“I’m serious, I’ve been worrying about you all day, what with Nell not being able to buy the house like you’d hoped. I realize we haven’t known each other for long, but I’d like to help somehow if I can.”
A sigh. “I’m going to have to sell it to someone else. It’s going to suck, but that’s where my situation’s at.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” He wiped a hand over his face. “Don’t suppose you’d like to rethink your leaving town plan and make an offer?”
“I wish I had that kind of money. And a job.” A couple of years in real estate had enabled me to make a start on some savings. Nothing like what the Sanders Beach home would fetch, however. “I could give you some advice on the market, point you in the direction of a good agent and so on.”
“Yeah, ah … let’s talk about this another time. All right?”
“Sure. Whenever you’re ready.”
“Thanks.”
A couple of young women passed us by, one doing a double take when she saw me. Next thing you knew, her mouth was going rapid fire against her friend’s ear. The friend turned back to look at me, giggling. Ugh.
“Maybe tonight’s a bit soon,” I said, edging back a step. “I mean, you need to concentrate on the bar and, really, Nell will be busy cooking, so—”
In one smooth move, he stepped in front of me, turning so we were face-to-face. His hands grabbed hold of my hips, drawing operation “get the hell out of here” to an abrupt halt. “Lydia?”
I blinked. “Vaughan?”
“We’re going in there and it’s going to be okay.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
He swallowed, stopping a moment to think. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Everyone could point and laugh at me, forcing me to relive the shame and horror of yesterday.”
“Yeah, true.” Fingers rubbed at the wide hips of my jeans as he held his face down close to mine. Not doing anything, just being there. “How’d you get through yesterday, though?”
“Running away, you, sarcasm, violence, and last but not least, tequila.”
“You can have everything today apart from the running away,” he said. “How’s that sound?”
“You want me to answer that honestly?”
“Nope. You’re going to have fun, Lydia.”
I highly doubted it, but it would be impolite to say so.
“And if anyone in there gives you shit, I’ll punch them for you.”
“My hand still hurts from yesterday, so thanks. I appreciate that.”
“No problem.”
We stood, staring at each other, smiling for one perfect moment. Then I smacked myself in the forehead. “Crap. It’s your first night at work and I’m putting all my drama on you again.”
He hung his head. “Yeah, you are.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Such a long and gusty exhalation. The man had big lungs. Also, bad friends, namely me.
“Vaughan?”
“On the plus side, when you get worked up your tits start heaving up and down with each breath. Magnificent. Honestly, I can’t get enough of it.” Little lines appeared on his forehead as his hands demonstrated the apparently bouncy-boob-like motions in front of his chest. “I’m tempted just to say shit to get you started, I love it so much.”
In the face of his broad grin, I had nothing.
Actually, that’s a lie. “I felt bad, you asshat.”
The good-looking asshole just smiled. Far in the distance the first star started twinkling and doing its thing in the gray and violet sky. Mountains loomed dark and ominous in the distance. Nature, the show-off. But it had nothing on Vaughan standing there, smiling. Lust, like, or whatever this was … I had it in the worst way. Maybe if he seemed in a good mood after finishing work, I’d raise my new-friends-having-sex idea with him. We were both only in town for a few days and the clock was ticking. His gaze flickered between my boobs and face, never quite settling on one or the other.
Nipples are little beasts, always reacting to everything, especially when you’d rather they be discreet. There’s a reason titillation starts with the word “tit.” So of course they got hard now, reveling in his attention. Ever so quickly, I crossed my arms, covering them up.
“I don’t even…” The words, they disappeared. “You make no sense. I mean, they’re covered. My shirt is buttoned up past any and all hint of cleavage.”
“Doesn’t matter. I can still see the shape of them. It’s enough to keep a man like me happy.”
“It’s like you have some sort of breast obsessive-compulsive disorder. Have you considered seeking counseling for your addiction?”
He sighed, face carefully set. “Nothing wrong with a man admiring a fine female chest. But if you disagree, feel free to hold it against me.”
I rolled my eyes.
*
“Right, so we’ve discussed both my shit and your shit. Are we done here?” he asked in an abrupt return to serious. “Can we go inside now?”
“Let’s.”
A nod.
“You’re going to be great,” I said, all enthused.
“You’re the one who’s nervous, not me. I’m all good, babe,” he teased.
“Very funny. Call me babe one more time and I’m out of here.”