Page 12 of Dirty Like Dylan
A while later, when Liv called for a quick break, the photographer had worked herself up onto the side of the stage, way back out of the way, without anyone seeming to notice or care. She’d seemed to be photographing some of the crew while I played, but only briefly.
Mostly, her camera had been locked on me.
She was still shooting me as I stood up and toweled off my sweaty face and chest.
“Liv said cut,” I heard Ash growl at her. She almost jumped out of her skin; probably didn’t realize he’d climbed up onto the stage with her. “That means you cut.”
She lowered her camera. “I’m the stills photographer,” she informed him. “Behind-the-scenes. Which means I don’t ‘cut.’”
“Yeah? Well, you can get behind this scene.” Without another glance her way, Ash stepped in front of her, his back to her, completely blocking her view of me.
Total asshole move, but I chuckled anyway.
As Ash stalked past me, heading for the door at the back of the stage, I looked at the photographer. She wasn’t taking photos anymore. She held her camera in front of herself, unsure, as her eyes met mine.
She was pretty. Impossible not to notice that.
Ash had clearly noticed, but he also seemed to have a problem with her.
I definitely had to find out who this girl was.
The crew was busy adjusting lights and discussing the next shot. So I raised a finger in her direction and crooked it, beckoning her to follow. Then I turned to follow Ash offstage.
As we made our way down the hall, he was already planning out our weekend. “Summer’s having a party on Saturday,” he informed me as we stepped into my dressing room. “We should go. And there’s Zane’s thing—” He stopped abruptly. He’d turned to me and noticed the photographer, stepping in the door right behind me. His mouth dropped open, then snapped shut, his jaw twitching. “The fuck is she doing in here?”
I just shrugged and grabbed a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge. I dropped into a chair, tussling my sweaty hair and took a swig.
The photographer took her cue from me, ignoring Ash completely. “Do you mind if I keep shooting?” she asked me.
“Nope,” I said. So she started taking photos of me stretched out in my chair, all sweaty and half-naked. Well, mostly-naked.
I was watching her, closely, as she did it. In the brighter lighting of the dressing room, she was more than pretty. But it was a challenge to see her face when she kept covering it with the camera.
“Who are you?” I asked her.
“Amber,” she said.
“How does it look out there, Amber?”
“You look great,” she said neutrally.
“Yeah? How about the rest of it?”
“Can I ask you a favor?” she asked me as she kept taking photos. “Could you not look at the camera?”
I shot a look at Ash, amused. Who is this girl?
Ash stood behind her, glowering. His arms were crossed rigidly over his chest and the vein at his temple was popping out. His irritation was fucking palpable, and I smirked.
Very interesting.
Amber stopped shooting and checked the screen on the back of her camera. She seemed to be scrolling through some of the photos she’d taken. Now that the camera was out of her face, I took a good, long look at her.
Her sweet face, tensed in concentration. Narrowed, pretty eyes and full, pouty lips. Light freckles across her cheeks and small nose. She had a single piercing in the left side of her nose, a tiny, sparkly pink stone, barely larger than a freckle. She wore no other jewelry, and appeared to be wearing no makeup, just a simple blouse and jeans. Her thick, wavy, caramel-colored hair was pulled back in a short ponytail with chunks falling out.
Her cheeks were flushed, maybe with adrenaline—the thrill of photographing me?—but she seemed cool and composed, at ease behind the camera. Impressive, since Ash was tossing off angry sparks about two feet away.
She turned the camera to show me a photo on the screen and said, “Now that’s an underwear ad.”