Dirty (Dive Bar #1)(65)

Sadly, the man made sense. I snuggled into him, closing my eyes. “I’m going to miss you when you’re gone.”

A squeeze and another kiss to the back of my neck.

“The town was so pretty as Boyd was driving me home. We went by the scenic route through downtown.”

“Downtown’s in the opposite direction,” he said with a smile in his voice.

“I know, but Boyd didn’t seem to mind and I just felt like seeing it. All of the lights and the trees, the water. It’s all so beautiful, you know?”

“I know,” he said, sounding a little sad.

“I started wondering what it will be like when the trees change color, when it snows.”

“Cold,” he deadpanned.

“You don’t say.”

A snicker.

“At any rate, I got thinking and … I’m not sure I want to leave after all.” I tried to organize my thoughts in a straight line, but my brain was all orgasm-and alcohol-befuddled. It wasn’t easy. “See, part of me wants to spend the rest of my days at least two states away from the Delaneys at any given time. But the other part of me is all ‘you take your problems with you wherever you go.’ The truth is, my issues aren’t really about Chris and company, they’re about me not being happy with my life and making bad choices. That’s not going to change just because my address does.”

Nothing.

“What do you think?”

He sighed. “Honestly, people have long memories. There’s a lot to be said for starting over somewhere new.”

“My parents had that attitude and it never quite worked for me. And here … I’m finally starting to feel like I’ve found the place where I belong.”

Vaughn didn’t answer and a sneaky unwelcome little voice suggested he didn’t want me here. However he felt about the place, it would always be his hometown. He had family and friends here, a history. For certain at some time in the future he’d be back around and if I was still here … well, running into ex-lovers could be awkward as hell.

“You don’t have to make any decisions right now,” he said. “Rest.”

Everything was quiet for a good long time before I heard him speak again. My mind was on the edge of sleep, so it might have even been a dream. A delusion.

“I’m going to miss you too,” a voice whispered.





CHAPTER NINETEEN

Friday morning, Vaughan sat out on the back patio steps, basking in the sun, playing his guitar. No shirt on, which was definitely my preferred attire for his upper body. Same went for the lower. A pad and pen were at his side, like last night. I remembered it all … vaguely.

Did he really say he was going to miss me? Maybe he had and it didn’t mean anything major. You could run out of ketchup and miss it without a crushing sense of deprivation overwhelming your life. It was, after all, just a condiment. I might well be the current pick of the condiments in his life. But he’d still eat a hamburger without me.

A terrible analogy, I know. But quite possibly true.

At any rate, I couldn’t think about it right now. Literally couldn’t. Any usage of the brain was bad. Inside my skull, things throbbed and hurt. I threw down two Advil with a bottle full of water and made a cup of coffee while trying not to think of anything. Only, trying not to think of anything was just as bad as focusing on something, and the malevolent organism in my head took it as a declaration of war.

Pain, so much pain.

Maybe not drinking anything with an alcohol percentage for a while was the way to go. Also, Eric must die. Enablers were bad, evil people. The world must be purged of them.

I hid behind my sunglasses, sitting at one of the few remaining dining room chairs (several had fallen during the great fight) and listened to him playing through the open kitchen doors. Thank god for coffee. Coffee understood. Coffee was my friend.

Merrily, the drugs were at long last beginning to kick in when he noticed my presence.

“Morning.” He shifted his position, all the better to see me. Unfortunately, I wasn’t a good view.

“Hi.”

“How you feeling?”

“Like Long Island Iced Teas are not my friend.”

He inspected me over the top of his sunglasses. “Shit, you were drinking those? No wonder you were smashed.”

“One Old Fashioned, one lychee martini, one Caipirinha, and one Long Island Iced Tea.”

“So you had four cocktails,” he said. “Last night you told me three.”

“Did I? Huh.”

He gave me a look that was most dubious.

“I’ve decided I have no further statement to make about last night.”

“Have you now?” His tongue played behind his cheek. No idea what expression filled his eyes; he’d retreated back behind his shades. Probably for the best.

He gave up the sun and came inside, carrying his guitar in one hand and a pad and pen in the other. All of it got dumped on the kitchen table.

“Working on a new song?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, sitting down across the table from me. “It’s called ‘You Say Funny Shit When You’re Drunk.”

“I like it. Sounds like a winner.”

“Yeah. It’s going to be by the Devil Dick and Demon Tongue Band.” He took off his sunglasses, placed them on the table. “What do you think?”