Dirty (Dive Bar #1)

by Kylie Scott

  “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.”

  I grinned. “Can I get you anything else?”

  They responded with a chorus of no’s and not yet’s.

  With a nod, I wandered off to check on my other tables. The lunch rush had dwindled and we’d moved into the hang-out-and-drink phase of the afternoon. At one table, a dude read a book with coffee and cake in front of him, at another, a group of girls around my age gossiped and giggled over many glasses of wine.

  “Later.” Joe passed me by, hands in his pockets, heading out into the street. He’d finished for the day.

  “Bye.”

  Despite the revelry-turned-chaos of last night, today was turning out to be a good day.

  … And I spoke too soon. “Hi, Betsy.”

  “Liddy.” The Delaneys’ real estate receptionist sneered more than smiled, looking me over with not even a vague sense of delight. “My, how the mighty have fallen.”

  “Mm. I don’t see it that way.”

  “Good for you.” Oh, the lack of sincerity in her words.

  The woman was around my age. Much more country club than I’d ever be. When I used to work with her, it had crossed my mind a time or two that she and Chris would have made an excellent couple. I could just imagine them posing in matching Christmas sweaters and shit, wearing white linen. They fit. Luckily for Betsy, she’d been in town a hell of a lot longer than me and must have been in on the whole “Chris is gay” secret. Though I doubt it would have stopped her from nabbing the name or the money, if he’d been interested. Maybe admin level had been too low for Chris to go.

  Who knew? And, turns out, I didn’t care. Yep, my level of fucks given had definitely dropped. Go, me.

  “What are you grinning about?” the woman snapped, probably dismayed by my lack of butthurt.

  “What can I do for you, Betsy?”

  She sniffed, head jumping up so far it’s a wonder she didn’t get whiplash. “Mr. Delaney asked me to deliver this to you.”

  A large envelope was shoved at me. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. Anything that gets you gone. Well, I have to go. Some of us have actual important work to do.” Another round of sniffs and doing her best to look down at me. Whatever made her happy. “I hear you’re living with the neighbor, some failed musician wannabe.”

  “Did you?”

  “A bit low, even for you.”

  For the life of me, I couldn’t recall what I’d done to piss the girl off so badly during my four months at the agency. Our interactions had always been polite, friendly, even. I didn’t need to be universally loved. But if I was outright hated by someone, I should know why.

  Maybe she was just Team Delaney through and through. Good for her.

  “Is that him?” she asked, pointing toward the bar.

  “Yep.” He’d tamed the usual mess of his golden-red hair into an old fashioned combed down style. Which he rocked. And the width of his shoulders stretched his plain black T-shirt just a little. God, his poor face, all gray, black, and blue. At least he hadn’t been too badly hurt. Something about the tattoo on his neck worked for me. I wanted to kiss it and lick it and do all sorts of things. Things requiring an X rating.

  “I can’t tell you how great he is,” I said, not bothering to face her. My view was far too good. “Vaughan is … he’s awesome. And it’s not just the hot body and his whole tattooed rocker bad-ass vibe. Because let me tell you, most of the time the man is a total pussycat. The sweetest guy I’ve ever met. Loyal and supportive, open-minded, totally trustworthy. We can talk for hours about nothing, just hanging out together. He has his cranky moments, but hey … don’t we all? Not to mention he’s sexy as hell. I’m too much of a lady to discuss what he’s got in his pants, or how he can make me feel without even bringing that into play. But when the guy can light you up with just a kiss, not even any tongue, you know you’re on to a good thing. Know what I mean, B?”

  Betsy stared at me, mouth open. I’m reasonably certain a bug flew in. Oops.

  “Anyway,” I said. “I better get back to work. Oh, did I mention how much I’m enjoying waitressing again? It’s different when your friends are involved and you’re actually invested in the business emotionally. When you truly believe in the quality of the product, you know? Everyone’s working together to achieve the same thing. None of the be-the-shark bullshit, constantly trying to outdo everyone else and get the best sales figures. Plus, you should see the leftovers I get to take home. Nell truly is the most talented chef.”

