"You don't."
He had a point. No way was I acknowledging it, however.
"Do you?" he persisted.
"I believed in him." My pride was a sad small thing. I could feel it sinking slowly to the floor to play dead. "You know, I thought talking about this would help, but it's not. Can we stop now?"
"No. I want to understand this."
"God, get in line." This time, it was a definite moan of despair. Pitiful. "I'm not even sure I can explain it anymore. And you don't want to understand it, you want to mock it."
"That's not true. C'mon, I'm trying here."
Brows high, I gave him a look most dubious.
"I am. But you had to suspect."
"Or maybe he was a damn good actor and I was one of those sad lonely women who get taken in." The ugly truth. My stomach twisted and turned, making me want to heave.
"But--"
"Stop. Please." God help me, I could take no more. I softly banged my forehead against the tabletop and stayed there, facedown. "Can I convince you to press charges? I think maybe I should go to jail after all. A nice, quiet jail cell might be just the thing."
"You're not going to fucking jail."
It'd been worth a try.
"Hey, I'm sorry you got screwed over, but shit will sort itself out."
The weight atop my head shifted and then my towel turban disappeared. Straggly damp blond strands feel around my face. I sat up, pushing back the whole mess.
"Sorry," he said, throwing the towel in the general direction of the kitchen counter. "I was trying to give you a comforting pat on the head."
"Thanks."
A pause.
"No straight guy could stay away from that rack," he said quietly. "Just saying."
"Not everyone's a tit man."
"Well, they should be," he scoffed. "Breast is best."
I snorted, laughing a little despite myself.
The room quieted again, both of us lost in our own thoughts for a moment.
"I'm on your side, Lydia."
"Thank you," I said. "And I know what sex is, Vaughan. Okay? There were hands, but neither of us came. Things got interrupted. He interrupted them, there was an important business call or something. Therefore, 'sort of' on the sex."
Dead silence from the other side of the table.
"What?"
He held up a finger. "I'm still not mocking you."
"Okay."
"But anyone who'd stop feeling up or finger banging a woman in favor of taking a fucking phone call is an inconsiderate asshole you shouldn't be opening your legs for."
"I'm seeing that now."
"I'm serious, Lydia."
I studied the tabletop, needing a moment to pull myself together. "How long have we known each other? What, half an hour, an hour?"
"Ah." Turning in his seat, he checked out an old wooden clock on the kitchen wall. "Yeah. About that."
"Are you aware that most people wait a little longer before discussing the rules of etiquette in regards to finger banging? Who they should and shouldn't open their legs for? Things like that."
"That so?"
"It is."
"Well, fuck." He sat back, outright grinning at me, and it was stunning. Ridiculously so. The wide pull of his lips over white teeth, the amusement lighting his eyes. His thumb beat against the tabletop, moving the tendons in his arm, shifting all of the complex ink work on his skin.
Couldn't help but wonder what his own drama was over.
"Most people don't turn up in my tub in a wedding dress. But tell me, babe, how's that worked out for you? Following all of the rules, being polite and toeing the line? Doing what most people do?"
"My name's not babe."
His shine dulled down to a patient smile. "How's it worked out for you, Lydia?"
"Isn't that obvious?"
"Why did you have no one to run to today? Why's no one got your back?"
"A last-minute emergency came up with my parents' business. They were really apologetic, but ... sometimes things happen, right? It's nothing personal, they're just the kind of people that live to work. That's their life. I can pretty much count on one hand the number of birthdays, Thanksgivings, and Christmases we celebrated on the actual day." I got busy finger combing my hair as best I could. It kept the fidgets from taking over. "Just as well they didn't come to the wedding."
Nothing was said. Though there seemed to be a sadness in his eyes, an understanding. Chris had blue eyes, but different from Vaughan's. Darker. Flecks of hazel muddied their depths. Chris's eyes had never struck me as being particularly expressive. Not like Vaughan's. I guess it was all the secrets he was keeping, all the lies. Eyes as windows to the soul, or not. You can't see into someone if they won't let you.
"Honestly? The way I've lived my life has worked out shit for me, Vaughan."
He just stared.
