Home > Dirty (Dive Bar #1)(10)

Dirty (Dive Bar #1)(10)
Kylie Scott

He nodded. “Yeah. You being here also gives me a damn good excuse to put off dealing with my own shit.”

“You’ve got drama too?”

A shrug. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“A side effect of breathing, I guess.”

He smiled.


“Nothing about your sex life didn’t make you think he might be gay?” Vaughan asked.


“If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Well, yes. I mean no, I don’t mind you asking. But yes, our lack of intimacy should have made me think twice.” Oh, god. It really, really should have. What with the lack of screwing, I’d screwed up magnificently. Shame filled me. “I still can’t believe I fell for his crap.”

“Guess he was convincing.”

“He sure was.”

“Least you didn’t go through with the wedding.”

I huffed out a breath. “Hell no. As soon as I saw…”

A nod.

“I’m not sure it’s actually sunk in yet, that I’m not getting married today. I’m not spending the rest of my life building a home with him.”

“It’s big.”

“Yeah.” I folded my hands in my lap. “I got carried away and took a leap of faith. It just didn’t pay off.”

He said nothing. Not like there was anything to say.

“Trust is a bitch. Anyway.” I shook it off. Time to move on, et cetera. If I kept telling myself as much, eventually it had to sink in. “To answer your question. Honestly, Vaughan, we didn’t have much of a sex life to speak of.”

“What?” Elbows on the table, he leaned in, getting closer. “When was the last time you two fucked?”

I blinked. Not “had sex.” Not even “made love.” Fucked. Like language even mattered, and yet … maybe I was a prude. I’d never thought of myself as one, though as today was showing, I knew shit.


“Sorry. Just mentally beating myself up again.”

“Stop it. That’s not going to help.”

“No, it’s not. But kind of hard to avoid today.”


Tattoos covered his arms to the wrists. Black and gray, mostly, with traces of color erupting here and there. An electric guitar with an ornate skull above it. A diving bluebird surrounded by licks of flame. Beautiful ink work. Whoever he went to was an artist.

Opposite me, he pushed back his pale-red hair, waiting on me to answer his question.

“Well, we were waiting to have sex. His family are religious and quite traditional.” My fingers meshed and twisted in my lap. “Big on appearances and stuff. Yeah…”

Little lines appeared between his brows.

“But he told me he loved me all the time. And he’d call several times a day just to check on me, to see if I needed anything,” I said with just a hint of desperation. “He respected me. Without a doubt, he’s the most adult, well-adjusted person I’ve ever been in a relationship with. We wanted the same things, a stable economic future and a family, two kids. We were both ready to settle down. Marrying him made perfect sense.”

“Sounds great,” he deadpanned.

“I thought it was.”

He sat forward, leaning his elbows on the table. “Let me check I’ve got this right. You guys were together for months, getting married.”


“And absolutely nothing between the sheets?”

I pursed my lips, readjusting my turban-towel hairdo. You know, buying some time. If only I’d kept my mouth shut and just let the guy gawk at my breasts. Much better than having this humiliating conversation, especially with him. The man was obviously some sort of ridiculously cool Idaho sex god. Who the hell even knew such a thing existed?


I growled or moaned. It was definitely one or the other, I’m just not sure which. Emotionally, things were in upheaval. “There was some couch action. We messed around, we just didn’t go quite that far. Well, we sort of did it.”

His brows went up. “Sort of?”


“Babe, if you’re not sure what you did with this prick was sex or not, then it’s not. Let’s get that straight right now.”

My grin was a forced, ugly thing. “Right.”

“Guy was dating you and he didn’t want any?”


“Does he have a dick?”

“Yes, Vaughan, he has a dick.”

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