We Are Made of Stardust - Peaches Monroe #1 (21 page)

The floor creaked. Was someone behind me?

“Adrian?” My voice sounded small and scared, which triggered my irritation. “Don’t you fucking jump out and scare me. You do not want a big girl punching you in the face.”

Silence.

Pulse racing, palms damp, I whipped open the bifold doors of Kyle’s closet.

Nothing but a row of little shirts and a row of little jeans. My heart briefly squeezed at the cuteness of all his plaid button-down shirts in a row. They dressed him like a mini version of my father.

I turned around, checked under the bed, and stepped softly out of Kyle’s bedroom.

I was able to check the main bathroom from the doorway, then I paused at the door to my parents’ room. There was something sacred about the room where someone’s parents made love, and Adrian wouldn’t violate that by hiding in there, would he? He wasn’t a bad boy, was he? My soaking-wet tits said otherwise. Adrian was not the good boy he once was.

I stepped into my parents’ room carefully, moving from hardwood to plush carpet. The master bedroom was the only carpeted room in the house—a low-pile pale mushroom carpet, two shades lighter than the brown paint on the walls. The king-sized bed was covered in twenty-six pillows of various sizes and fabrics. My father had grumbled about the pillows for a while, until my mother explained there was one for every year of marriage. Then he decided it was romantic and awesome, and he helped her pick out a new one the next year for their anniversary.

The floor nearby creaked again.

I froze in place, staring at the doors of my parents’ walk-in closet. Was the sound behind me or inside the room?

I reached for the doorknob, my hand shaking.

What was that sound? Was that my heavy breathing, or someone else’s?

My fingertips touched the doorknob, slippery with perspiration. I flung open the doors, expecting to see Adrian’s lanky body amidst my mother’s dresses and my father’s full-size plaid shirts.

For a second, he was there, right in front of me, but it was just my mind playing tricks on me, using a pair of my father’s loafers at the floor of the closet plus a shadow to create an Adrian-like form.

So, he was in my old room.

“You fucker,” I muttered.

And then he grabbed me. From behind. His long arms wrapping around me like boa constrictors.

Screaming hadn’t occurred to me—not until a big hand landed over my mouth.

As he held me tight, I struggled against my muscled restraints and did the only thing I could. I bit his fingers.

Adrian released me immediately, chuckling and shaking his hand. “I win this round,” he said.

“I’m going to kick your ass!”

I came at him, fists flailing at his chest area. My boy cousins used to terrorize me and Shayla all the time, and beating them up for it seemed more logical than stopping playing with them entirely.

He backpedaled, and I kept coming at him, until he reached the foot of my parents’ bed and fell backward, but not before hooking me around the back and toppling me down on top of him.

Pillows of various sizes flew everywhere in the kerfuffle.

I struggled to get away, but Adrian wrapped his arms and legs around me, laughing.

“Lemme go, spider legs!” I yelled.

“I’ve got you in my web.” His blue eyes shone fiercely bright as he grinned up at me.

His body was solid beneath me, and all the squirming was exciting something not just in me, but in him, by the feel of it. A long, thick something. Miss Kitty got very interested.

I stopped struggling and rested with my forearms against Adrian Storm’s chest, so broad like a pleasant lawn in his green T-shirt. His hands moved up my back to my shoulders, then slid down to my buttocks.

And then, for the first time in my life, I did something daring and fun with Adrian Storm.

I said, “Kiss me like I’m dangerous. Kiss me like I’m bad for you.”

He moved his hands up from my ass, to either side of my face, and pulled me down to him.

My lips got closer and closer to his. The heat between our bodies grew stronger, like a campfire between gusts of wind. His lips parted, and his eyelids fluttered closed.

I didn’t just want to kiss Adrian Storm. I wanted to grind my hips against his, and feel his lips, his tongue, his teeth on my flesh. I wanted to reach down into his jeans and grab hold of the beast hardening beneath my thigh.

One of the turquoise pillows near my face caught my attention and broke the spell. I was on my parents’ bed. And why was I about to kiss Adrian Storm when I was already involved with someone?

Lying on top of Adrian Storm's sexy body, on my parents' bed, I came to my senses. We couldn't kiss. That would be the worst thing for us to do.

