamp made from a big yellowish rock that smelled like the ocean.

On a hunch, I leaned forward and licked the lamp. It was salt.

I settled in to watch some quality programming, but the salt taste in my mouth made me crave something to drink. Back out in the kitchen, I found some cranberry juice in the fridge. I should have known something was off when I poured the juice and saw that it was a little cloudy, and not as bright red as I was used to seeing it.

Have you ever taken a big glug of unsweetened cranberry juice? It’s like drinking straight lemon juice, only not as pleasant. As my face tried to invert itself via my mouth, I poured the death-juice back into the bottle and returned it to the fridge. After that, I didn’t trust anything in Keith’s kitchen I didn’t recognize the brand of, so I poured a glass of water and snagged some Premium Plus soup crackers (whole wheat, of course) to snack on.

Back in the bedroom, I wondered if I was going to get in trouble for eating crackers in the bed. I hoped I would, because then Keith would have to spank me.

Unfortunately for me and my spanking needs, Keith wasn’t very social the rest of the evening.

At one point, he came to the door and asked if I needed anything before he went to bed.

“Should I just sleep in this room again?” I asked, not sure where I stood.

“That might be better, considering we have the photo shoot bright and early tomorrow morning.”

“But this bed has cracker crumbs in it.”

Ignoring my confession, he came into the room and gave me a quick kiss. “Goodnight, gorgeous lady.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Raven. If I’m cramping your style, just let me know, and I’ll find somewhere else to bunk.”

“Nonsense.” He kissed me again, taking more time. His face smelled like scented candles. “Give me tonight to catch up on my sleep, and I’ll show you such a good time, you’ll never want to leave. You think my face is cute now, wait ’til you see it between your legs.” He licked his lips suggestively.

My eyes flew open and I was momentarily speechless, and then he was gone, off to the washroom to brush his teeth and torture me by leaving me hanging for the second time that day.

“Weirdo,” I grumbled after him, then I pulled out my phone to give Shayla a full report.

She replied: That thingamafucker! You need to show him who’s in charge of the sex.

Me: Call me a Wearer of Reasonable Shoes, but isn’t it supposed to be mutual?

Shayla: You’re the one with the vagina, so start acting like it. You’re the tits! You’re the boss, baby!

Me: Drunk?

Shayla: I think it’s someone’s birthday… somewhere! LOL!

Me: Have fun, and I’ll see you next Wednesday, if I don’t die of sexual frustration.

Shayla: Someone just called me Cuntzilla. Is that a compliment?

Me: Definitely.

Her next text was a photo of either her boobs or her butt, her flesh marked with a felt pen drawing of a penis. I’d like to say this was particularly shocking for a post-shift Monday night party at the restaurant she managed, but it was not atypical.

Tuesday morning, I insisted that I walk into the photographer’s studio ahead of Keith, so people wouldn’t know I’d been staying at his house. As far as they all knew, I was still dating Dalton Deangelo.

The same crew who’d been there Sunday were there again, plus about twice as many more people, though most of them were doing other shoots.

I said to the nice girl doing my makeup, “I guess I lucked out having my first shoot on the weekend, when it’s not so crazy around here.”

“It wasn’t luck,” she said, sounding like she had a truckload of gossip she was dying to unload, if only I’d say the magic words.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

She looked left and right. “I shouldn’t say.”

“I’m sure if it’s important enough for me to know, Mitchell will tell me. He’s really sweet. Come to think of it, everyone here has been so nice. I’m just a wide-eyed yokel from Washington, in way over my head.”

She pursed her lips. Oh yeah, the pre-gossip lip purse.

CHAPTER 9

I was just about to crack the makeup girl. Any second now.

“You didn’t hear this from me,” she said. “Everyone was worried the photos were going to be a disaster. You-know-who had you come in on Sunday so there’d be fewer witnesses putting you here. They all had the big review on Monday. After a heated debate, they decided to move ahead with today’s shoot, but there’s a change. One change.”