Page 113 of Dirty Like Dylan

“Sounds like a classic Dylan move.”

“He really operates on his own wavelength, huh?”

“You know it. But I’ve never met a drummer who doesn’t. They’re always strange animals.”

“Always?”

“Always. And trust me, his band was nice to you because no one was gonna say anything to him in front of you. But they’re gonna bust Dylan’s balls today.”

“About what?”

“About you, sweetheart.”

Her smile faded. “What? Why?”

“Because the number of times Dylan Cope has ever brought a woman with him to any sort of band anything is exactly zero.”

She blinked at me. “Really?”

“Really,” I said, now wondering if I should’ve told her that. If it freaked her out, Dylan was definitely gonna be pissed at me for saying it. “I mean, he brought you there as a photographer, right? That’s probably what they’ll think.”

That wasn’t what they’d think. But if she knew that, Amber didn’t say anything.

“And how was the barbecue?” I asked, looking to change the subject.

“Oh. It was great.”

“Let me guess,” I said, reading between the lines of that response. “He didn’t tell you where he was taking you?”

“Not so much.”

“Damn.” I laughed a little. “Was it that bad?”

“Not at all, actually. Dylan’s family is… Hang on. I’m searching for the right word.”

“Intense?”

“No.” She smiled. “Not exactly. I was thinking more along the lines of exuberant, in a good way. They’re so loving. Honestly, it kind of freaked me out at first.”

“I know what you mean. First time I met his parents, they hugged me and called me ‘son.’ Don’t think anyone’s ever called me son.”

“You’re close with his family?”

“Pretty close. They come out here a lot. Hang out. His brother-in-law, Brad, works on my Camaro with me. We have ‘exuberant’ barbecues with ginger kids running all over the place.” She grinned at my use of her word. “Miss his dad, though. He was awesome.”

“Tell me about him.”

I shrugged. “Just a textbook awesome dad. Was always there for his kids, all five of them. Worked hard. Was totally involved in family life. Proud as fuck of his only son. He died pretty suddenly, about three years ago. Brain tumor. Just started acting strange overnight, like he wasn’t himself. Had headaches, stuff like that. It took him out fast, so at least he didn’t suffer too long. But it was hard. On everyone.”

“Wow.” Amber processed that, shaking her head, her light-green eyes soft with sympathy. “And I get bummed sometimes because my dad can be kind of a jerk. I don’t know how Dylan stays so positive when he’s been through a loss like that. I think I’d still be grieving.”

“That’s just Dylan. Not his nature to dwell. He doesn’t really do depressed.” I sat up and took a swig of my beer. “But trust me, he was heartbroken when his dad died.”

Amber was silent a moment, looking at me. “You’re different that way,” she said. “I mean, you strike me as more of a dweller.”

“You, too.”

Her mouth twitched in a hint of a smile. “I guess that’s why he likes us?”

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