I changed trajectory, stuck my tongue out, and licked the tip of Adrian’s fine nose.

Pulling back, I said, “Say uncle.”

“Uncle?”

I rolled to the side, off his hot body. “I guess I win this round, after all.”

He sat up, shaking his head and looking around as if just awoken from a dream.

“You win,” he said.

“For once.”

“We should go back downstairs before my parents get worried.”

I slapped him on the thigh. “Worried I’ll get their son pregnant?”

He caught my hand and held it in his. “Petra.”

“I was just kidding about you kissing me. I’m actually seeing someone right now. A guy. So obviously that was just a joke.”

“Who?”

I pulled my hand away, got off the bed, and started gathering the tossed pillows. There was obviously no point in saying who, because he wouldn’t believe me anyway.

“Nobody you’d know,” I said.

“I haven’t been out of town that long. Is it that delivery guy? The red-haired coma guy?”

“Carter is a talented singer-songwriter. He’s more than just a coma guy.”

“I guess he’s okay.” Adrian got up and walked to the door. “Yeah, he’s okay.”

I stared after him, my mouth slightly ajar. “He’s okay, you guess? Wow, Adrian, you sure wanted me bad. I feel so desired right now. Thanks. Thanks a lot for reminding me of old times.”

He backed away, his head down and gaze on the floor. “Whatever I said or did, I’m sorry. For the record, I think you’re a really cool chick, and I hoped we could be friends again, like how we used to be.”

“There’s no reason now. No yearbook.” My words hung in the air for a moment. “Chantalle Hart is working at DeNirro’s. She asked about you. I think you should go for it.”

He backed away a few more steps, until he was just out of sight, in the hallway. He called out, “I’m just going to go home now, before I make things worse.”

At that moment, his mother called for him. “Adri-aaaaaan? We’re ready to go, dear!”

“Thanks for the fun,” I said.

He muttered something I couldn’t discern, and then I heard his footfalls on the front stairs, the wood ones.

I went into my parents’ en-suite bathroom and shut the door to bide my time until the Storms left.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I said, “Girl, what’s gotten into you?”

That’s when I noticed the big, green chunk of spinach covering most of my eye tooth. I quickly picked it out, silently cursing stupid Adrian Storm. Imagine what would have happened if we’d kissed! A partially-chewed chunk of my salad would have transferred from my mouth to his.

Ugh.

The thought of it nearly made me hurl.

The door downstairs slammed, and I heard a car drive away. I waited a full minute, ran some water, and ventured back downstairs.

I found my mother sitting amidst her coordinated throw pillows on the new flower-patterned sofa in the front room.

“Tummy beans?” she asked.

I rubbed my stomach and grimaced. “Yeah. That spinach goes right through me.”

She nodded, giving me a knowing look. “I suppose it hit Adrian at the same exact time, which is why you two were upstairs together.”

I flopped down on the couch next to her, then scooched over so I could lie there with my head on her lap.

“Mom, he tried to kiss me. In between insulting me.”

She patted my hair. “What would your movie star boyfriend say?”

“Something utterly charming that turns my insides to goo. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“They’re not like us, are they? These actors. They’re like the sun, and we all revolve around them.”

“What am I doing with Dalton? Am I crazy? Should I just keep hanging in there hoping he’ll break my heart then write me a big check so I can put a down payment on a house?”

My mother silently stroked my hair for a moment, then said, “Jewelry is less vulgar than straight cash.”

I covered the side of my face with one hand so she couldn’t see my wide-eyed expression.

“Sheesh. My own mother is prostituting me,” I said. “What next?”

“Now, now. What you meant to say is, ‘My own mother is
pimping
me.’ One can only prostitute oneself.”

“And the hits just keep on coming.”

She patted my shoulder. “You do know I’m joking, right? You’re young, brilliant, and adorable. You’re practically a clone of your dear mother. Any man would be lucky to catch your eye.”

“Okay.”

She kept patting my shoulder. “I know your birthday is a ways off, but he doesn’t know that. You could make up a date, drop a few hints, perhaps walk him by Topaz Jewelry and stop to admire the window display, or—”

I sat up and gave her my most disapproving look.

