Starlight (Peaches Monroe #2)(42)
Author: Mimi Strong

I shook my fist. “And for me to punch her some new freckles.”

Keith didn’t laugh. He didn’t appear to be in a very good mood at all, considering the Top Grade b**w j*b I just gave him. That was some premium servicing, and for my efforts I was getting a long, miserable face?

I got on the bed and rolled to my side, striking a pose straight out of an old-timey painting. “Hey, would you say I look Rubenesque like this?” I squeezed my tatas together, crossed my eyes, and stuck out my tongue. “How about now?”

He started sorting through the clothes on the chair, oblivious to my cuteness.

I relaxed my pose, pulling the sheet across to cover my nakedness. “Do you want me to leave?” I asked. “I could be elsewhere. I don’t need to be here.”

“Where would you go?”

My inner bitch dialed up a notch or two, and my voice got angry and sarcastic. “I don’t know, Keith. Is Disneyland still open?”

He slowly finished getting dressed, keeping his back to me the whole time.

A little softer, I said, “I’ll go to that coffee place that’s walking distance. Jitter bugs. Jitter beans. Jitterpalooza. Jizzing Bed Bugs. Fuck. What is that place called?”

“Jitters?”

“Yeah.” I got up and tried to get dressed with as much dignity as I could while still giving off the vibe I was pissed as hell, yet also couldn’t give a single f**k.

“Great, now you’re upset with me, too,” Keith said. “What are you unhappy about? I’ve been playing by your rules, but it’s not enough, apparently.”

“Uh, my rules? Do you mean coming? As opposed to holding back your pleasure like some sexual anorexic?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really, Dr. Phil. Tell me more.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” I had my green sundress back on, and took a seat on the edge of the bed. “That was out of line, and I’m sorry.” I looked up with puppy-dog eyes. By this point, I actually had forgotten what I was angry about, and hoped he wouldn’t ask. I may have a big mouth and be prone to fits of hilarious pouting, but I’m not without self-awareness. Keith hadn’t done anything wrong. I was nervous and jealous about his long-legged ex coming over, and trying to hide my insecurity. Poorly.

“I’m completely over Tabitha,” he said. “I don’t care what she thinks about how I live my life, and I don’t care who she’s f**king. She can f**k every one of our friends if she wants. I don’t need them, and I don’t need her.”

Keith picked up his phone and scowled at the screen. “This is so like her to suddenly need her chairs back.”

I sensed a big speech coming, and I wasn’t wrong. After a rant about her chairs, he went blah-blah-blah about Tabitha and how she liked to have picnics, but she had to buy a whole set of matching plates and bowls for four people, and God forbid Keith use one of the plastic bowls for his granola, because then it would go through the dishwasher more times than the other ones and the red plastic would fade, and…

Keith went on and on about all the things Tabitha used to do to irritate him. Honestly, the complaints weren’t that bad. I found myself siding with her, because everyone knows you don’t leave wet towels on the bed. Come on, Keith. Do you want your whole apartment to smell like mildew?

I just nodded and tried to be a good Rebound. Listening to Keith’s laundry list of gripes got boring pretty fast. I surreptitiously pulled out my phone and checked for new messages. There were some details about the commercial shoot on Monday. Four days away. Time was just flying by. I smiled, thinking that if I could keep Keith talking about all his complaints about Tabitha, it would slow time down, like a time dilation field in a sci-fi show.

He sat down beside me on the bed, all talked out. He put his arm around my shoulders. “You’re a good listener.”

I tucked my phone away quickly. “Just trying to be a good whatever-we-are.”

He lay back on the bed, his hands over his eyes. “Peaches, sometimes I don’t even know if I want to date someone. I question if people really want to have relationships. Maybe what we truly desire is half an hour a day to complain about everything, while someone else pretends to care.”

He patted the bed next to him, so I rolled onto my back and cuddled up next to him. “I’d love to have half an hour a day to complain. But it wouldn’t be about anything important, like human rights or politics or global climate change. Just personal things, like when you eat a whole bag of chips thinking it’s only three hundred calories, then you realize that was the suggested serving size, and the whole bag was ten servings. Who the f**k eats one tenth of a bag of chips?”

Keith chuckled. “Keep going. You have another twenty-nine minutes.”

“I feel better already.” I nuzzled my face against his chest. “I heard this talk, once, by one of the happiness scientists. If you list off three things you feel grateful for, every day, the gratitude changes your mood.”

“I’m grateful for the beautiful dinner you made me. That was a nice surprise to come home to.”

“I’m grateful for the surprise you gave me, when you bent me over the kitchen counter and stuck your hand in me like you’d lost your keys in there.”

He laughed. “Wait, are you being sarcastic?”

“No, it was really…” I rolled one leg over his leg and nudged my pelvis against his hip. “Good.”

He said, “Number two, I’m grateful for good health.”

“Same.”

“No copying.”

“Fine. I’m grateful that I got embarrassing photos taken of me in my bra, because it led to me coming here to LA and having this adventure.”

He kissed my cheek. “I saw those photos the day they came out. You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. That was the first day of my crush on you.”

I squirmed, giggling. “You’re so full of crap.”

He continued, “Number three, I’m grateful for how comfortable you are in your skin, because you’re teaching me how to relax and be more playful. I think of my body as this tool, that either gets me modeling jobs or lets me down when I don’t. When I’m with you, though, in bed, or floating around in the pool, I can see that arms aren’t just for flexing biceps and selling shampoo. Our arms are made for wrapping around each other.”

I stretched my top arm over him and squeezed. “You’re absolutely right. They’re the perfect size for hugging.”