Page 57 of Dirty Like Dylan

“I’m having an art show next weekend,” Katie blurted, “and I’m so nervous. You have to come. Maybe you could even take photos…?”

“Oh. Sure…”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that there was a very real possibility I’d be on a plane to Thailand by next weekend. She’d already whipped out her phone to show me some of her work. She was ridiculously talented. And as we sat by the pool looking at her art and sipping cocktails, I got to know Katie a whole lot better.

I also got pretty drunk.

Then Dylan—finally—scooped me up, taking my hand and pulling me over to a few people he wanted me to meet. I got to chat with everyone in his band a bit, though if I hadn’t had so much to drink, I honestly probably wouldn’t have.

Con grinned at me a lot, and at one point, when I was sitting with the biker guys, he put his arm around my shoulders. I let him, for a moment or two, then drifted away. I was still confused about the Are-they-gay-or-are-they-not-gay thing, and if Dylan wasn’t gay, I was also confused about the Is-this-a-date-or-is-it-not thing.

Last thing I wanted to do was kill any possible chance I might have with Dylan Cope because I let his bodyguard feel me up. Even if Con did smell all yummy, like leather and man-soap.

I also kept wondering if he was carrying a gun, and it was freaking me out a bit.

I lost both Dylan and Katie somehow, even though it wasn’t that crowded.

The music got louder.

A few more people showed up.

The drinks seemed to get stronger, though maybe I was just drinking them faster.

At some point, someone shoved Zane, fully clothed, into the pool. Then a bunch of other people got pushed in, mainly by Zane himself.

I was one of them, though it was Ashley who picked me up and leapt in with me.

* * *

When I woke up in the morning with a man’s heavy arm draped over me, my first thought was, Oh, fuuuck, no.

Because the arm had tattoos all over it. A mermaid with white-blonde hair on the muscular forearm, and scripted lettering in a band around the bicep that said: Fuck Bitches.

I must’ve stirred, because a rough, sleepy voice growled from behind me, “Damn… that was good.”

I stiffened.

Ashley chuckled. “Relax, flower child. Nothing happened.”

I knew that.

I remembered.

But all I could think as I lay here spooned against him with his arm over me was, Now he knows I’m hot for him.

I managed to slither, eel-like, out from under his arm while barely touching him. My brain slopped around in my head when I moved, the room spun angrily, and I collapsed back on the pillow with a groan.

Ashley rolled onto his back, away from me, but I could still feel the heat of his body inches from mine.

His naked body.

It was way too fucking bright, but I managed to peek under my half-lidded eyes at the naked expanse of his chest, his chiseled abs, his hips… the tattoos that ran down his side, right under the sheets… and the X-rated glimpse of dark, trimmed pubic hair at the base of his—

“I should get to work before Dylan comes looking for me,” I blurted. The sheet was covering Ashley’s cock, but there was no doubt in my mind he was naked under there. And it wasn’t so much that I was worried Dylan would be upset that I was late to photograph his kitchen. More like I needed to get out of here, get to work and get lost behind my camera—where the world made sense to me.

“Where do you think he slept last night?” Ashley replied lazily.

Which was when it dawned on me, way too slowly, that we weren’t in Ashley’s bedroom. Ashley’s bedroom was dark. Dylan’s was bright. White walls with lots of windows and a skylight…