  And still, she stared.

  “Anyhoo. Didn’t you say you had to go?”

  “You’re ridiculous. A complete joke,” she spat, turning on her heel and stalking out. Goodness. And her heels were a good four inches. That was one impressive skill.

  “Buh-bye!”

  “You okay?” a deep familiar voice asked me from behind.

  “Yep. Want to go out with me tonight after work, Vaughan?”

  First, a gentle tug on my ponytail, then his lips brushed my ear. Christ, I liked that. Goose bumps ran riot down my spine. It was all I could do not to give a happy-girl moan.

  “You asking me out on a date, Lydia?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I am.”

  “Babe, I’d love to.” His hand rose to the back of my neck, stroking, drawing me closer. Hot damn, did he have the moves. The man turned my mind to mush.

  “Something you need to know,” he said. “Before tonight.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I put out on the first date,” he told me with a perfectly straight face. “That okay with you?”

  “Oh, I’m counting on it.” My face might have been aflame, but then so was the rest of my body. “I mean … it would have been so awkward if you expected me to respect you for your mind or something. Yikes, how embarrassing. Between you and me, I’m really only interested in getting into your pants.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched.

  “I’m sure you’re a nice guy and all but, priorities, you know?”

  “I know.” The man’s smile would have made a nun think twice. I never stood a chance. The way it lit his eyes seemed more magic than biology. “All right then.”

  “We’re all set?”

  “We are indeed.”

  No chance of containing my grin. “Until tonight, Mr. Hewson.”

  I was not standing idly by eyeing Vaughan’s ass as he strolled back to the bar when the stranger approached. Deep inside my brain all sorts of things were happening. Work-related things. I swear. Sort of.

  “Excuse me?” A neatly dressed young Asian man with a hipster mustache flashed me a friendly smile. “Miss Green?”

  All happy thoughts fled as I snapped to attention.

  “Lydia Green?”

  “Who’s asking?” I replied with my best fake smile.

  He pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket, presenting it to me with a flourish. “Brett Chen. I’m a freelance reporter. I was wondering if we could talk about your recent split with Christopher Delaney and the wedding you walked out on last weekend.”

  “No, thank you.” I held his card back out to him.

  He ignored it. “As you’d be aware, the Delaneys and their real estate agency are well known throughout the area and have strong connections to some key political figures. But I believe that a sensational story such as yours could have a much wider reach. A national, if not an international one.”

  “Wow. The opportunity to have strangers all over the world sticking their nose into my business.” I waved the business card beneath his nose, growing impatient. “No.”

  “The money involved could be big, Lydia.”
>
  “No. Again.”

  Frustration furrowed his brow. “As I told Mr. Ray Delaney, I’ll be going ahead with my piece with, or without, your cooperation. But I’d very much prefer it was with.”

  I crumpled up the jerk’s business card and about-faced, heading for the counter.

  “The police report states you hit Mr. Christopher Delaney. Would you like to comment on that?”

  “Nope.” Behind the counter was a bin, and in went the journalist’s card. I huffed out a breath, avoiding his eyes. “Please leave. I’m not going to answer your questions.”

  “Multiple sources have confirmed that Chris Delaney is currently in Hawaii with his best man, Paul Mueller.” Chen faced me across the counter, going nowhere, apparently. Dammit. “There’s been much speculation that Mr. Mueller and Mr. Delaney are in fact secret lovers. Is that the reason you refused to go through with the wedding?”

  “No comment.”

  “Why are you no longer employed by the Delaney Real—”

  “No.” I held onto the edge of the counter, fingernails pressing into the old wood. On the other side of the room, Vaughan served a customer. I couldn’t hear anyone in the kitchen behind me. But I also didn’t want to start crying for help, causing problems for Nell. This guy had to give up and go away eventually without me getting vocal and disturbing our customers. He had to.

