Starlight (Peaches Monroe #2)(31)
Author: Mimi Strong

Me: Using me.

Dalton: And you didn’t use me? You didn’t leverage our relationship to get yourself an underwear line?

Me: That’s not fair. I was humiliated when those photos were published. And let’s not forget it was your weird step-daughter/step-sister who took the pictures. From your messy life.

Dalton: That’s the real problem, isn’t it? My life is too messy for you.

I threw the phone down on the bed and shook my hands at it. Huffing angrily, I pulled my hair back, twisted it in a bun, then huffed even more because of course I didn’t have any elastic bands. They were at Dalton’s house, along with my laptop.

I grabbed the phone again and jabbed back a response: We’re done and I’m already seeing someone else, so forget about trying to mess with my head and make me mad enough to sleep with you.

Dalton: You’re f**king someone else?

Me: I’m seeing someone else.

Dalton: Wow.

The last message made my stomach lurch. Why did I have such a big mouth, even when it came to my fingers on the touch-screen? Even though he didn’t say the phrase, I felt it reverberate through my body. Fat whore. It’s the kind of phrase that’s tossed around thoughtlessly in even the nicer high schools. Not just whore, but fat whore. Every f**king time, thanks to that old classic: fat girls try harder. Oh, and big girls need love, too.

Was it true?

Was I trying harder?

I’d slept with a handful of guys, but thanks to the last few weeks, double digits were approaching. Oh, shit.

I sent a new text message, this time to Shayla: Shay, am I a fat whore? Be honest.

Shayla: You need to come home from LA immediately. Those f**king pretty boys are eating your soul. Also, I miss you.

(Notice how she completely ignored my idiotic question. That’s what the best of friends do.)

Me: I miss you too.

Shayla: The house misses you. It makes weird noises when you’re not here. The fridge is possessed. I miss your face. I looked at photos of you on my phone last night, and you’re really beautiful. Even the photo of you eating onion ring crumbs out of your food-catchers.

Me: You always know how to cheer me up.

Shayla: Now I want onion rings so bad. Or pie. Hurry home. When I pick you up at the bus depot, we’ll go straight to Chloe’s for pie. Mile-high lemon meringue. My treat.

Me: Do you really think dating pretty boys is eating my soul?

Shayla: Yes. No. I don’t know. They’re not regular people.

Me: The sex is insane.

Shayla: Sex is always insane. That’s the whole point of sex. Turn off your brain and check your sanity at the coat check.

Me: There’s a coat check for sanity?

Shayla: Yes. Don’t forget to tip the girl who works the counter. She’s got a freezer full of vegan hot dogs and nobody to smother.

We texted back and forth for the next hour, getting progressively weirder and more in-joke-y, like all the best conversations, until my phone beeped sadly, begging for a charge-up.

In the main area of the apartment, Keith was off his phone and bustling around tidying up, by the sound of it. I checked one last time for new messages and saw one.

Dalton: Come get your laptop before five o’clock today, or I’m throwing it in the trash.

“You f**king ass**le,” I growled at my phone.

I burst out of the bedroom and told Keith I had to run an errand, and also beat some sense into someone.

He said, “How did my sister get your phone number?”

“Not her. Dalton. I need to get my stuff from his house before he does something even stupider than all the stupid things he’s done to date.” I held my hand out, palm up. “Do you think I could borrow your van? Or should I call a taxi?”

“I’ll drive.” He grabbed a lightweight jacket and slipped on some leather sandals.

CHAPTER 12

I crossed my arms and allowed a small amount of sanity to wash in around my crazy. “You could drive me to Dalton’s, but you’d better not come inside the house.”

Keith grinned, looking boyish and adorable, his black hair ruffled up from him messing with it while he talked on the phone. “Don’t worry, Peaches. I’m a pretty zen dude, or hadn’t you noticed?”

“Eep.” I grimaced. “Pardon my selfishness, but I forgot to ask how things went on the phone. Are you going to Italy?”

He shrugged, then jingled his keys. “To the Batmobile.”

“My dad used to say that.”

We were almost out the door, when I caught sight of my reflection in a mirror and begged for some time to fix myself up.

“I’ll eat my bagel,” he said.

I ran into the bathroom and shut the door. Alone with a big mirror, I frowned at my face. Hot sex was supposed to make you glow, not give you bags under your eyes from the sleep you lost. I put on my concealer and foundation, then had to start all over again, because my regular makeup looked too pale thanks to the sun I’d gotten over the previous few days.

I was putting on dark brown mascara when Keith knocked on the door and said, “Please tell me you’re not taking half an hour to pretty yourself up for your ex-boyfriend.”

“No,” I lied. “I’m totally… taking a big, smelly one in here. Don’t get too close to the door crack.”

I flipped on the switch for the fan, then quietly died of embarrassment. To his credit, Keith demonstrated what a gentleman he was by laughing on the other side of the door.

Being a classy lady, I can assure you that I’ve certainly never farted in my entire life, much less taken a “big one.” Oh, I’ve heard about pooping, but it’s just something other people do. When I was a baby, babysitters loved my never-soiled diapers. I bet if I had to make one, some day, it would smell like rose petals and look like potpourri.

In Keith’s green van, we drove up to the Hollywood Hills. We fit right in, because the roads were populated with both fancy convertibles and gardening trucks.

“So, this is what smoldering vampire eyes gets you,” Keith said as he parked in front of Dalton’s gate.

“Apparently.” I unfastened my seat belt and pointed at Keith. “Stay.”

He looked hurt by my command, his brown eyes puppy-dog-like. I appreciated everything Keith had done for me, including the ride up there, but I had enough sense to know bringing him into Dalton’s home would be a disaster.

Glowering just a little, Keith stayed in the van, with the engine off and the windows rolled down. I opened the heavy gate and started toward Dalton’s front door.