Page 59 of Dirty Like Dylan
In that type of scenario, I was much more accustomed to a guy just diving into bed with me, and me with him, because what did it matter when I intended to hit the road the next day and never see him again?
But now here I was. Stuck.
Right between the two of them.
And neither one of them had touched me.
Wow. I’d just achieved a new level of rejection.
“I’m gonna go for a shower,” Dylan said, sitting up and stretching out his naked body. I looked away. “You want anything first? Juice? Coffee?”
“I’m fine,” I repeated. Apparently I’d killed a few too many brain cells last night and could no longer speak in complex sentences.
“There’s some water for you, on the table.” He indicated the bedside table where a glass of water sat.
“Uh-huh. Thanks,” I mumbled. Every time he spoke, my head throbbed.
I watched him smirk, then stand up, naked, right in front of me. I only saw his backside as he headed for the en suite bathroom. But that ass…
If he really was gay, I was gonna cry.
I glanced over at Ashley, wondering if he’d caught me staring. And instead, I caught him staring.
“You want eggs?” he asked me in his rough, sexy morning voice, and his blue eyes met mine. “Omelet or something? Toast?” He sat up, sliding his legs over the far side of the bed, turning his back to me.
“Toast,” I croaked. “Please and thanks.”
He yanked on his black briefs and a T-shirt so fast I barely saw anything, and headed down to the kitchen without another glance in my direction. But I’d definitely seen the way he’d just looked at Dylan, watching him disappear into the bathroom, bare-assed.
A straight dude did not check out his dude friend’s naked ass, even given the opportunity, when a woman was in the room.
And I’d seen that kiss; my camera didn’t lie.
Katie and Maggie were wrong. They had to be.
Maybe Ashley and Dylan were in the gay rock star closet? I wouldn’t exactly be surprised. Coming out when you were famous couldn’t be any easier than doing it when you weren’t. I’d been through the whole coming out thing, vicariously, with my sister. She’d be the first person to tell you that it was liberating as fuck, in some ways, but it was far from fun.
There just had to be something going on here. My female pride insisted upon it.
They were either gay, or I’d become repulsive since the last time I looked in a mirror.
To be honest, I kind of felt repulsive.
I pounded back the glass of water. Then I dragged myself up, peeling my cocktail dress off the chair where someone had laid it last night, along with my lingerie. I headed down the hall to a bathroom, and examined my naked self in the mirror, critically.
Nope. Definitely hadn’t become repulsive overnight.
Okay, so I was no supermodel. But I was definitely cute enough for two horny single guys—if they were straight, or even bi—to at least try to get up my skirt.
When I headed down to the kitchen a few minutes later, Ashley was there, alone, making scrambled eggs. He’d laid out tea and toast for me on the island, alongside jars of jam and honey.
“I’m heading into the city today,” he said, not looking at me. “Have some things to do.”
“Okay,” I said. It hadn’t escaped my notice that he’d been measurably nicer to me since sometime at the party last night. If I’d been more sober, I might’ve been able to pinpoint why. As it was, I was clueless.
Maybe his time of the month had passed?
I buttered my toast and carefully spread some jam on, not looking at him. He was standing at the stove, his back to me anyway.