Dirty (Dive Bar #1)(32)

“Thank you.”

“That was a trap. You lifted your arms up,” he grumbled, brows turned down. Never had a man looked quite so oppressed. “What was I supposed to do?”

“A trap? You think I’m trying to trap you?” I wrinkled up my forehead. “Vaughan, I’m genuinely beginning to get concerned about your breast fixation. Seriously. How can you function when any hint of tit sends your brain into a coma?”

“You were staring at my ass earlier. You don’t see me telling you off.” He cracked his neck. “And anyway, it’s only happened with you. I’m fine around every other rack. I can discreetly appreciate and move on. Yours are different.”

“Really?” I grinned, my stomach doing the strangest loop de loop.

In lieu of answering, he disappeared once more under the hood. In the distance, I could hear kids laughing and a car passing by. The wind was blowing through the pine trees and a bird was singing. Man, this place was lovely. So relaxing. If I owned this home, I’d never give it up. They could bury me in the backyard, let me turn into fertilizer.

Vaughan glanced at me around the corner of the hood, immediately snagging my attention.

“I humbly apologize for objectifying you,” I said. “I’ll try not to do it again.”

A snort.

Fair enough.

“What a lovely day,” I said.

I couldn’t have asked for a prettier picture. A big old tree shaded the driveway on the side of the house where he’d popped the hood. Stray rays of sunlight lit the golden red of his hair and the colored ink on his otherwise pale skin. I guess playing in bands, enjoying the nightlife, didn’t make for a great tan. But it didn’t matter. He didn’t need one. Tall, lean, and firm in all the right places, Vaughan Hewson was a girl’s wet dream. Luckily I respected him for his mind.

“My feet hurt from last night. It’s been years since I spent that much time on them.” I gave my Birkenstock-clad beauties a stretch. To cover the rest of me, I’d chosen denim cut-offs and an oversize tee. Comfortable was the look I was going for. “I’ve been thinking about your place some more, if you’re still interested in selling it.”

Nothing from beneath the hood.

“I know a good agent, Wes from Brewers Real Estate. He’s a nice guy, not quite as cutthroat as the rest. I could give him a call, ask him to stop by if you like?”

I waited for a response.

“Up to you, of course.”

The sound he made was far from happy. “Thought we were going to talk about this again when I was ready.”

“I haven’t heard from the Delaneys yet, but they’re not going to waste time getting rid of me,” I said, tone wry. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here and I don’t want you getting ripped off.”

He stopped, stared. “Thanks. If you could give him a call, that’d be good.”

“Okay,” I said quietly.

“It’s just … it’s hard to let it go.”

“Yeah.”

Wiping his greasy hands on a cloth, he turned to look at the house. “Always figured they’d be here. I’d come back for holidays and shit, and nothing would change. Dad would still be screwing up the Christmas lights and Mom would be going berserk over the pumpkins each Halloween. Nell and Pat would have a kid and it’d all be good.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Mm.” He paused. “After I was over touring and had made some money, I was going to buy one of those places on the lake. Settle down.”

“Here? Not out on in California?”

“Nah. In my head, it was always here.” His hands twisted the cloth up into a tight ball. “I had everything figured out.”

“You know,” I said, trying to speak gently, “I’ve heard most people have three different careers over their lifetime.”

“Do they?”

“Maybe playing in the band was just your first one.”

“Are you serious? You want me to just give it up?” he asked, the volume of his voice rising. “Hock the guitars and what, get a job at Burger King making fries?”

“I don’t want—”

“Because I can really see that working out f*cking great, Lydia.” He chucked the cloth aside, furious. “Good idea. Awesome.”

“Vaughan.” The muscles in my jaw ached.

“Want to know the difference between me and you, babe?”

I kept my mouth shut. Pretty damn sure he was going to tell me.

“Your dream was marrying some douche with a nice big bank account and hiding out behind the white picket fence for the rest of your life.” The jerk towered over me, looming.

“That so?”

“Christ. You know it is.” He laughed, spitefully.

Wow. Yeah. I had nothing to say in response.

“But my dream … mine.” His thumb hit him squarely in the center of his chest. “It was a little bigger.”

I had no words. None.

For a good minute I just stared up at him, amazed by his outburst, more than anything. There was no real reason why I should have been. He and I had now known each other for what … a bit under forty-eight hours? I’d known Chris for four months and been clueless. My track record for reading people was, after all, shitty.