Page 99 of Dirty Like Dylan

I hadn’t asked them if they were still sleeping with other women.

And they hadn’t yet asked me if I was with any other men.

Though maybe it was assumed.

When and how would I fit another man into my repertoire anyway? The idea was ridiculous, when I already had two such hot and willing men taking up all my free time. Between the two of them, I was getting laid on a stunningly frequent basis.

The way I saw it, it would be insulting to both of them, not to mention downright comical, if I actually tried to hook up with another man.

But as for the two of them… The more I thought about it, the more I had to wonder. They were more than satisfying me. But could one woman really satisfy two men like Dylan Cope and Ashley Player?

Could I?

And in the end, did it even matter? In the end, was I just going to take all I could get from this and run, before they took off on me?

I realized, as these questions ran through my mind, that I was still trying to treat whatever this was between Dylan and Ashley and I the way I would if I were traveling. As a stopover. A temporary diversion on my way to somewhere else.

The problem was, right now, I wasn’t going anywhere.

I still hadn’t booked my ticket to Thailand.

And I really didn’t know what to do with this sudden shift in my focus—it was so entirely new to me. This was the first time—since I’d briefly pushed the pause button on my travels for my incredibly-brief marriage—that I wasn’t planning for my next trip, looking forward toward my next destination. Years of being on the move hadn’t prepared me for this: staying still, just being where I was. And being so wrapped up in what I was doing and who I was doing it with, that I wasn’t thinking about tomorrow—about the pursuit of the next great photograph.

There was only this moment, here at Katie’s art show, right now.

With Dylan and Ashley.

I kept looking at them across the room. Checking them out. Taking photos of them. And getting tinglies every time one of them looked over at me and made eye contact. Feeling my entire body flush hot whenever I caught one of them checking me out.

And getting jealous as fuck when I couldn’t catch their attention because some other bitch was hogging it.

Like when Summer, the gorgeous DJ, put her hand on Ashley’s arm and left it there the entire time they were talking.

Like when some blonde I didn’t even know gave Dylan an overly-familiar hug and then kept hanging around, even when he was talking to other people, putting her hand on his back and laughing at his jokes.

I told myself it didn’t matter.

I told myself I was here to do a job, the one Katie had hired me to do, first and foremost. The fact that Dylan and Ashley had been already planning to attend the same event before I was hired was inconsequential. It was a mere convenience of transportation that I’d come with them. They had a boat. I needed a way here from the island.

End of story.

It mattered so little that the blonde was now following Dylan around, in fact, that I made a point of walking right over to them and taking a photo of them together. She was pretty, after all, and she’d worn a fantastic dress. She cuddled right up to Dylan with the world’s most massive smile on her face, thrilled to be photographed with him, while he just stood there, narrowing his eyes at me slightly. I shot him a dirty look after I took the photo, and he raised his eyebrows at me.

I turned away and got busy elsewhere.

Because fuck.

What the hell was I doing?

And who did I think I was kidding here, exactly? Myself?

I was coming down with a serious case of the feels for these guys—and the green-eyed crazies.

I did not want the feels. The feels were total bullshit.

Apparently, crazy-hot rock star sex made you weak.

Crazy-hot sex with two rock stars? It was dangerous to a girl’s sanity.