Dirty
Page 48I rolled my eyes back, moaning at my own drama-itis. Nothing made sense. Everything perplexed me. Vaughan Hewson had my vagina on insta-dial if he could just figure it out. Pathetic, crazy, and all the rest. Hang my sad sore heart to dry and be done with it already. Gah.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is, I wouldn’t give up a second with you for all the months of being lied to and manipulated by him, as insane as that sounds. That’s all. The end.”
There, it was out there, floating around in the universe. The truth as I knew it released.
God, it felt like some mammoth weight, some big cumbersome bastard, had been lifted off me and thrown into the abyss. Down and down into the darkness.
Let the new day begin and all of yesterday’s crap go. I was done with it. It hurt, it cost me, and I was done with it. I’d lived, I’d learned, et cetera.
Wisdom came at a bitch of a price. But I’d paid it and now I’d move on.
“Babe,” said a voice in the darkness, grasping my hand.
“I thought you were asleep,” I said, voice weirdly clogged. I guess throwing off your emotional crap into the depths of space took a toll on your nasal cavities. “Are you in pain? Do you need me to get you something?”
“No. Just stay with me.”
“Okay.”
“Are you drunk?”
“No,” I said, feeling myself inside and out. “No, I don’t think so. I think it wore off a while back.”
“’kay.”
Silence.
“Lydia, the band breaking up, having to come back here…” His breathing in the darkness sounded so loud, profound, even. The silence broken and my secrets revealed. Man, it was so always the way with him. I couldn’t hide if I tried.
“Yeah,” I asked, urging him to go on.
“Meeting you makes it almost worthwhile.”
Almost. But his pain, his dreams had taken a decade or more than mine to grow and die. Our situations weren’t the same. That was the truth.
“Thank you,” I said, holding on tight to his hand.
“Okay.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Men were the weirdest.
We’d been scheduled to work from noon until nine the next day. As soon as we entered the Dive Bar, Vaughan oh so casually headed behind the bar, moseying up alongside Eric, who was chatting with his brother, Joe. It was ridiculous. Five rounds with Godzilla couldn’t have made the three men any prettier. Busted lips, black eyes, grazed cheekbones, they had it all. Ninety-nine percent of their faces were colored black and blue.
The men all looked at each other … and nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
They did the manly chin-tip thing then got to work. If the fight had been between women, I’m pretty sure hostilities would have carried on for months. Which just goes to prove my point regarding women being the superior species, and having more commitment to things in general. We stick.
Today, the chalkboards hanging on the walls of the Dive Bar were all about tacos. The menu options were always based on whatever Nell happened to be in the mood to cook. Some staples were always on offer, such as steak, mac n cheese, sliders, and fries covered in every good thing you could imagine. Stuff like that. But outside of those, what might be available was a constant gastronomic mystery.
Got to admire a woman who respects Taco Tuesday, though.
I filled my tray with a combination of margaritas, a couple of Coronas, and a shot of Herradura tequila with a slice of lemon on the side.
“All good?” asked Vaughan.
“All good.” I looked between him and Joe, smirking just a little. “How’s fight club going, boys?”
“Can’t talk about it,” mumbled Joe.
I laughed and lifted my tray, heading over to serve the order to a group of older couples. They were on their second round of drinks—smiling, relaxing, and just plain having a nice time.
“You were right about the shrimp,” said one woman. “It’s got a definite kick to it. But the chicken is amazing.”
“It’s great, isn’t it?” I handed her one of the Coronas while her partner got busy sucking down the margarita. “I wish I could cook half as well as Nell. I can’t pour milk on cereal without burning it.”
“Ha! You and me both.”