He sagged against the door, still holding my hair in his hand. I kneeled at his feet, catching my breath. And cleaning myself up as best I could. Swallowing wasn’t normally my thing. However, let’s not ponder that.
Cloudy blue eyes stared down at me. The hint of a smile playing with the edge of his lips. He liked me a lot. Maybe he even loved me a little. Who knew? It didn’t matter. He still wasn’t going to stay.
“Wish things were different,” he said, voice subdued.
“Me too.”
*
By the time I woke up the next morning, he was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
FIVE DAYS LATER …
“We’re going to have to kill him.”
I see no alternative.” I took a sip of water, watching Masa go about his business. He was serving tables while singing “The Man Who Wants You” by Amos Lee at the top of his voice. People in love were the absolute worst. “He’s been intolerable ever since he got back with his girlfriend. It’s too bad, he’s a nice guy.”
“Yeah,” said Nell. “Replacing him is going to be a pain in the ass. But we can’t have people hanging around being all happy and shit.”
I sighed. “No, we can’t. The man can really sing.”
Nell stopped stirring the pot of soup, moving onto a sizzling pan of bacon. “Masa hosted a karaoke club over in Spokane before this job. Said the driving got to be too much.”
“Cool.”
At the end of the song, the customers broke out into applause. Even I joined in despite my woe. Vaughan’s absence sat like a stone in my heart. A piece of me altered that might never feel soft and alive again. Love was so strange. A collection of shared moments linked together to form this sort of chain of emotion between two people. You witness each other’s lives, giving and taking as needed. And then, one day, it’s gone. You’re alone. Loneliness feels a great burden when you’re used to sharing. Used to being part of a couple. Though, I don’t suppose it’s a party for anyone.
Enough whining. I’d adjust.
The next time Vaughan came to town I’d be polite, friendly. Show him everything was cool. I’d learned my lesson, however. Dating was out of the question. Any hook-ups with friends were likewise. Parties between the thighs only complicated things. It just wasn’t worth the inevitable misery. If only orgasms and happy times lasted longer. You should be able to bottle them, let a smidgeon of pleasure and joy fly out when required. How nice that would be.
Wide grin in place, Masa floated past us with a load of dirty dishes. “Wonderful night, isn’t it, ladies?”
“Bite me,” grumbled Nell.
Well aware of our lovelorn state, the waiter just laughed, carrying on his merry way. I got my butt back into gear, checking on my tables. Joe smiled as I passed by the bar. Eric was busy chatting with two women sipping exotic-looking drinks. Life went on.
“If You Ever Want to Be in Love” by James Bay was on and I hummed along, getting into the groove of things. Super-slick music played tonight. It was Eric’s turn at choosing, a duty taken seriously by all members of staff once they were allowed onto the rotation. I had yet to be asked to submit a playlist. Maybe I’d just put one together, and force the issue. If everyone could tolerate Boyd’s punk then surely they’d be fine with a couple of hours’ worth of my pop and rock favorites.
“Can I clear those for you?” I asked a woman, moving in after she nodded to remove the dinner plates.
“Hold up,” said a voice behind me. A very familiar one.
A hand reached around, taking the plates from me and setting them back on the table. The arm covered in tattoos was every bit as familiar as the voice.
I turned, heart stuttering at who stood before me. Lots of stubble and rumpled clothes. His hair was a mess, shadows circling his eyes. Didn’t matter. He was the most beautiful welcome sight I’d ever seen.
“Vaughan.”
“I got all the way to L.A. and I realized something,” he said.
“What?” I frowned.
“I don’t know who the first guy you ever fucked was.”
Some gasped. Another person tittered.
My mouth opened, but I had no words.
He shoved a hand through his hair, weary face lined. “I told you my story. You never got around to telling me yours, however.”
“Oh.”
“So?”
I blinked. “You want to hear it right here and now?”
“Sure. Why not.” He turned, searching for something. His hand grabbed mine and he towed me across the restaurant to an empty table in the corner. A seat was pulled out for me, and I sat.
“I think I’m having a heart attack,” I mumbled.
“Hmm?” He sat opposite me, leaning his elbows on the table. “Oh, I don’t know your favorite color either. Isn’t that weird? It feels weird. I mean, I should know things like that about you, shouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know.”
“Of course I should!” He smiled, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
“What’s happening?”
“Hmm?” His warm hand cupped my cheek, his gaze soft and lovely.
“What is this? Why are you here?” I asked, shuffling forward in my seat. Stupidly enough, on the verge of crying. My eyes were itchy, swollen. My heart felt much the same. Apparently, heartbreak itched. I was obviously allergic.