Dirty (Dive Bar 1)

"Ha," I said. "I don't think I've ever been in a men's room. What's that?"

"Go look." Vaughan leaned against the back of the door, watching me.

A massive red anarchy symbol had been painted on the door, with messy white writing declaring, "I am music. Music is my life. Punk rock forever." Over the top of it all was a sheet of acrylic, for protection. I bent, trying to decode the green and blue scribble at the bottom. A date and a name.

"Andre Senior," I said, smiling.

"Got it in one."

"That's a piece of history."

"Yeah. Apparently he painted it on opening night," he said.

"Glad they kept it." I meandered back toward Vaughan, still leaning against the bathroom door, chilling. "So you're not having a moment about Mal's palace by the lake?"

"No. Those guys worked hard for everything they have. They're damn good at what they do. Yes, I want what they've got. But I don't resent them for having it. They're my friends." He flicked back his golden red hair, not taking his eyes off me for a minute. "I'm having a moment, as you're calling it, because I yet again made you feel like shit. I opened my fat mouth without thinking. Again. I'm sorry."

I squinted in confusion.

"What I said about relationships was fucking stupid."

"Vaughan." I smiled. "Don't worry about it. You didn't upset me. It's not like what we've been doing the last week could exactly be called a relationship."

His brows drew down but he smiled. "No?"

"No."

"What would you call it then?"

Walking toward him, I laughed softly. "You're leaving in the morning. Does it matter?"

"Go on. What would you call it?" he repeated.

I stopped a bit back from him, trying to read his face. Slight smile, relaxed. His feet were a little apart, arms hanging loose at his sides. All of his focus was on me, waiting for my answer. The problem was, none of the labels fit right anymore. Friends with benefits seemed insufficient, icky. No way, however, was I brave enough to publicly aim for any higher.

"I don't know," I admitted.

"I'd call it important."

I took a deep breath, feeling hope yet fortifying myself for the pain. Where he was involved, in the end there always seemed to be pain. Fucking depressing but true. I needed to write poems about the orgasms he'd given me. Refind my joy.

"Thank you," I said.

We just looked at each other.

"You're beautiful, Lydia. Special. Usually things with me are just casual, hook-ups. No more than a night or two." Mouth serious and gaze somber he paused, searching for the right words. "You're not that. And it's not just that we spent a bit more time together. It's you. You make me wish things were different."

All of a sudden my black flats were fascinating. Totally captivating. And it had nothing to do with the weepiness currently happening in my eyes. Honestly, this man. Every single time I shored up my defenses, mentally and emotionally preparing myself to lose him, he tore the fortress down. Bastard.

"Babe?"

I held up a hand, cautioning him not to speak. Like he hadn't said enough.

He shut his mouth, brows high.

Meanwhile, I breathed. Breathing was good, useful. A really great hobby. Next I walked up to him and got to my knees. I just had to get close to him, to give him something more. Love him in some way to show him he was special to me too. Tiles were a bit of a bitch to kneel on. My favorite blue flares did nothing to soften the hardness. He couldn't have made his speech somewhere sensible, say near a bed or somewhere there might be throw cushions. No way.

Men. Such pains in the ass.

"Um, Lydia?"

I ignored him, busy dealing with his belt buckle before tearing into the button and zipper of his jeans. Goddamn underwear. Today, of course, he decides to wear his boxer briefs. With a heavy sigh of irritation, I slipped my hands into the sides of his underwear, easing both them and the jeans down his hips. Smooth warm skin beneath my fingertips. Lean muscle and the curves of his hipbone. The scent was just that bit more potent here. Soap, sweat, and him. He made my mouth water.

Touch tender, I liberated his dick, rubbing my lips up and down against the underneath. Nothing felt as hot and silken as the skin on a man's cock. It was amazing. Already, he was hardening, growing. Men had magic in their pants, it's true. Only some took the time to figure out how best to use it, sadly. I traced the thick vein running all the way up with the tip of my tongue. Back and forth, back and forth. His breath caught, stomach muscles flexing.

"Shit." He held up his black Dive Bar T-shirt, the other hand caressing the side of my face.

He filled my hand nicely. Not that size was any great indicator of talent. It helped, but it wasn't the be-all to end-all. In one hand I cradled his balls, rolling them with my fingers. The other hand stayed wrapped around the base of his cock as I sucked him off. I sucked at him, long drawing pulls, before torturing him with my tongue. Giving head could be fun. I circled the head of his cock then licked back and forth across it. Sometimes I'd gently prod the tiny slit of his opening with the tip of my tongue, wiggling it inside just a little.

Vaughan gasped and grabbed hold of my ponytail, wrapping it around his fist. Heavy breathing echoed through the men's room.

The trick was total inconsistency. Never let them know what's coming next. I licked and sucked, tortured and teased, carefully grazed him with my teeth. I loved him with my mouth while my hand kept playing with his balls, tugging on them lightly now and then. I hummed, quite proud of myself. He swelled to admirable proportions and the vibration only helped. The rock-hard length of him slid in and out of my mouth as far as I could take it without gagging.

For a while, he managed to resist fucking my mouth. When I massaged the sweet spot between his balls and his anus with the tip of my finger, however, he lost all control. Hips bucking, he thrust his cock between my lips. Only the presence of my hand wrapped around his base stopped him from going too deep.

"Fuck. Babe," he growled, tugging on my hair.

It was hot, the feral sounds he made, the harsh, guttural tone of his voice. All down to me and all of it got to me. My panties were most definitely wet. His thick cock throbbed and I sucked hard, as hard as I could. Salty creamy cum filled my mouth to overflowing. I couldn't swallow fast enough.

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 chai

n 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?"