"Apart from letting Chris make me look like a total idiot. I was working with my fiance, so I'm assuming I'm now out of a job. I gave up my apartment to move into the big house, so I have no idea where I'm sleeping tonight." I crossed my arms over my breasts, covering up as much as I could. Nothing about laying myself open felt good. Of course, maybe it wasn't supposed to. Especially not to a veritable stranger.
Whatever. The situation was what it was, and no matter how much anger I worked up at Chris, I'd played my part in getting here. I'd made bad choices. No point pretending otherwise. "It's not just Chris's fault, though. I think you could safely say I'm exceptionally shitty at relationships. We were constantly moving around when I was a kid. After a while I just didn't bother making friends anymore, you know? It's easier."
He just watched me.
"I even pretty much kept to myself in college. Just concentrated on study and my waitressing job. Because work is everything, right? The guy I dated was pretty low key too. Neither of us were party animals." I breathed out through my nose, shoulders slumping. "That romance kind of fizzled out after graduation."
"Yeah?"
"He had this great opportunity overseas and I just wanted to find somewhere nice and settle. I tried a few different places. Coeur d'Alene was the first one that felt right. I'd make some friends outside of work, get to know my neighbors." I stared off at nothing, avoiding whatever expression he had on his face. "That's what's normal, right?"
"One version of it, sure."
"Hmm." God, listening to myself try and explain my life made me want to forcibly throw myself off the nearest cliff. Or have a really full-on spa day. Either would probably do. "Given my history, its amazing I thought I had a clue what I was doing with Chris at all. I was the perfect target for his fuckery."
I forced a smile. "Idiot is definitely the word."
"Don't say that," he admonished. "You were a little naive maybe, inexperienced. But you're not an idiot."
"Thanks. Anyhoo, enough of my pity party. So," I said, squaring my shoulders and looking him straight in the eye. "I'm guessing you don't follow the rules or worry about being polite and toeing the line. How's that working out for you?"
The corner of his lips twitched. "Honestly?"
"Honestly."
"Shit," he admitted, lacing his fingers behind his neck.
"Yeah? How deep?"
"Broke, out of work, probably about to lose this place."
"Wow." I slumped in my chair. "Aren't we a pair?"
"Aren't we?" His self-deprecating smile grew. "No money. No hope. No nothing."
"Basically."
His head fell back and he gazed up at the ceiling. The strong lines in his neck were way pronounced in this pose. I couldn't quite see the tattoo peeking out beneath the collar of his tee. Words, but I'm not sure what. He raised his head enough to look at me from beneath his brows. "They have booze back over the fence at your fancy party?"
"Heaps. Really good stuff too. Lots of craft beer."
"Nice. We should go steal some."
I nodded instantly. Crazy ideas deserved support. "We should. It's half my wedding, it wouldn't really be stealing. You're going to have to help me get back over the fence again, though. I think I pulled every muscle from the waist down getting over it the first time."
"I can help you get back over the fence."
"Done, then," I said. "Tomorrow, we figure our lives out. Tonight we'll toast to our crappy situations and drown our sorrows."
We smiled at each other in kinship.
"How serious are you about this?" I asked, more curious than afraid. Mostly.
A shrug. "You got to go back there sometime. Might as well make it worth the trip."
"I guess so." My forehead furrowed. "Alcohol would be good."
"I definitely need a drink to deal with being back here." He slowly shook his head, lips curved downward. "Shit is fucked, babe. Like you wouldn't believe."
I didn't mean to laugh. Not at his misfortunes, nor mine. Lord knows, nothing about it felt funny. Vaughan frowned at me. Only, then he started laughing too. First a little, then a lot. Soon the noise filled the room, startling the old house from its silence. He laughed until his wide shoulders shook and all that bright hair fell in his face, obscuring the cut of his cheeks. I in turn cackled my ass off until tears streamed down my face.
None of it should have been funny, but it was hilarious. And we, our lives, were the joke.
I guess sometimes there's no right response but to laugh. So we did. Strangely enough, it really did help.
Sitting in a stranger's kitchen, confessing all, was the last damn place I expected to find myself on this day of all days. Yet here we were. I'd spilled a stack of doubts and deep, dark secrets while the man opposite remained a mystery.
Just then he combed back his wild hair with long fingers, looking my way. A smile still lingered about his lips. A warm one. Perhaps even a suggestive one?