Starlight (Peaches Monroe #2)(65)
Author: Mimi Strong

I said, “So, yeah. That happened.”

Mitchell’s jaw dropped open and he rolled forward, off the couch and onto the concrete floor of the studio, where he laughed and laughed until I begged him to stop.

Finally, he wiped the tears from his eyes and said, “That was the perfect mix of horror and humor.”

“Not for me. The barf-spunk mixture got into my panties, and I had to buy pregnancy tests for the next month, because I was worried some of Kevin’s swimmers had, you know, gotten in there.”

“I love you, Peaches Monroe.” Mitchell threw his arms around me and kissed my cheek. “I f**king love you.”

I hugged him back and smiled, because I’d been waiting a long time for a guy to say those words to me, and even from a platonic friend, it still felt good to be loved.

We wrapped up shooting for the day, and Mitchell wouldn’t let me take a cab to Keith’s, so he gave me a ride in his Miada. We stopped by a bakery along the way, where I bought a six-pack of cupcakes, including two special men’s cupcakes with smokey bacon sprinkles and maple icing. Mitchell ate one of those in the car while driving, while I had a miniature vacation of the coconut variety.

I walked into Keith’s apartment, all excited about the bacon cupcake. He was sitting on the sofa reading on a tablet. He looked up at me, then shook his head and turned back to his reading.

“Rough day at work?” I asked. “Having issues getting everyone ready for your departure?”

“Business is fine,” he said curtly.

“So, are you having your period?”

He didn’t even crack a grin.

I continued, “I thought today might be a heavy flow day for you, so I brought you home a cupcake. Let me know where your hot water bottle is and I’ll get you set up.”

“You were kissing Dalton Deangelo.”

CHAPTER 24

I set everything down on the kitchen counter with a thump, then got myself a glass of tap water. I called out from the kitchen, “Oh, you heard. No, I wasn’t kissing him. I had to ride a bicycle past him and say one line of dialog. My thighs were rubbing together so bad on the bike, but I was a good model. No complaining, except to Mitchell.”

I took a seat next to him on the sofa and passed the water his way. “Want some?”

He pushed the water back, splashing it all over my lap. I opened my mouth to let out a few choice words, but then I saw the photo on his tablet: me, kissing Dalton just outside the restaurant where we’d had brunch on Friday. Thundernuts! I’d forgotten all about that, in my hungover haze.

Keith did not look happy at all. Heavy flow day, indeed.

“I got you a bacon cupcake,” I said.

“Are you just stringing me along for fun, and him, too? I actually feel sorry for the guy.”

“Okay, I can explain. Dalton found me and Mitchell hitch-hiking in Malibu, for reasons that are perfectly logical and not at all illegal, and we had brunch. There were some photographers outside, and he suggested we give them a little something to get free publicity.” I pointed to the short blond fellow at the edge of the image. “See, there’s Mitchell. I was never alone with Dalton, not even for a second, I swear.”

Keith frowned and wiggled his lips back and forth, as though goofy facial movements helped his brain process information.

“I’m sorry,” I said, which is what I should have led with. I’m sorry. Why don’t I lead off with that particular phrase more often? Pride, I suppose. I always think I can use my big mouth to talk myself out of trouble, but I should just try that whole begging-for-forgiveness thing more often.

“Now I’m the jealous ass**le,” he said, still frowning.

“Bacon cupcake?”

“I don’t like how I’m feeling right now.”

“If you don’t like bacon, there’s a pink cherry one, with those weird silver sprinkles that look like ball bearings.”

He shook his head. “What time is your flight to Washington on Wednesday?”

“Nice!” I said angrily, getting up from the couch in a huff. “Real nice, Keith. Don’t worry, you’ll be rid of me soon enough.”

He didn’t say anything.

I felt the crazy coming. It swirled up around me like a toxic cloud—like the black eels that swoosh around Ursula the sea witch in The Little Mermaid.

I had one little in-public peck on the lips with a friend, and now Keith wanted to throw me out like yesterday’s coffee grounds and banana peels? Nice. Real nice.

The crazy swirled. A big, dark, inky cloud of crazy. I curled my lips around my teeth like a mummy in a horror movie, then I grabbed the box of cupcakes and stomped to the spare bedroom and slammed the door.

The door didn’t bang shut very loud, so I pulled it open and did it again, with a much more satisfying crack.

I flicked on the TV, turned it to a music channel, and cranked the volume. Sitting on the bed, I stuffed the entire bacon-maple cupcake into my mouth, pulled out my phone, and sent a message to Shayla.

Me: The honeymoon is over! Keith Raven is a cheese-fucker, and LA is hot and smelly and would you just slap some sense into me if I ever consider leaving town again?

Shayla: I went by Peachtree Books today. Adrian completely changed the window displays.

Me: Someone is going to die.

Shayla: The windows look nice, actually. Your father was there, building some custom shelves.

Me: I hate everyone and everything.

Shayla: *Hugs.*

Me: *Goes limp. Receives hug begrudgingly.*

Shayla: Didn’t you have the commercial shoot today? How did that go?

Me: I guess it was okay. Tomorrow is a shorter day, and I get to sit on a trapeze thing for a bit before plunging to my death, which will be a welcome relief.

Shayla: Send photos.

Me: Anything else?

Shayla: The refrigerator finally broke, and the landlord got us a new one that makes ice cubes.

Me: OHMYGOD.

Shayla: I know, right?

I shuffled off the bed and put the remaining cupcakes inside an empty dresser drawer, then got down to the serious business of discussing our new windfall, which also filtered and chilled water.

An hour later, I had simmered down, and ventured back out of the room.

Keith was in the kitchen, chopping onions and grating ginger for something that smelled interesting.

“I may have overreacted,” he said.

“Apology accepted.”

He gave me a crooked grin, looking very boyish with his dark hair falling down over his forehead as he peeled garlic cloves.

I asked if I could help with dinner, and he gave me some simple tasks, starting with peeling potatoes.