We Are Made of Stardust - Peaches Monroe #1 by Mimi Strong Read Free Book Online

unlimited supply, aren't we? You've got your new girl here, and you probably fed her your bullshit lines, didn't you?”
    “Alexis! Calm down and stop acting crazy. Are you following me? Is this what you do now? You hide in bushes and take photos of people?”
    Growling with sarcasm, she said, “No, I have an amazing career. Six seasons and a movie. I'm a big fucking deal, and I just sell celebrity photos for shits and giggles.” She raised her camera at him and said, “Huh, it still works.” A red light blinked.
    Dalton stepped toward her, one hand outstretched. “No. Give me that. I'm deleting these photos. You have no right.”
    She backed away, still taking pictures. “Work it, D-man. Gimme that Drake snarl. Oh yeah, action shot.”
    “Talk to me, Alexis. Do you need money? I could help you, as a friend, but you're not being very friendly.”
    She kept moving away from him, then abruptly changed direction and jumped over the low hedge along the front yard, running straight toward me.
    I reacted the same way I would if a skunk or saber tooth tiger was running at me. I shrieked and held very still, hoping she'd lose interest.
    She grabbed my forearm, her fingers cold and terrifying. “You don't know what you're getting yourself into,” she snarled.
    “Let go of me before I punch you some new freckles!”
    She blinked, speechless. She'd probably never had anyone threaten to punch her some new freckles. In fact, it may have been the first time in human history that phrase had been uttered.
    “Who are you?” she asked, her big eyes open wide.
    “Just a girl named Peaches.”
    “You have great skin.”
    “Why, thank you—”
    Our conversation was interrupted by a man tackling Alexis and throwing her to the ground. The man had his long hair tied back in a ponytail. The driver. Was he also a bodyguard?
    Dalton came to my side, putting one arm across my shoulders.
    “You're a bit late for heroics,” I said as we watched the two of them tussle on the grass before us.
    The driver pulled away from Alexis, camera in hand. Even though nobody was touching the girl, she continued to scream bloody blue murder with cheese on top. Now all my curious neighbors were out on their porches.
    Mr. Galloway, the edges of his robe not quite covering his boxer shorts on account of how tall the senior citizen is, leaned over his railing and called down, “Peaches Monroe? Shall I call the police?”
    I waved. “No, thanks! We're good here, I think.”
    He stayed at the railing, motionless. “Is that a bridesmaid dress you're wearing, or did someone invite you to prom?”
    “Very funny. It's a bridesmaid dress. My cousin Marita got married today.”
    “Oh, really? Was it a big wedding?”
    “Um…” (You know, some people in the city complain they don't know their neighbors. I really can't say the same. My neighbors were born to be neighborly—to spend nine out of ten Sundays digging around in the front yard for little reason other than to be available for chats. If Shayla and I go out in her Rav and don't luck into a parking spot directly in front of the house, we have to factor in an extra twenty minutes to say hello to everyone on our way to and from doing errands.) I answered Mr. Galloway, “Not too big. Maybe two hundred people.”
    He nodded. “Good weather for it.”
    The petite, muddy woman before us reached her hand up to get some help up, then yanked the driver’s arm and pulled him to the ground again. Throughout all this, Dalton was dumbstruck, just watching. She was reaching for the hem of my dress just as the driver brought her under control, both of them grunting near my feet.
    I felt conflicted, because this woman Alexis was the aggressor, but seeing her get held down by a man struck something in me. A deep, girl-power something. I grabbed the driver and tossed him into a hedge.
    Everyone got really quiet, including Mr. Galloway on his porch.
    Dalton helped extricate his driver from the hedge, Alexis got