Page 42 of Dirty Like Dylan

If I was meant for any of those things, why did I always have such a hard time with them?

Why couldn’t I stop fucking up?

And why was it bothering me so much that I’d fucked up?

Everyone was allowed to make mistakes.

Who cared about the gay rock stars next door anyway, right?

I didn’t care what they thought about me. I only cared that they paid me. I’d done my job and done it well today. Even if they never wanted me to step foot in Dylan’s house again or take another photo for them, they owed me my pay for today.

Except… we hadn’t even written up a contract. I’d just taken this job on trust.

Why? Because they knew Liv?

Stupid.

Especially when my sister still hadn’t even called or texted me back yet. For all I knew, she wasn’t speaking to me.

I sent her another carefully-worded text, asking her when I was going to get paid. With the money from her shoot and the money from today, I’d have about half of what I needed to disappear in southeast Asia for eighteen months. If Dylan wouldn’t keep me on, or if he screwed me out of today’s pay, there really wasn’t much I could do about it. I’d just have to make the money up somewhere else.

I might even have to swallow my pride and beg Liv for another shoot.

Christ.

My sister was right; I should’ve just kept my mouth shut.

I was much, much better at taking photos of people than bothering to even try to connect with them on any other level. At the end of the day, it was just easier that way. I connected with them just enough to get the photo I wanted, then I moved on.

Simple.

And my sex life was pretty much the same.

I could meet someone traveling and we’d hook up; maybe it was for a night or two while we were in the same hostel or hotel. Or maybe we’d travel together for a bit, through a certain city or a country, and then invariably we’d go our separate ways. And we always knew it was going to be like that.

Which meant there was no let-down at the end, no awkward breakup, no It’s not you, it’s me… I never even had to get to know them—or let them know me. For that slice of time, I could be anyone I wanted to be. Shy Amber. Sassy Amber. Serious Amber.

Kinky Amber.

Anything more than that, you started to get invested. Started to care about people. Started to care if they cared about you—or not.

Started to give something of yourself away.

Your freedom.

Your heart.

And before you knew it, you were plummeting, free-falling down that slippery slope known as a relationship.

Which led to all kinds of bullshit and pain.

Love.

Passion.

Finding the man you thought you loved in a hot tub with a bunch of naked women.

A shattered heart.