Page 136 of Dirty Like Dylan

Then I went to the kitchen to make dinner, for the first time in pretty much as long as I could remember.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Ash

The next night, we hit up a party at Summer’s place. It was the Sunday before Halloween, which meant it was a Halloween party, and she’d gone all out. Decorations, dry-ice fog rolling through the house, the works.

I hadn’t been to one of Summer’s parties in a few weeks, and if I didn’t show my face at one of them soon, she was probably gonna start worrying about me. She’d already been blowing up my phone, wondering where the fuck I’d been. It wasn’t exactly like me to ditch on her parties when I was home from tour.

And Summer’s parties were always epic. Great music ’til all hours of the night. Beautiful people. Easy sex.

Both Dylan and Amber came with me, and while Amber seemed to be having a good time, something was going on with Dylan. He’d been acting weird since last night, when he’d walked out on us to make nachos. Like dinner had ever been more important than eating Amber’s pussy?

He’d been distant and kinda distracted all day, which was not normal for him. Seemed like something was bothering him, but he didn’t want to talk about it.

I’d tried, a few times, to ask, but he just shut it down. Said he was just preoccupied, thinking about Dirty going into the studio.

Which was bullshit.

Dylan never got stressed about making an album. But he was stressed right now.

I watched him most of the night, making the rounds, talking with people, laughing. His arm was slung around Amber pretty much the whole time. Him in his zombie Khal Drogo costume with the black wig and beard braid and war paint, her as zombie Daenerys, with the blonde wig and the toy baby dragons clipped to her shoulders—both of them with their melting, rotten, zombified skin.

I was zombie Jon Snow, no wig needed, but I kinda dug the big faux fur cloak and badass sword. (Amber had insisted on the fur being fake.) I’d suggested the Game of Thrones theme, since we were now in the middle of making Amber (who’d never seen it—WTF?) binge watch the entire series with us. Dylan was the wiseass who’d suggested the Khal Drogo/Daenerys Targaryen/Jon Snow threesome costume. And Amber was the one who’d insisted it had to be creepy, since it was Halloween, which meant we’d spent hours layering on latex and painting each other, then glopping on the fake blood and puss. Really, we’d done a commendable job. If the rock star thing really didn’t work out for me, maybe I could get a gig as an FX makeup artist in Hollywood? Because from where I was standing, watching them and smoking my joint, Dylan and Amber were the best dressed at the party.

Summer had even awarded us a prize for “best threesome costume”—three bottles of booze.

But since then, it was like Dylan had forgotten that we’d all come together.

He didn’t seem to give one fuck about sharing Amber with me tonight. But I just let him have her. It wasn’t like him to hog a girl we were both involved with, especially at a party, but I let it slide.

Whatever was bothering him was maybe just making him forget his fucking manners.

I considered—very, very briefly—forgetting mine too, when Summer came by to check on me, wearing sinfully low-slung white leather pants and a wisp of an excuse for a white shirt, with a red cross on it. And a little nurse’s cap. Summer had amazing tits, and a beautiful body that I knew all too well. Never mind that I used to be in love with her.

I wasn’t now.

But yes, I was fucking jealous about Dylan and Amber cozying up without me. And when Summer hugged me in her skimpy costume, and I touched the small of her bare back… I almost let my hand slide down over her tight ass.

Almost.

Luckily, I didn’t. Because as much as I might’ve been tempted to get petty on account of the jealousy, groping Summer was not gonna go over well with Amber or Dylan. We’d made a promise to one another. A commitment.

It probably wouldn’t go over well with Summer, either. Because she and I had agreed, years ago, that “we” were done. I knew neither of us wanted to blur the line by screwing around.

Usually, that wasn’t a problem. My bed was rarely empty; I had plenty of lovers to keep me from groping my ex in a moment of weakness.

So did Summer.

So I kissed her on the cheek and released her, and when she asked me why I was smoking alone in the corner, I told her, “Just admiring you from afar.”

She was accustomed to me flirting with her, so she just smiled and rolled her hips a little as she walked away, winking at me over her shoulder.

Then I gathered up Dylan and Amber and got us the fuck out of that party before I did something stupid. Like get drunk and stick my tongue down my ex-girlfriend’s leather pants.

Because when I thought about it… I wasn’t actually one-hundred-percent sure that Summer would turn me down if I tried, which would’ve made a move like that extra stupid, and extra risky.

With Dylan and Amber… I just wasn’t willing to take those kinds of risks.

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