Home > Starfire (Peaches Monroe #3)(10)

Starfire (Peaches Monroe #3)(10)
Author: Mimi Strong

We were interrupted by our dinner arriving, hot and fragrant with fresh parmesan cheese. My cheeks were flushing from all the talk about kissing, and I felt nervous about what might happen after dinner.

I pushed away my half-empty glass of Diet Coke. “I’ll get a vodka and soda,” I told the waitress.

“Make it a double and I’ll have the same,” Adrian said.

We silently dug into our food, eating and exchanging goofy looks. The drinks arrived, and we stared into each other’s eyes as we started to drink.

His eyes crinkled, and he didn’t set the glass down, so I didn’t set mine down either. I won the drinking contest, setting down the glass, empty except for ice, first.

“Liquid courage,” he joked.

“Courage for what? Are we going on a crime spree after this?”

“Thanks to some recent intel from my dad’s cop buddies, I’ve got a few ideas.”

I shook my head, a perma-grin plastered on my face. “What am I getting myself into?”

“A bunch of trouble we should have gotten into five years ago. You know, I didn’t even have fun at prom.”

The vodka sent delightful swirls of relaxation through my body. “You never came to prom.”

He made a funny face. “Oh, I was there. For all of ten minutes. You were having such a good time with your friends, and Jett Spencer.” He frowned. “I had this whole speech figured out, and I was going to tell you about Brie rigging the vote, too. But you looked so happy, and I wanted you to be happy, even if it was with Jett Spencer.”

“Fuck me with a ten-pound box of f**ks, but you need to stop dropping these bombshells on me, Adrian.”

“Black Sheep Books is closing down.”

My jaw dropped open.

Adrian grinned.

My jaw remained in the ajar position.

He explained, “The owners have been in the red for two years, and they’re calling it quits. On behalf of Gordon, I’m negotiating taking over their inventory, rather than having them liquidate and glut the local market.”

I whispered, “I hate those sheep f**kers.”

He nodded, looking sly. “I know you do. That’s why I wanted to tell you the good news myself.” He rubbed his hands together. “Negotiations are going well.”

My head was buzzing with vodka and the intoxication of Adrian’s attention, plus this delicious news.

“I hope you stick it to them,” I said.

“Oh, they’re going to spread wide for all the things they’ve done, like poaching employees.”

“You’re going to bend them over that negotiation table, aren’t you?”

“I’m going to spank that exposed ass. And after we’ve had our way with them, we’ll be back on top.”

I licked my lips. “My panties are so wet right now.”

Adrian pretended to gulp-swallow with nervousness. “Negotiating makes me hard, too.”

“You’re a dirty boy.”

He gave me a devious look. “You don’t know the half of it. We could move Peachtree into their space and take over a fifteen-year lease at below-market rent.”

I groaned. “How big is it?”

“Oh, Peaches. It’s big. So big. Think of the things we could do with all that space.”

“In-store readings. More staff picks. A modest used books section.”

His eyelashes fluttered. “Three thousand square feet, plus a below-grade stock room that isn’t counted toward the triple net.”

“Sweep these dishes off the table and take me now!”

He laughed, then growled at me, “Don’t think I won’t.”

As we stared into each other’s eyes, I grabbed his hand and brought it to my mouth.

Starting at the tip of his thumb, I swirled my tongue one around his digit, then plunged it halfway into my mouth.

Adrian’s eyelids widened, and he sat up straight in his chair. I gently sucked his thumb as he held completely still, his breath frozen.

His thumb tasted salty and fleshy, and my mouth watered around it as I took him deeper.

He let some breath out, muttering swear words softly. I grazed my teeth over his fleshy thumb, then bobbed my head and took him in to the hilt. I wrapped my lips tightly around him and gave a powerful suck.

He tilted his chin up with respect and gave me a nod.

I withdrew his thumb slowly, dragging my lips tightly along the surface, then gave the tip a soft kiss.

“Yum,” I said.

“Good staff meeting. Should we get the rest of our pasta plates to go?”

“To go where?”

“Somewhere we should have gone five years ago.”

CHAPTER 5

Rollerskating.

Adrian Storm took me to the Beaverdale Rink so we could go rollerskating.

“I haven’t been here in years,” I said as I laced up the rented skates, white with four blue wheels on each one. The arena scheduled times where people could rollerblade, but Saturday night was for the old-fashioned style of skating only.

“They’re actually busy tonight,” Adrian said, peering through the plexiglass shield from where we sat in the bleachers, putting on our gear. I had bare legs due to my pretty orange dress, so I opted for the kneepads, just to be careful.

As I pulled on the kneepads, I shot Adrian a lusty look and said, “These might come in handy later.”

“They dim the lights in the bleachers after nine, and they send the little kids away.”

“Yes, I know. You act like I’m the one who lived in big cities the past five years.”

He chuckled. “Of course. Then you’ve probably heard that sometimes people go for a romantic skate and take a little detour into the bleachers to… catch their breath.”

“I bet they do.”

He stood up and took my hand. “Let’s skate. I can’t wait to see that fancy dress swirl around your beautiful legs.”

As we walked down the bleacher steps carefully, I looked at Adrian’s legs and tried to think of a compliment to give him, but the black roller skates made his long legs look even longer, and all I could do was giggle at his spider legs.

“What are you giggling at?” he asked. “You’re drunk.” He pointed up to the posted regulations. “Look at that: Inebriated patrons will be escorted out.”

We reached the rink surface. Adrian proceeded to windmill his arms and, from a dead standstill, wipe out on his ass.

People kept rollerskating in a circuit, paying us little attention. I helped him back up carefully. “You’re the drunk one,” I teased, slinging his arm over my shoulder.

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