  “Lydia, is it true there was a video of—”

  “No.”

  “What the fuck is this?” Eric stood beside the reporter, his bruised face lined with annoyance. “Who are you? No, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. Just get out.”

  Mr. Chen’s mouth worked, his eyes suddenly anxious. “But if I could just have a minute with Miss Green.”

  “Miss Green clearly wants nothing to do with whatever you’re selling. Get out.”

  “But—”

  “Management reserves the right to refuse anyone entrance to the business premises. From this moment on, that’s you,” said Eric, going toe to toe with the man. And winning. “You’re harassing a member of my staff. Leave now or I’ll be forced to remove you.”

  “Call me, Lydia,” he said, slapping down another business card. “Opportunities like this only come along once in a lifetime.”

  “Get out,” growled Eric.

  Flashing a final covetous look my way, the reporter did as told.

  Damn. Chin tucked in, I tried to calm both my breathing and my temper. What a bastard. A story bringing attention to the whole damn disaster was the last damn thing I needed.

  “You okay?” asked Eric, rounding the counter.

  “Yeah. Thanks. I could have gotten rid of him myself, I just didn’t want to cause a scene.”

  A nod.

  “What was that?” Vaughan stormed up to us. “Babe, who was that guy?”

  “Some reporter.” I swiped the second card he’d left, letting it join the first in the bin. “Doesn’t matter. Eric got rid of him. Thank you again for that.”

  “Thanks, man,” said Vaughan.

  Eric nodded, heading back into the kitchen.

  “Hey.” His finger curled beneath my chin, raising it gently. “Okay?”

  “Just angry.” I crossed my arms, pressing my lips tightly together. “Opportunities like this only come along once in a lifetime. Like I should be grateful that the guy I was about to marry was a closet homosexual and using me. It was so much damn fun finding out the first time, let’s go through it again! Asshole.”

  He gave me a small smile.

  I groaned. “Sometimes it feels like I’m never going to put it behind me.”

  “It only happened on Saturday.” He trailed his fingers over my cheek, smiling more broadly. “Today is Tuesday. This shit is going to be behind you, it’s just going to take a little more time. Three—four days … is not so long.”

  I destroyed him with my very best death glare. “Stop being reasonable, Vaughan. Who even asked you?”

  He sighed, then came around the counter and planted a kiss on top of my head. I leaned into him, taking much more comfort in his presence than I should have. Soon he wouldn’t be there. I needed to learn how to stand on my own. Deal with my own crap. But, gah. Soon was soon enough to stand alone.

  “Forget about that asshole,” he said, rubbing my back, kissing my cheek. “Think about what makes you happy, like our date tonight or something.”

  “Okay.”

  “I better get back over there.”

  “Thanks.” My hand somehow managed to curve over his ass as he turned away. There may have been a subtle squeeze involved. Like a girl could always be held responsible for what her fingers did. Please.

  “I felt that.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Later,” was all he said.

  Later.

  I couldn’t wait.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Later turned out to be closer to midnight than nine p.m.

  Rosie’s baby caught a bad cold so she couldn’t come to work. Nell also wasn’t feeling fantastic and had to be sent home, leaving Boyd to deal with the kitchen alone. On top of this, several large parties turned up without a booking, and we were packed.

  Eric took turns waiting tables and helping Vaughan keep up with orders behind the bar. By the time we finished cleaning, I was dead on my feet. But fighting it for all I was worth.

  “How you doing?” Vaughan asked, revving the Mustang’s engine. “Still want to go on that date?”

  “More than anything.”

  “What are you thinking?” He drove off slowly into the dark. We were pretty much the only vehicle in sight.

  “I want the full Vaughan Hewson Coeur d’Alene seduction experience, please.”

  “That so?” Curiosity lit his eyes.

