Page 16 of Dirty Like Dylan

I set my backpack down on the kitchen island in the middle of the open-concept house, and took a better look around.

Foremost, I examined the photos stuck to the front of the fridge with beer cap magnets. A very down-to-earth-looking middle-aged couple in matching blue parkas smiled back at me from one photo, white-capped mountains filling the landscape behind them. There was also a school photo of a little boy, maybe seven or eight years old. And a drawing of a dragon that appeared to have been made by the boy.

My hosts.

Not some biker or asshole rock star.

I relaxed a little. Or actually, a lot.

I wandered around. The place was as nice inside as it was out, with exposed wood everywhere and luxury finishes. It was smallish by a wealthy person’s standards, only one level, with two bedrooms in back, but you definitely had to be wealthy to own a place like this that you didn’t even live in most of the time.

As I tried to get comfy, I found it weirdly hard. Everything was so clean and modern and perfect. Screens on the windows. No bugs. Crystal-clear, scalding-hot tap water.

But there was also a giant soaker tub in the bathroom off the master bedroom, and when I saw it, my spirits lifted. One thing I could definitely get comfortable with was a luxury tub soak. I hadn’t had one of those in months, and fantasies of soaking away the travel grime from under my toenails instantly wooed me.

I drew the water as hot as I could stand it, shed my clothes, pinned up my hair, and for the next half-hour I indulged gratefully in the soak of the year. Very gratefully. I even texted my sister from the bath, although she hadn’t replied to my other text yet.

Me: I forgot to tell you I love you. XO

I even forgave her, officially, for firing me, though I didn’t text that part.

As the bath gradually relaxed me, I lazily brainstormed what I might do for the family on the fridge; the nice people who were letting me stay here for free. The Johnsons. That’s what I’d dubbed them in my head. The Johnsons seemed to like their plants; maybe I could check the planters on the driveway for weeds? There wasn’t exactly much to clean. The place was spotless. Maybe I could whip up a batch of veggie chili or some muffins and leave it for them in the freezer?

I texted Liv again, to ask if she knew how soon the Johnsons would be back.

Then I texted a few friends in town, putting out the feeler for any jobs that might come up. Unfortunately, I really didn’t know many people who could get me work in Vancouver anymore. Even though I was from here, originally, and I still had some friends here, I’d really built my photography career on my travels; my work contacts were all over the world.

And it wasn’t as if high-paying clients were easy to come by, no matter where I was.

Damn. The more time passed, I was really regretting my fuck up at today’s shoot. It didn’t exactly bode well for Liv hiring me in the future. If she wasn’t my sister, she’d probably never hire me again. I bitched about it, and I did kind of hate the work, but the fact was I needed her to hire me when I came to town.

Shit.

I’d really have to kiss butt on this to get her to forgive me.

Or, maybe I’d impressed Dylan Cope so much—in the three minutes he’d known me, before I was fired—that he’d hire me? Maybe he needed a personal photographer to follow him around and take photos of him looking gorgeous?

Dare to dream.

That thought got me pretty impatient to look through the images I’d shot today. Because ultimately, I’d mostly photographed Dylan. Of course, I’d figured I had the rest of the afternoon to photograph everything else. Oops. I knew I’d gotten carried away, experimenting with my shutter speed as the whole scene dazzled me—capturing ultra-crisp images with his hair and drops of sweat frozen in the air, and artfully blurred ones, his flailing arms and the gleaming cymbals colorful smears of motion. But I’d definitely gotten some gorgeous shots.

I was pretty damn sure I’d gotten some epic ones.

I knew I should go through them and send the best selects to Liv as soon as possible. They’d want them for social media and stuff. And I didn’t need to give them any reason to decide I wasn’t worth the paycheck after all.

I decided to get out of the bath and get to work before I turned into a prune, and started letting the water out. It was getting cold anyway. Over the sound of the water gurgling down the drain and the water splooshing off my body as I stood up, I thought I heard a noise. Like a door closing or something.

I froze. Naked.

The water gurgled down the drain, but there was no other sound from the house. The bathroom door was ajar, and I waited for a moment.

What I was gonna do if someone suddenly appeared, I didn’t know. All I could really do was stand here, dripping.

Then I shook it off and stepped out of the bath. No one was here but me. I was just creeping myself out.

I toweled off, digging through my backpack with one hand to find some fresh panties and a T-shirt to throw on. Maybe there was fire wood? I could make a fire in the fireplace in the living room and look through the photos on my laptop there, figure out something for dinner…

I dropped the towel, panties in hand, and I didn’t even hear him—but I full-on screamed when I saw him: a man in black suddenly filling the doorway.