Page 128 of Dirty Like Dylan

As far as I could ever discern, Johnny just lifted weights so he could admire himself while he fucked a girl.

I wasn’t gonna pretend the result wasn’t excellent, but right now, his perfection just kinda irritated me. He was too fucking pretty, and too fucking pleased with himself.

How did I ever fall for this guy?

“How’s Liv?” he asked, still checking me out. Like he gave a shit about my family.

The girl sitting on his left was leaning on him, and before I could answer, she turned and purred something in his ear. She didn’t seem to like him paying attention to me, and gave me a nasty, pleased-with-herself look as he pulled her onto his lap. She then sat there with her boobs in his face, sipping her drink and chatting with her girlfriend as he waited for me to answer his question.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Honestly, Liv thought Johnny was a piece of shit, which was probably why he asked. It probably irritated the fuck out of him that a woman was actually immune to his charms, even if she was gay.

“She’s good.”

What the hell was I doing here? Was I really chatting with my ex-husband about my sister while some chick sat in his lap? She was talking in his ear again, and he held his finger up toward me as if to say, One sec, while I snuggle with this babe.

I glanced around, looking for Con. I wasn’t exactly in danger, but I didn’t want to back out of here alone, with my tail between my legs. I knew I could count on Con to get me out of this. He’d promised me he’d always be in my sight, and he’d given me a signal to use if I needed out of a jam.

And there he was, as promised.

He was leaning on the raised bar against the far wall, surveying the room. I could see his head up above most of the others, and he was looking around, probably trying to keep tabs on Dylan and me at the same time.

I looked around; I couldn’t see Dylan or Ashley in the crowd. So I gave Con our signal. It involved me running my fingertip over my bottom lip. It was sexy, as far as signals went, and I was pretty sure, as I did it, that Con had chosen it to amuse himself.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t looking at me.

I did it again, and realized Johnny was staring at me. I smiled a bit, dropping my hand.

“So, tell me what you’ve been up to,” he said, his piercing aquamarine eyes intent on me, even though the chick was still in his lap.

“Um…” I glanced up again, and Con caught my eye. I gave him the signal… and he started heading over.

Fucking finally.

“I’ve been busy. You know, photography.”

“Yeah? How’s that going?”

I jumped up to meet Con as he arrived, holding up a finger toward Johnny as if to say, One sec, while I snuggle with this babe. Then I turned to Con, leaned up against him and said in his ear, “Pull me onto your lap.”

He stood there looking down at me, and his eyebrow slowly rose. My hands were pressed to his hard chest, and I was glad he looked so hot tonight; he wasn’t wearing his biker vest, but a soft Henley shirt that hugged all his muscles.

“You drunk?”

“Just pull me onto your lap. Please.”

“Jesus,” he said, shaking his head a little and eying my tiny dress. “You are gonna get me in trouble, Amber Paige Malone…”

“I’m not.”

“No?” His gaze flickered past me. “Why you wanna make Johnny O jealous?”

Right. So he knew who Johnny was. And my motive was pretty transparent, at least, to him. Which was probably a good thing. Last thing I needed here was Con thinking I was actually coming on to him.

“Because,” I said, “he’s my ex-husband and he’s a douche and he fucked like five hundred other women behind my back when we were together.”

Con stared at me. He glanced at Johnny over my shoulder again.

Then he moved to sit in my vacated seat and drew me onto his lap. I glanced around as I draped my arms around his broad shoulders, but I still couldn’t see Dylan or Ashley anywhere. The place was pretty packed, so hopefully they couldn’t see me either.

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