Her eyebrows pulled together. “I’m being inappropriate, aren’t I?”

“Very. And a little ruthless.”

“That dandelion wine,” she said, shaking her head. “It makes people do the silliest things.”

I rolled my eyes as I got up from the couch and started gathering my things to leave. Dandelion wine, my ass.

My father came into the room with perfect timing to volunteer as my taxi ride home. I would have considered just staying there and getting a lift home in the morning, but I had a date with Dalton in the morning.

The whole ride home, I was quiet, silently sorting through whether or not I’d done anything improper with Adrian Storm.

He was the one who’d grabbed me and pulled me onto the bed, on top of his very hard body that felt way too good underneath mine.

I was the one who dared him to kiss me, though. And using the same words Dalton had said to me outside DeNirro’s. I was kind of a skank! The idea put a smile on my face.

I hugged my dad goodnight and ran into the house, eager to tell Shayla everything. She was out, though, with Golden and Chantalle, according to the note on the fridge.

I frowned at the felt-pen-scrawled words for several minutes. They all went somewhere to hang out without me? How rude was that? Very rude.

I opened the fridge and drank some of Shayla’s precious fresh mango juice, right from the bottle, no glass.

~

Saturday morning, I woke up three hours before Dalton Deangelo was due at my house. It still wasn’t enough time for me to sort out what to wear.

I pulled on the blue dress I’d mentioned on the phone—the one he said would look good on his floor. The color did bring out my eyes, and the shirring above the waistband did wonders to hide my recent cupcake incidents. Then again, I remembered from Dottie’s workshop that red clothing made a stronger impression on the male mind, so I was rooting around for something else when the doorbell rang.

Shayla was silent in her bedroom, still crashed from returning late the night before.

I opened her door and said, “Get up if you want to meet Dalton Deangelo properly.” She’d given him heck on our front lawn that first night, but hadn’t talked to him since.

She stirred, moving just enough to pull the top cover over her head. “Merff,” she said, which was more of a sound than a word.

“You guys really tied on last night, didn’t you?”

She waved one limp hand. “Go ‘way. Your voice. Ugh.”

“Nice. So, you don’t want to meet him?”

“Merff.”

“Your loss.” I started down the stairs.

Shayla and I lived in a delicate balance, and her recent grouchiness shouldn’t have been surprising. She
claimed
to be happy for me, but whenever something good happened in my life, it took her some time to get used to the idea. Either that, or by wild coincidence the universe would make something bad happen to her to keep us in balance.

I pulled open the front door to find Dalton lurking a few feet off to the side of the porch, his arms crossed and his head nodded down.

The red geraniums in the terra cotta pots sat unharmed on the porch and front stairs, so he wasn’t looking guilty due to kicking one of them over (which happened a few times every summer when friends came over).

“What’s up?” I asked.

He turned a little to the side, taking on an even more lurking pose.

“Are you bailing on me today?” I asked. “Do you have to go back to shooting right now?”

He shook his head, no, but still didn’t say anything.

Now I was starting to get worried. “Something worse?”

He nodded, yes.

I knew, immediately, that he was dumping me. Without a doubt.

So I said, “You’re a fucking douche,” and slammed the door shut.

The doorbell rang again. I didn’t want his stupid explanation, but I opened it anyway.

“Invite me in,” he muttered, standing closer to the door but still keeping his distance.

“Fine. Come in.”

He stepped in with a flourish, his face lighting up with maniacal glee. His mouth opened wide in a snarl, revealing giant fucking vampire teeth.

I shrieked, like any normal person would, given the situation.

He was already laughing, bent forward with his hand on one knee. Waving his hand breathlessly, he said, “The look on your face!”

Holding my hand to my hammering heart, I said, “What’s with all you guys trying to terrify me?”

“What guys?” he said, sputtering around the prosthetic vampire teeth.

“Nobody.” The memory of me squirming on top of Adrian Storm’s body returned with clarity, and I plunged into a deep well of guilt.

Dalton adjusted one of the top teeth, which looked really sharp and dangerous. “Sh-h-ould I wear d-f-ese all day?”