Starlight (Peaches Monroe #2)(39)
Author: Mimi Strong

Adrian Storm: Why does Gordon keep rocks in the drawer?

Ah, it was my new coworker. I’d hoped Amy would have come to her senses and left those sheep-fuckers to come back to Peachtree Books, but apparently there’d been no such luck. Adrian was there, getting into all my shit and messing shit up by the sound of it.

Me: Those rocks are to remind you to put the cash drawer by the door at night when you lock up.

Adrian: That makes exactly zero sense. Try again.

Me: We’ve had a couple break-ins over the years, but none since we started putting the cash drawer by the door.

Adrian: Should I take the money out of the tray before I put it by the door? Because if I don’t, that seems like it’s just encouraging the break-ins.

Me: You put the money in the safe.

Adrian: I know. I’m just pulling your leg. How’s LA? I hear you’re shacked up with some underwear model. Shayla told me.

Me: I’ll be back there Wednesday. Don’t mess with my organization there. I have shit exactly where it needs to be.

Adrian: This store is like Lady Town. I just hang out and talk to women all day. I think I might start menstruating.

Me: Don’t. Menses is totally overrated.

Adrian: If I start a garage band, our name is going to be Menses Is Overrated.

Me: There probably is one already. That sounds familiar.

Adrian: I bet there is a band, and those f**kers have really awesome mustaches, too.

Me: I hate it when other people take your best ideas straight from your brain.

Adrian: That’s why you need to wear a tin foil hat. I’ll make you one. I like to use the tin foil to line a regular hat. Nobody needs to know you’re blocking them.

Me: I never was a hat person. It would be a shame to cover up such nice hair.

Adrian: You do have great hair. You always did. And it smelled nice.

Me: I always wanted to get cornrows.

Adrian: I used to braid my Barbie’s hair. That’s right. I had a Barbie when I was a kid. She fought alongside G.I. Joe.

Me: I bet she kept his tent warm at night.

Adrian: Now that you mention it…

Me: Anything else work-related? I should probably let you go if you have customers.

Adrian: Nope, it’s just me and the books. I did have someone come in earlier and ask if I’d read all of the books in the entire store.

Me: We should keep a baseball bat behind the counter for people like that. Not a real one, but one of those Nerf ones, made of foam.

Adrian: The boss man Gordon said violence isn’t part of the Peachtree Books experience. Not even cartoon violence.

Me: What is cartoon violence, anyway? Is it dropping an anvil on a road runner?

Adrian: I should know this because I’m the guy?

Me: You are a guy.

Adrian: And you’re a girl.

Me: ?

Adrian: I remember now, how I used to say that to you all the time back in high school. I’m sorry I was such a tool.

Me: That’s okay.

Adrian: And of course you were in love with me so bad, and then I kept asking you for advice with Chantalle Hart.

Eep!

I dropped the phone on the table and pushed my chair back. Adrian just mentioned my being in love with him in high school, as casually as you’d mention someone’s experimental phase with spiral perms.

The phone buzzed with another message, but rather than endure more horror, I switched it off.

Stupid Adrian and his big, stupid mouth.

I bustled around the kitchen, getting the water boiling for the red potatoes and green beans.

Keith walked in the door at half past four, and his jaw dropped open when he saw the surprise welcome I’d set up.

“I have a dining table?” he asked, circling the small table.

“It was underneath your plants by the window, and I got the chairs from your patio. I hope you don’t mind.”

He looked around the living space, which I’d taken the liberty of rearranging for better flow.

“This looks good,” he said. “I like the couch on a jaunty angle like this.”

“Shut up. You hate it. Just come eat your dinner and I’ll put everything back.”

He came around behind me and grabbed me in a hug, his arms tight just under my bosom. “This is the best I’ve seen my apartment, and this food looks great.” He nuzzled my cheek and kissed my neck. “Are you wearing an apron?” He reached down and rubbed his palms up and down my legs just above my thighs, pushing up the apron. “So sexy. Grrr. My sexy little homemaker.”

“Do you want a drink? I got vodka and soda. That’s your favorite, right?”

He kissed my neck some more, getting that area moist… as well as other areas, including my entertainment center.

I made a few happy noises as he groped me all over, and it wasn’t long before he had me bent forward over the kitchen counter with my dress up, my panties down, and his fingers visiting my amusement park.

“What are you doing?” I squealed between giggles and very serious moans.

He slid one finger in and out, and then two fingers, picking up where we’d left off that morning.

“Making you come for me.”

“Oh,” I breathed, my cheek pressed against the cool countertop.

He filled me with fingers, the sensation powerful and pleasant. I relaxed in my bent-forward position and took him in, fitting his hand like a very happy glove.

Soon, I felt the tremor begin, pushing me up onto my tiptoes. I rocked my hips, pushing down harder against him, chasing the high and worried he was going to stop. He thrust his fingers into me harder, thumbing my cl*t with skill and pushing me to new heights as I came undone.

“Fucking f**k!” I moaned, then just, “Fuuuuck.”

He waited until the spasms ceased before gently withdrawing his fingers, careful not to tickle too much.

“Huh,” he said.

I turned around and retrieved my underwear from the floor.

“You were expecting the squirting?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But I guess, like you said, it doesn’t happen every time.” He went to the sink and washed up as I pulled on my panties. I could see the outline of his rigid c**k inside his pants, and I got a few ideas, but he was looking over at the food now, so my plans could wait. Keith liked to wait, but as long as he took care of my needs, that was fine by me.

After he dried off his hands, he grabbed me in another hug, this time facing me.

“Don’t you look proud of yourself,” I said, grinning to match his expression.

He kissed me on the tip of my nose. “You have the nicest, sweetest, tastiest little cunt. I want to crawl up inside there like it’s a boutique hotel room.”