Page 132 of Dirty Like Dylan

“It’s pretty gnarly, believe me,” he said.

“Besides,” she added, eying me up and down, “he’d be wearing a kilt, right? So I’m thinking the hotness of that would probably overshadow the stinky feet. By a long shot.”

“You might think,” Ash said.

“How come Ash doesn’t have to give you a list of his shittiest characteristics?” I inquired.

“Because A,” she said, “they were obvious from day one—”

“Thank you,” Ash said. “I try to be transparent with people. It’s kinda my new thing.”

He shot me a sidelong look and I smiled. He was definitely opening up, or something. Amber had brought out a whole lot of good shit in him.

“You’re welcome,” Amber said. “And good for you. Transparency takes courage. I’m rather opaque myself, I know.”

“You are not,” I said, sounding a little more sarcastic than I meant to.

“Sarcasm.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “The ladies love that.”

“What can I say?” I joked. “I’m perfect.” I leaned in and kissed her until she gave in, kissing me back until I was pretty sure she almost forgot what we were talking about. But then I felt her pulling away.

“And B,” she said, “Ash already gave me a list. He confessed to me about all his bullshit. Including his lack of commitment to recycling.”

I snickered. “Recycling? I thought you wanted gnarly shit.”

“Polluting the planet is plenty gnarly to me.”

“How about that carbon-coughing gas-guzzler of a Camaro of his? He tell you about that?”

“Didn’t have to,” she said. “I smelled it from the driveway.”

“He also throws out his clothes when he gets tired of them,” I said as I dropped back onto the window seat with a beer. “I’ve told him about a thousand times to donate them to charity.”

“How did this turn into a ‘shitty things about Ash’ conversation?” Ash asked.

“Come to think of it,” Amber teased, “most conversations we’ve had since I met you have been a ‘shitty things about Ash’ conversation.”

“Huh,” Ash said. Then he set down his spatula. He’d been making salsa in my food processor, but prowled over to where Amber was chopping at the island. She screamed when he grabbed her by the waist and spun her around so fast she almost dropped the knife.

Ash pressed her wrist gently to the countertop and she let the knife drop. Then he walked her over to the bench by the window, not two feet from me, laid her down, and crawled over her.

“I must’ve missed that conversation last night…” he said, snaking his hand up her bare thigh and under her shirt—my shirt. “And this morning. You know… while my tongue was up your sweet cunt and you were speaking in tongues.” He dragged her panties down her thighs and then peeled them right off.

“Did you just use the C-word on me…?”

“Yup. Spread your legs.”

She spread her legs as his hand slid up her thigh again, gasping when his fingers struck gold. “I… um… object to that word being used by you… to describe my… sex parts… .”

“Sure you do,” he said as he went down on her and her eyes rolled back in her head.

“Fuck… that feels good…” she gasped. “Your piercing… oh my God.”

“I know,” Ash mumbled. “Why do you think I have it?”

“Huh?”

“It’s for the ladies, Amber,” he informed her as he kissed her pussy. “Feels good on the clit.”

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