Page 51 of Dirty Like Dylan

Apparently, I was wondering if you want to come to a party actually meant I was wondering if you want to come to a party with me and my angry boyfriend.

If I’d needed any further evidence that this was not a date, there it was.

I felt even more awkward after we’d driven over the Lions Gate bridge to West Vancouver and up the mountainside, and I stepped into the beautiful house with the two of them. My heart was drumming in my chest. I wasn’t even sure if I was more nervous about being with Dylan or not being with Dylan, but he seemed to sense my discomfort. He put his hand on the small of my back, introducing me to the homeowner the moment we walked in.

Zane Traynor, lead singer of Dirty.

The first thing I noticed: he was dead sexy.

The second thing I noticed: he was staring at me.

Like staring.

He had shocking light-blue eyes and a chiseled, gorgeous face, a nose that looked like it had been broken a time or two, and his blond hair was shaved super-short at the sides—blond velvet. The longer part on top had been slicked back, and he wore a black suede vest over a tight T-shirt, with a pocket chain dangling from it. He looked like a prohibition-era gangster—a ridiculously hot one. Fitted dark pants completed the look, but I didn’t dare look down.

He laughed before Dylan could introduce me and said, “Who the hell is this?”

I felt my face turning pink. Luckily it was dark out and the lights inside the entrance were way low.

“This is Amber,” Dylan said.

“She’s Liv’s sister,” Ashley grumbled from somewhere behind me, as if to explain why I was here. Because God forbid I came with him.

“Amber…” Zane said, like my mere existence was somehow incredibly interesting, as he kept staring at me.

Then the guys did a round of back-slapping hugs. And as I soon found out, this wasn’t just a cocktail party. This was Zane’s new house, and this was a housewarming party.

It was also his thirtieth birthday.

No pressure.

We hadn’t even brought a gift.

I immediately felt like an asshole, even though I’d never met the guy before.

“We didn’t bring a gift?” I whispered at Dylan as we headed through to the back of the house, where the party seemed to be.

Dylan chuckled. “Trust me, he doesn’t need anything.”

“Okay, but—”

“I’ll buy him dinner next time he forgets his wallet,” he offered, amusement sparkling in his green-gold eyes. Then he winked at me. For some reason, he was holding my hand, and it was kinda freaking me out. But I clung to it anyway.

The house was huge, modern and sparsely furnished, and all the lights inside were dimmed low. There was no one inside except us, Ashley and Zane and some giant security guy who’d come with Zane to the door, trailing behind us. It looked like Zane hadn’t fully moved in yet, or maybe he just didn’t own a lot of stuff.

But the back yard was where it was at, anyway.

The huge sitting room at the back of the house was an indoor-outdoor space, fully heated and covered, flowing out onto the patio and yard. Music was playing, lounge furniture was clustered all around, fires were burning in a couple of outdoor fireplaces, and in the center of it all was a swimming pool, all lit up from underwater.

The place reeked of money, but it was classy, too.

The actual party was small, maybe twenty-five people. But they all seemed to know one another. You know, just a bunch of super-hot rock stars, their super-hot dates and friends, and some big, intimidating, bodyguard-looking dudes.

And me.

Liv wasn’t even here.

I made a mental note to take a photo with my phone later and text it to her. Maybe when I was nice and drunk, and I’d put my middle finger in it. It had been three days since the Underlayer shoot, and she still hadn’t called me back.