Page 112 of Dirty Like Dylan

I frowned. “A band?”

“Yeah. That’s what I heard, anyway.”

“Hmm.” I pretended to search the recesses of my brain, shaking my head. “Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn you guys were called the Penny Pushers or something? Or maybe it was the Party Poopers. The Pickle Pumpers?”

I laughed. “Shit. I’m calling the boys. We are definitely changing our name to the Pickle Pumpers, stat.” I dug my phone out of my pants and pretended to text that to someone.

Amber grinned. “Seriously. Don’t you ever work? Or are you that ballin’ that you don’t even have to? On the rock star early retirement plan?”

“I wish.” I stashed my phone away. “I’ve been writing. Got a new album in the pipeline. We’ll be getting together in the studio soon.”

“Cool. Guess I should actually listen to some of your stuff.” She bit the side of her lip, looking adorably bashful. “I know some of Dirty’s music. But I don’t think I’ve heard yours.”

“Don’t bother,” I said. “It’s shit.”

She laughed. “What?”

“Old news. You can wait ’til the new album comes out.”

She shook her head at me, still smiling. “Okay?”

I shrugged. “Maybe you can do a photo for the album cover or something.”

She sat up, looking excited, though I wasn’t sure if it was an act or what. “For the Pickle Pumpers’ new album? I’d love to!”

I grinned. “Perfect. So that’s one item down.” I pulled my phone back out and this time I did write a text, reading it aloud to her as I typed. “Just… hired… kickass… sexy… photographer… to… do… new… album… cover… SEND.”

“You didn’t.”

“Just sent it to the band and our management company.”

She laughed again. “Nice. You’ve got a concept in mind?”

“I was kinda hoping you’d come up with that. I’m on the early retirement plan here.” I stretched in the sun, getting comfy again.

“Hmm.” She sipped her beer, thinking. “Okay. Think I’ve got something here. Remember when the Red Hot Chili Peppers did that thing where they played shows wearing nothing but a sock on their penises?”

“Sure. ‘Socks on Cocks.’”

She giggled. “Right. And they wore them on the cover of an album, too, I think…”

“Yeah, The Abbey Road E.P..”

“Right. So I’m thinking something in that direction.”

“I like it.”

“BUT with pickles. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

She snickered, sipping her beer. “We should really collaborate more often.”

“Yup.” I threw my arm behind my head like a pillow, watching her. “So tell me. How was it working with Dirty yesterday?”

“Good. I mean, I just photographed them a bit while they rehearsed. They were really nice about it, though, especially considering they had zero warning I was coming.”

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