Page 94 of Dirty Like Dylan
A lot.
“Oh, look,” Amber teased, “he’s pouting.”
“He does that a lot,” Dylan said. “You get used to it.”
“I’m cold,” I muttered, sitting down on the bed and sipping my hot coffee.
“Then come back to bed,” Amber said.
But I just sat where I was. Watching Dylan’s thumb stroke up and down her bare arm. They had a blanket pulled up around their chests, and I couldn’t see his other hand. Who knew where that was?
I dug for my stash in the bedside table and lit up a joint. One drag, then two, and I already felt better, the tightness in my chest loosening. But my heart was still beating too fast.
I told myself it was from the jog to the coffee shop in the cold. But I was a fucking liar.
I held the joint out, offering it to them. Dylan declined, but to my surprise, Amber sat up and took it, sucking back a couple of experienced little puffs. She hugged her knees to her chest, still covered with a blanket.
“So, I’ve always wanted to ask you…” Her gaze drifted down my arms as she blew out the sweet-smelling grass smoke. “About your tattoos. Get Money is pretty clear. But is that Fuck Bitches as in ‘have sex with bitches’ or Fuck Bitches as in ‘to hell with bitches’?”
I sipped my coffee, just looking at her. Her eyes were softer than usual. And she still had the same small, pleased-as-fuck-with-herself smile that she’d been wearing since I returned and found her lazing in bed with Dylan. Though that was pretty much how most women looked after getting in Dylan Cope’s pants. The dude was not only gorgeous; he was hung like a fucking horse.
And I’d been told, by more than one woman, that he fucked like a stallion.
When I didn’t answer her question, Dylan ventured, “Pretty sure it’s both.”
Amber giggled as she took another toke, the pot going to her head. “Just a tip, though,” she told me, “women don’t love it when you call them bitches. In case you were unclear on that.”
“I’m pretty clear. But thanks.”
She raised an eyebrow, passing the joint back to me. “So then you’re trying to offend people when you get tattoos like that?”
“I’m not really thinking about ‘people’ when I get tattoos. It’s my body.”
“Oh?” Her gaze slid down my side, and drifted over to my dick, like she could see right through my clothes. “So then you didn’t get that sexy-as-fuck tattoo of all the flames and the bird-dragon taking a nose-dive into your pants so that ‘people’ want into them?”
“Wow.” Dylan chuckled. “I gotta say. I’m loving how she sees right through your bullshit, Ash.”
“It’s a phoenix,” I informed her. “You know, rebirth from the flames? Not a ‘bird-dragon.’”
She shrugged. “Either way. Sexy.”
I stared at her as she lay back against Dylan.
“Who’s Danny?” she asked, all innocence as she blinked her green eyes at me.
Great.
She’d seen the fucking flower tattoo. The one way the hell up between my legs. The one that said Danny 4Ever.
“He doesn’t know,” Dylan answered for me, biting back a laugh. The story of how I’d gotten that tattoo always made him lose it.
When I threw him a murderous look, he crammed his fist into his mouth to shut himself up.
“He what?” Amber asked.
“Get him to tell you the story,” he whispered. “It’s fucking hilarious.”
Amber studied my face. Then she relaxed farther into Dylan’s arms and said, “It’s okay. He doesn’t want to tell me.”