Starlight (Peaches Monroe #2)(37)
Author: Mimi Strong

*No relation or connection to the actor Robert DeNiro, one R.

Keith told me there were plenty of red-checked tablecloths in Italy, and then I tickled him until I found his ticklish spots, under his armpits and along his sides.

I switched the birthday topic back to him, since his refusal to have birthdays was so fascinating. What is it about people who refuse to partake in things everyone else loves? Like people who’ve never watched Titanic, for example? My cousin Marita, who used to babysit me, has never seen the movie, and I swear it’s become a part of her identity. When she met her much-younger husband James at a bar, they got into an argument over a trivia game—specifically, a Titanic question. He mocked her, asking if she could call herself a girl if she didn’t know what Rose did with the diamond. Marita claimed she didn’t even know who Rose was, much less anything about a diamond, and James bugged her about it all night, because it was a rather tall tale. (I mean, please. I love Marita, but the girl knows damn well who Rose is.) James ended up taking Marita back to his house that night to “watch the movie,” and you can guess what happened next. To this day, Marita still hasn’t seen Titanic.

I wondered if Keith had stopped celebrating birthdays to make himself seem more interesting as an adult.

We cuddled and I pressed him for more details.

He admitted the decision was partly because he liked the beefy look of the number ten much more than eleven, with its two boring, thin lines, but mainly he refused birthdays to aggravate his twin sister. Katy was competitive, always pointing out that her birthday present box was bigger, or heavier, or that she had more girls attending the party than he had boys. Katy was the queen bee at her school, both popular and controlling, so there was no way he could compete. He first mentioned the idea of abstaining from birthdays as a joke, and it infuriated her so much, that… well… how could a brother not commit to doing something that bugged her so much?

I rolled over in the dark to face Keith, my hand against his warm chest.

“You seem to put a lot of energy into annoying your sister,” I said. “I have to admire your commitment and dedication.”

He reached over and played with my hair, pulling it across my cheek, and then tucking it behind my ear.

“When I make up my mind, it stays made up,” he said.

“I wish I was more like you. I’m a softie, in body and spirit. Remember how easy it was for you to talk me into spending the first night here?”

“You were so beautiful in the dark, like you were this divine statue carved from alabaster. I swear you were glowing from the inside, full of stars and lightning bugs, and all I could think about was kissing you. I’m glad you kissed me back, or I might have tossed myself down the canyon.”

“I’m always shocked when guys try to kiss me. I think half the time they do it just to shut me up.”

His eyes went wide, mocking me. “No!”

I nodded. “It’s true. When I was a kid, my mother used to carry these ultra-sticky caramels in her purse. I thought they were her favorite candy, but it turned out she can’t eat them because of her dental work. I had no idea. She brought them everywhere because they totally filled my mouth and shut me up. She didn’t like me telling people at the post office that we had Pop Tarts for dinner when my father was out of town on business.”

Keith laughed. “You’re a tattle-tale.”

“No. I just thought she was the greatest mom ever and wanted everyone to know.” I stared into his eyes, trying to memorize his face in the dim light, painfully aware of how easy it is to forget. “Both of my parents are great, actually. They’d probably get along well with yours, except for the cayenne pepper thing. That’s weird.”

“I’m sure your family has some secrets.”

I laughed, my voice high-pitched. “Well, there is this one thing.”

“Mmm?” His eyebrows tented up with intrigue.

“My mother has banned my father’s hideous recliner from the living room, so he lugged it all the way up to the attic, along with a beer fridge. There’s no bathroom up there, and my mother suspects he’s going in a bucket and throwing it out the window.”

Keith started laughing, rolling on the bed and holding his sides.

“That’s not all,” I said. “Back before I came along, they paid the deposit for our house with money my mother got from getting rogered by a movie star.”

Wheezing with laughter, Keith slapped the bed between us. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!”

“Excuse me?”

He stopped laughing and wiped at his eye. “You and your mom both slept with movie stars.”

“But I didn’t get paid for it.”

“You should have. That guy is a serious Grade A Douchebag. And his acting is terrible. He’s always—” Keith turned his head sideways and gave me a super-intense brooding stare. With his dark hair and high cheekbones, he did an alarmingly accurate Drake Cheshire.

“This isn’t funny,” I said, now feeling sweaty and claustrophobic in the bed with Keith.

“Look at me, Peaches. It is funny. It’s damn funny. And making fun of our exes is an important part of the rebound experience.”

“The rebound experience? Please, Keith, in all your infinite wisdom, tell me more about what emotions I should be feeling.”

He wiggled his way backward, to the edge of the bed, then lifted his arms and rested his hands behind his head in a relaxed pose. He looked quite pleased with himself, as though he’d helped me with some spiritual breakthrough. The nerve.

“He still has power over you,” Keith said. “Making fun of him takes that power away.”

I gave him stink-eye for a minute, trying to hear what he was saying without rushing to judgment, and without smothering him under my pillow.

“I’d make fun of your ex, Tabitha,” I said. “Except I do a lousy impression of skinny-ass-having, ex-boyfriend-fucking, Las-Vegas-slutting, bag-of-hair-best-friending, meek little anorexic whores. Mainly because of my cheekbones.”

He nodded slowly, opening his mouth with a crisp smacking sound. “I deserved that.”

I covered my mouth. “No, you didn’t. I’m being a monster, and I don’t know why.”

He studied me for a moment. “You’re good at protecting yourself, like a momma bear. It’s an admirable quality.”

“Hmm.” That sounded like an insult wrapped in a compliment, or vice versa.