Page 73 of Dirty Like Dylan
“Because otherwise,” she went on, like I hadn’t even spoken, “there is no good reason to have sex with Ashley Player.”
“You mean other than feeling his dick in my pussy? Feeling his hands all over my body? Feeling—”
“Please. Don’t describe it.” She yanked her fridge open and frowned at the contents like they’d disappointed her, though they were probably just taking the brunt of her current feelings toward me. “Laura!” she bellowed. “Did you drink all the IPA?” She swiped a couple of beers from the depths of the fridge, scowled at them, and cracked them open, handing one to me. “Sorry.”
“Cheers.” We clinked bottles irritably and I took a deep swig of the honey ale.
My sister took a sip and grimaced. “Laura’s beer,” she complained.
“So can I stay here or what?” I flopped into a seat in her breakfast nook and kicked up my feet. “You know I hate to ask. You know I won’t stay long. I just need to finish processing the images from the shoot at Dylan’s, and then I’m off to Thailand.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What? You owe me, after sending me off to the Island of the Gorgeous Rock Stars without warning me, then ignoring my calls.”
My sister sat on the edge of the table, looking down at me. “I’ve been busy.” She had the gall to say it straight-faced while she was wearing sweatpants.
My sister sometimes worked on set, sometimes worked from home, and sometimes drank beers in her sweats on a Tuesday. As for Laura, she handled online sales for a local cosmetics company from home, part-time, which meant she did her abs-and-butt workout to Lady Gaga whenever she felt like it.
The two of them were living the dream.
“You look busy,” I remarked.
“You want to take care of yourself, right?” Liv shot back. “How much money are you making shooting Dylan’s house?”
I glared at her. “A lot.” But that was hardly the point. Just because I’d ended up making a bunch of money and getting laid while I was there, I wasn’t about to thank my sister for it.
She frowned. “And they kicked you out?”
“What? No. I’m just not staying there anymore.”
“Hmm.”
“Incidentally, why didn’t you return my calls?”
She crossed her arms. “I needed a cooling period.”
Right. Liv and her fucking cooling periods.
“You were pissed at me?”
“I was a little pissed. You made me look pretty bad at the Underlayer shoot, Amber. You were there on my recommendation. It took a little elbow grease to unruffle all those feathers.”
“Sorry.” I rolled my eyes a bit, embarrassed. “I really am sorry. And for what it’s worth, I apologized to Dylan too. Sincerely.”
She sat there, just kind of glowering down at me.
“And you would be thinking…?” I asked, glaring back up at her.
“I’m thinking, where the hell does Ash get off fucking my little sister.”
“Um, hello? You shipped me off to an island to live in his house. You’ve seen his abs and that angsty thing he does with his eyebrows. You knew this would happen.”
“Fuck that. I shipped you off to Dylan for a job. He said he’d throw you some work.”
I groaned. “You did what?”
“I tell you, every time. You bring this shit on—”