Starlight (Peaches Monroe #2)(26)
Author: Mimi Strong

“Swim first, then we find and kill Sven.”

“The hippie boy has a caveman side.”

“Grrr.”

I ran my fingertip down the center of his tanned chest. I would have much rather posed with him all day, but at least we were together now.

“I bet we can think of some other things to do after a swim,” I said.

“Just like a woman. Always trying to prevent war and homicide.”

“I do what I can.”

As he pulled on his red swimming trunks, I stripped off my clothes down to my underwear. The bra and panties I had on were black, and as long as nobody looked too closely, they would pass for a swimsuit.

Keith pulled me in for a kiss, and his lips felt good, but he smelled of something I didn’t like—maybe whiskey—and I held back.

“I’ll go brush my teeth,” he said, picking up on my reluctance right away. “I’ll grab some towels for the pool, too.”

I followed him out of the bedroom and waited on one of the chrome kitchen counter stools, checking my phone messages.

There was a reminder for my commercial shoot on Monday, along with directions to be wearing loose-fitting clothes when I arrived. Thinking about that little adventure in my future made me glance over at the booze available, but luckily the wooziness passed in a minute.

A message from Amy, my junior staff member at the bookstore, simply said: I’m sorry. It was really fun working with you.

The next message was from Gordon Oliver, my boss and the owner of Peachtree Books, telling me that those sheep-fuckers from the other bookstore in town (hate them!) had poached our employee, and he was on the verge of shutting the whole thing down. I don’t want to get Gordon in trouble, but he seemed awfully vengeful. He actually used the words “fire” and “collect the insurance.”

With my hand on my forehead, I shook my head like a weary father in a TV sitcom. I leave Beaverdale for business, and before a week goes by, all hell breaks loose? Would there be any buildings left standing amidst the rubble when I returned next week?

As I was holding the phone, it tickled my hand with another message. The number wasn’t in my address book, but the sender seemed to know me, because he or she said: Hey, Peaches.

I asked who it was, and the tickle spread all through my body when he said: Adrian Storm.

Hot buttered noodles with cheese.

Me: What’s going on?

Adrian: I’m your new coworker.

Me: You didn’t.

Adrian: Oh, yes, I did. Gordon hired me just now. And I’m going to reorganize this whole bookstore before you get back. I think there should be more of an emphasis on Men’s Adventure books.

Me: Don’t touch anything! You are my subordinate!

Adrian: Yes, boss.

Me: Your secondary job is to sell books. Your main job is to speak to Gordon in a soothing voice and talk him out of expanding the wine store into our space.

Adrian: HOLY SHITSNACKS! I think that wall just moved.

Me: Very funny.

Keith came out of the bathroom, two bright orange towels in his arms. “What are you getting all giggly about?”

I felt my cheeks flush hot, like I’d been caught lying.

“Everything’s falling apart at home without me.”

“And that makes you giggle?”

I batted my eyelashes, and in a funny voice, said, “I’m not like other people.”

“You can say that again.” He went to the front door and pulled it open.

I followed him out to the courtyard in nothing but my black underwear, and the sun’s evening rays glanced off my milk-hued, Washington-white-girl skin and blinded everyone in a thirteen-block radius. (Sorry, LA.)

I watched Keith lower himself into the pool, which was rectangular and tiled with mostly blue and green tiles, dotted with the occasional yellow tile, standing out like a dandelion in a lawn. Surrounding the pool were a few weathered teak loungers, some potted palm trees, and a trio of ceramic turtles that made me look twice—not because they were realistic, but because I am gullible.

“Hey!” Keith said. “Some kids left their pool noodles.” He grabbed two of the long, foam pool toys and wrapped them under his armpits so he could float easily.

I came around to the side with the steps and stepped down cautiously, pleased to find the water was warm.

“You need those to float,” I said. “You have no body fat.”

We were alone in the courtyard, and if there were kids living there who owned the pool noodles, they were quiet ones.

I swam up to Keith and wrapped my legs around his waist playfully, pretending to pull him under like a shark.

Smiling, he said, “Be gentle. I’ve had a tough day.”

I looked down at my body under the water, warped and rippling, a distorted version of myself.

“I feel awful about what happened today,” I said.

“Don’t. It wasn’t your fault.” He gave me a pretend-serious look. “Unless it was. Did you have me fired?”

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him in for a hug, the two plastic pool noodles between our chests keeping us afloat without effort.

“Of course I didn’t,” I said.

He stared down at my lips for a moment, then kissed me. Despite the cool water surrounding us, I felt a heat rise from my core.

Pulling back, he said, “I’m going to be fine. Please don’t let any of this stuff take away from what is actually a victory.”

“A victory?”

His hands found my bu**ocks and massaged me there, and up and down my legs as I continued to hold on tight to him.

He kissed my eyelids, my cheeks, the tip of my nose, and then my mouth, before moving down my neck. The pool water splish-splashed with our movements. I ran my hands through his damp hair.

“Today is a victory for curvy women,” he said.

I reached down into the water with both of my hands and grabbed his firm, muscular ass. “Today is a victory for my hands,” I said.

“Be serious for a minute. You’re part of something that’s bigger than just you.”

I reached around between us and grabbed something interesting through his shorts. “Speaking of bigger…”

He took in a quick gasp of air, raised his hands over his head, and quickly sank, slipping out of my grasp. He reappeared at the other end of the pool, slicking his inky hair back with both hands.

“You’re not very patient, are you?” he asked, grinning at me.

“My roommate flips to the last page of every book to read the ending. I’m a lot more patient than she is.”