Page 63 of Dirty Like Dylan

I grinned. “Nope.”

Ash returned with a couple of beers, a bottle of Prosecco and two wine glasses. He cracked a beer for himself and put the rest on the table between Amber and me. “What?” he said, when we both stared at him. Then he got busy flipping the food on the grill. “I plead the fifth.”

“We’re in Canada,” Amber said, smirking. “Don’t think that works up here.”

“Good luck getting details out of Ash,” I told her. “He’ll never admit he was actually dating Elle. Or that he screwed two of the members of a certain death metal band in the porta potty at a festival. But I’ll tell you.”

Ash glared at me.

“How do you even fit three people in a porta potty?” Amber asked, wide-eyed.

“Not at the same time,” Ash clarified, giving me another death look.

“And why in a porta potty?” Amber asked. “Didn’t you have, like, a rock star trailer or something?”

“There was some jealousy and smoke-in-mirrors involved,” I explained. “It ended in an ugly brawl in the mud with a lot of toilet paper—”

“How do you want your steak?” Ash interrupted. “’Cause if you keep talking, you’re gonna be fishing it out of the ocean.”

Amber grinned and bit back a laugh. She met my eyes and I shrugged, grinning back. “You know how I like it,” I answered Ash. Then I asked her, “You want wine or beer?”

“Oh, God.” Amber looked a little green at the idea. “Neither.”

“Anyway,” Ash cut in, “so I’ve been with a few rock stars. It’s not like I’m a groupie or something.”

Amber shot him a look. “Neither am I,” she said firmly. “For the record, other than Johnny O, who I was unfortunately in love with, I’ve never been with a rock star.”

“Good to know,” he said cooly.

“And how do I know you’re not some photographer groupie?” she pushed back.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe I am.”

Amber blinked at him. Then she smiled a little, awkwardly, like she wasn’t sure she should. “Why?” She glanced from him to me. “Have you ever dated, or screwed, a photographer?”

“Nope,” I said.

“Roslyn Pike,” Ash said.

Amber stared at him. Her mouth fell open in wordless question.

“She shoots for Rolling Stone and GQ—”

“I know who Roslyn Pike is,” she said, clearly in awe. “And to hell with Rolling Stone. She shoots for National Geographic. How long were you with her?”

“Few months,” he said, which would’ve been the same answer no matter what girlfriend from his past she’d asked him about, other than Summer.

“Did she ever photograph you?”

“Yup,” he said.

Amber seemed to be processing that. If I had to put money on it, I’d say she was jealous.

“Ash dated Ros years ago,” I put in, and winked at her. “Don’t worry. He likes you for more than your talent with a camera.”

“Next to Roslyn Pike, I’m not sure I have any,” Amber said. But she was staring at Ash. Probably wondering why he hadn’t made a move on her if he liked her so much.

Like last night, in bed.