“I don’t know. Let me think…” He rested his chin back on top of my head. “He definitely isn’t Prince Charming.”
“He could be!”
Silence.
“If he wanted to. Or not. Whatever,” I added weakly. Crap. “Let’s go back to not talking.”
I was a moron.
We’d been all relaxed and laughing. Me and my idiot mouth. Way to go, Lydia. Just shout out any old impossible daydream to the dude who’s made it clear there was no future “we.” If someone could just direct me to the nearest brick wall, I’d knock a little sense into myself.
On the other hand, it was two stupid words. Surely he could have ignored the last hundred years of Disney perpetuating slick-haired young royals gallivanting around the countryside saving hot babes in distress. For the sake of getting along. God knows, Chris never had any problems ignoring or placating me. I’d seen his thoughtless gorgeous smile aimed my way a hundred times. No, a thousand. If only I’d recognized it for what it was.
Ugh. Just the thought of it made me want to punch the douche all over again.
Maybe I needed a bit more than a week to get over that catastrophe. The money would help. Substantially. I’d never imagined that compromising my morals and taking hush money from such foul woe-begotten assholes would feel so good. Maybe I should sell out more often.
“This, ah, this Prince Charming of yours,” he said haltingly.
“Yes?”
Vaughan shifted beneath me, pushing out a heavy breath. “I mean, it doesn’t make sense, does it? Why would he be in a cottage instead of a castle?”
“Well … his parents, the king and queen of the neighboring kingdom, died in a terrible accident.” I stayed perfectly still, waiting to see how he’d react.
“I see.”
“And it hurt him so bad he just, he didn’t want to be a prince anymore.”
Nothing from him.
“Bad things happen in fairy tales sometimes.”
A grunt.
“It’s not fair, but it happens,” I said, feeling my way with more caution than skill. “The prince loved his parents and the castle had too many memories.”
“Hmm.”
“So he ran away into the woods too.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a prince if he can’t handle his shit,” he said.
“Princes are just men too, human beings. I don’t think a crown or a penis gives you magical invulnerability to loss and pain.” I stared at the wall, thinking the problem through. “Life is hard. Terrible things happen. We all have feelings. We’re all just flesh and blood, trying to do our best.”
“Running away from problems isn’t doing your best.” His voice echoed around the small room, the same as around in my head.
What with holding the Coeur d’Alene title for runaway bride of the year, I had no answer. None at all. So much for my half-assed wisdom.
Hands rubbed the tops of my arms as if I needed soothing or something. As if he wanted out, which involved me shutting up and getting the hell off of him.
“Big day,” Vaughan rumbled, drawing me back to the here and now. “Better get you to bed. How’s your hip feeling?”
“Fine. It’s just bruised.” I moved my big butt, crouching at the front of the tub, returning to the “oh god, cover everything so he doesn’t see your masses of white flab” position. Pure protective instinct and annoying as hell. There was nothing wrong with my body. I was a strong modern woman, yada yada. Old habits were a bitch to break.
A mighty wave rolled back and forth, sloshing more water onto the floor. He stepped out, dripping all the way. Soon enough the bath mat resembled a sodden puddle. Wet shirt and jeans went splat on the floor.
Man, I loved his skin. All of the art inked into him. The way his body moved, brisk and efficient, limbs moving, muscles flexing. He did nothing unique or peculiar. No acrobatics or aerial feats were involved. Just Vaughan doing his thing, moving through the world, living his life. I couldn’t have torn my eyes away.
He wiped off his upper body, then wrapped the towel around his waist. “You need a hand?”
I smiled. “No. Thanks.”
He nodded and then headed for the door. My Prince Charming, going, going, gone. It’s a pity sex has consequences you can’t always anticipate. Changes in emotion, in how you perceive people. Too bad you couldn’t buy love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sunday, we worked the dinner shift at the Dive Bar.
Due to an event downtown, it wasn’t particularly busy. Boyd, with the aid of Kurt the kitchen kid, was in charge. It seemed he liked to do an all-day brunch on the seventh day. Eggs Benedict, ricotta pancakes with banana and butterscotch sauce, potato and corn cakes with spinach, bacon, and relish, and other amazing things. We arrived just in time to catch the end of it as they changed over to the dinner menu, which mainly included pizzas and pastas. Getting to taste test the remains of brunch on breaks was the best. Issues regarding the size of my ass and hips were problems for another day.