“Harsh, man. I was fifteen! I’ve matured a lot since then.”
“Hmm.”
“You’ll let me in. We’ll talk about your dad’s kit later. It’ll definitely be going to a loving home.” The drummer started beating out a rhythm on his thighs. He seemed to be constantly in movement. I don’t think he ever sat still. “But yeah, you should all come out.”
“Rad,” said Nell. “But I’ll do the eats.”
“Sold!” Mal slapped his hand on the bar.
Chatter and laughter filled the space, everyone having a good time. Or almost everyone. I nearly didn’t notice Vaughan slinking off. Shoulders rounded and head hanging down, he made straight for the men’s room. I walked over and hovered outside, waiting for him to come out. Wanting to touch base with him emotionally, I guess.
When he did, he walked straight into me. Guess I was a crap stalker. No subtlety at all. My balance wavered until he grabbed my upper arms, holding me steady.
“Shit. Lydia,” he said, little line back between his brows. “You all right?”
“I was going to ask you that.”
He set me free, gaze perplexed.
“It’s just that the big house on the lake was your dream.”
Quietly, he swore, then grabbed my hand and dragged me into the men’s bathroom. It’d obviously just been cleaned. The scent of bleach stung my nostrils. Gray tiles and paintwork matched with stainless steel fittings. It was all very neat and tidy. With the exception of a large piece of artwork on the back wall between a couple of urinals and bathroom stalls.
“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.”