  “Yep.” I linked my fingers, stretching my arms out low in front of me. Every muscle in my shoulders and back were in a state of deep crankiness. I couldn’t really blame them. “Just like your sister teased you the other day. I want to be taken to some secluded spot by the lake, and for you to play me emo tunes.”

  He laughed.

  “What happens after that?”

  “Ah.” He rubbed his chin. “I’d dare you to go skinny-dipping.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “After that, we’d screw on the beach. Sometimes that part was rushed. Depends how bad the bugs were.”

  “Ouch”

  “You’re telling me.” He gave me a quick grin before turning his gaze back to the road. “Hard to really enjoy things when mosquitos are making a meal of your ass.”

  I snorted. “I can see how that would be difficult.”

  “Hmm. Then I usually rushed to get the girl home before curfew. Sometimes helped her climb in a window or whatever.”

  “Romantic.”

  “I always thought so,” he mused, face cast in shadows. “Never got any complaints.”

  The world seemed empty, peaceful. There continued to be next to no traffic. We pulled into the bungalow’s driveway and Vaughan turned off the engine. For a moment we just sat in silence.

  “Thing is, I’m not eighteen anymore.” He turned his head, watching me in the near dark as I watched him. “I want better for you. I can do better.”

  Without another word, he opened his door, climbed out. I sat, watching him walk around to open the passenger side door, and offer me a hand. Guess chivalry wasn’t dead.

  “Thank you.” I climbed out, taking my bag with me. The large envelope Betsy had delivered still hadn’t been opened. Some jobs needed time and space. I got the distinct feeling reading over the settlement from the Delaneys would be one of those.

  Instead of letting go of my hand, he led me across the lawn and up the front steps. To think only three days ago I’d stood here, listening to Samantha call me every name under the sun while Ray talked to his lawyer on the phone. Amazing how fast things could change. The last few days Vaughan had been busy, cutting the grass and beating the overgrown front ga
rden back into submission, getting the place ready for sale. Under the moonlight everything appeared even lovelier, every edge softened, the old house was a thing of magic. A lover’s delight.

  Keys jangled, then the front door opened and inside we went. He didn’t turn on any lights. The door closed and he pressed me back against it, the smile at his lips only just visible. “I know you asked me on a date, but do you mind if maybe I take over?”

  “Depends. What did you have in mind?”

  “You got to know?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Control freak.” He laughed softly, relieving me of my handbag and lowering it onto the floor.

  “I gave up control to Chris. It didn’t work out so well.”

  “I know.” He exhaled hard. “But I am not that piece of shit. I’d never deliberately do anything to hurt or humiliate you.”

  My fingers flexed, tightening my hold on both his hands. A dead giveaway for the rush of emotions surging through me, from the intensity of his words, the sincerity in his eyes. Fear, lust, and everything in between filled me to flooding.

  I tried to calm myself. Casual sex with a friend, nothing more, nothing less. Just scratching an itch.

  Yeah. Right.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yes. I just…” I licked my lips. “I’m fine.”

  He said nothing.

  It’d been months since Chris had attempted any real touching and it had not ended well for anyone. Sex before him had been one long-term boyfriend in college (who got a job in Greenland after graduation) followed by many hookups. Some yay, some blah. Much the same as everyone else, I’d imagine. This was just one more. No big loved-up joining of private parts requiring poetry, mood lighting, and classical music. Declarations of commitment not required. Fun sex. The end.

  “We can always do this another time,” he said, drawing back a little. “That was a long day, I—”

  “No,” I blurted out, not sounding desperate at all.

  “No? You sure?”

  I released his hands, grabbing hold of his T-shirt, holding on as if my life was at stake. Or at least my sex life. He was mine, for the moment, and I wasn’t giving that up.

  “Babe?”

  “I want you.”

  “I want you too,” he said, groaning as I pressed myself against him. He felt so good, strong and sturdy. Also, the man smelled fucking great.