Page 98 of Dirty Like Dylan

I just wondered if he knew.

If he was afraid of getting burned, like I was.

Amber was standing in the back of the Dirty Deed and I was on the dock, finishing a smoke. Dylan was untying the boat. He looked up at me, his reddish hair blowing around, and squinted in the morning light.

“What?”

I flicked my chin at Amber in the boat. She wasn’t listening. I was pretty sure she couldn’t hear us. She was busy taking photos of the mountain view across the water.

“Her,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “You’re gonna fall for her.”

And what did Dylan say?

Nothing.

He just fucking laughed.

Chapter Nineteen

Amber

I stood in the middle of Katie’s art studio, holding my camera and turning in a slow circle, just taking it all in. Her art show was in full swing, and I was surrounded by people.

She’d let me in early so I could scope out the space and check out the studio’s lighting, with its partial loft and high ceiling and the skylight windows above. I’d taken some photos while the paintings for the show were hung. Then I’d left for a dinner break, and gotten changed at Ashley’s condo downtown—into the new cocktail dress that Dylan had bought for me yesterday.

It was A-line, turquoise, and came with turquoise stone earrings. It looked gorgeous on me and fit perfectly, because he’d taken me to get fitted the day before.

I wasn’t totally sure how I felt about accepting such a gift, but I accepted. Mainly because the fact was that I owned only one party dress, and his friends had already seen me in it. I kinda doubted they were all gonna show up to Katie’s big art show in the exact same outfit they wore to Zane’s housewarming/birthday party a week ago.

I was right.

I’d returned for the art show wearing my new dress, with Dylan and Ashley on my arms, like the world’s sexiest pair of accessories. Which raised more than a few eyebrows. I felt it when we walked in, when the guys greeted their friends and introduced me around, again. I’d met many of these people at Zane’s party, but there were a lot more people here tonight.

And this time, I was getting the feeling that we weren’t just getting looks because they’d both brought me.

It was because they’d both brought me again.

It definitely didn’t seem like anyone was shocked about Dylan and Ashley sharing a woman, per se. More like they didn’t usually keep the ones they shared around for this long. Or maybe they just didn’t bring them out in public this much?

I didn’t know whether to be flattered about that or horrified on behalf of those other women.

But I quickly distanced myself from both of them, using my camera as a convenient excuse. I was here to photograph the event for Katie, not to serve as the entertainment.

As it turned out, there was plenty going on here to upstage the spectacle of our little threesome. Like Katie’s giant, stunning portraits of gorgeous rock stars. Which was a relief, because I felt kind of self-conscious about the fact that I’d spent the last three days pretty much in bed with two of those rock stars.

Other than when Dylan had headed into the city today to work, rehearsing for Dirty’s new album, the three of us had been pretty much inseparable. Ashley, apparently, didn’t work all that much, because he spent whatever time he wasn’t in bed working on his Camaro in Dylan’s garage, working out in Dylan’s gym, riding his mountain bike around the trails on the island, or making food for us.

I hadn’t even met his band yet. They weren’t at the art show.

All of Dirty was, but despite all the famous people in attendance, it was still Dylan and Ashley who made me most nervous.

In bed together, it was strangely comfortable. Here, it was intimidating.

Maybe it was sharing them with all these other people—especially all the women fluttering around them. Unfortunately, it made me feel grossly insecure. Not that I saw either of them overtly flirting with any of those women, but what if they decided to take someone else home tonight?

I could be pissed about it, I could be jealous, I could be hurt, but I couldn’t exactly stop them.

I didn’t own Dylan or Ashley. Despite the proposal that Dylan had made to me that first night, at the restaurant, asking me to be exclusive with them until they went on tour, we hadn’t talked about it again. We’d never actually promised exclusivity to one another.