Page 43 of Dirty Like Dylan

Maybe I should’ve just counted myself lucky that I was definitely not headed down that slope with Dylan Cope.

But it was a cold comfort.

I knew I shouldn’t really care at all… but I totally cringed to imagine what he and Ashley might be thinking, what they might be saying about me, right now, if they found that photo of them kissing.

I tried to put it out of my mind.

I tried, all evening.

But the truth was, I really did care what they thought. Not about me, per se, but about me as a photographer. Because what I’d done was just plain shitty. Dylan had welcomed me and my camera into his home. He hadn’t specifically told me not to take any photos of him, but for fuck’s sake, the trust was implied.

I’d just shit all over his trust.

After wandering around Ashley’s empty house about a hundred times, mentally spiraling, unable to sit still or focus on much else, I found myself in the kitchen. His friendly aunt and uncle smiled at me from the photo on the fridge, and I felt awful. Because I’d shit on Ashley’s trust, too.

As much attitude as the guy had thrown at me, the fact was he was letting me stay here, in his house. For free. He’d even been feeding me.

And the other fact was, when he set his irritable, angsty blue eyes on me, it made me squirm with a feeling that was starting to drift south of irritation…

Okay. Who the fuck was I kidding?

The real truth was I was attracted to Ashley Player, in an annoyingly distracting sort of way.

I was attracted to them both.

Even before I’d found out they were together, I already knew getting the feels over either of these guys would only end in utter fucking chaos and tragedy. For me. But somehow, it didn’t make me feel any better now that I knew I had zero chance with either of them.

Almost made me feel worse.

Because they weren’t being generous with me to get in my pants. They were just being generous.

Unfortunately, I’d discovered that Ashley had stocked up his fridge—for me, presumably—on his grocery run, which made me feel even worse. He’d even left some organic loose-leaf teas on his kitchen counter with a tea pot and strainer and a mug; it all looked new.

And as the night wore on, my mood just kept plummeting.

Neither of them came over to invite me to join them for dinner while I ate my salad, alone. I kept wondering if they were furious with me. If they were calling their lawyers.

And I kept feeling like shit about that photo. And trying to figure out how I was gonna apologize appropriately.

But then, as I drank another beer in front of the fireplace, I also kept thinking about that kiss…

I stayed up as late as I could, just kinda waiting, in case either of them came over to talk.

They didn’t.

On my way to bed, I stood at the door to the master bedroom and looked in. Ashley’s room. The heart of his man cave, with the navy-blue, almost-black walls, all the dark wood and the giant bed… And I couldn’t help wondering, as I gazed in at that bed, if Ashley and Dylan had ever slept in there.

Together.

I could easily picture them in there, rolling around… maybe Dylan on top?

Or Ashley…?

Were they rough together? Or tender, like that kiss?

Weird.

I’d never really thought about two guys together before. I’d definitely never fantasized about two guys together before. Because what the hell did two gay guys in bed have to do with me?