Page 157 of Dirty Like Dylan

He didn’t answer that.

“He’ll think you like dick,” I said, enunciating every word carefully.

Ashley glanced at me. He cocked his pierced eyebrow, so at least I was managing to amuse him somewhat.

“Big. Deal,” I said. “He already knows. So why do you care?”

He shook his head at me. “It’s not just about dick, sweetheart. I wish it was that simple.”

I took a breath and sighed. “It doesn’t have to be easy or simple. It just has to be the truth.”

He considered that.

“Okay,” he said. “The truth is, I’m not gay. People say I’m bi, but that doesn’t feel right to me either. It’s not a half-and-half, fifty-fifty situation. If we’re talking percentages, I’d say I’m a solid sixty-six-point-six percent straight.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “Interesting math.” But watching him squirm while he tried to explain it to me? I’d never seen him squirm like that before.

“I’m like, one-third into dudes at best,” he concluded, raking a hand through his hair. He took a drag on his cigarette, then tossed it in the water.

“Right.” I stared at him, and my skepticism must’ve been written all over my face. “And what percentage of your heart belongs to Dylan Cope?”

That hit home. I knew it did.

He stared at me, his blue eyes blown. “Where did you come from?” he asked me, his voice kinda choked and rough.

“Well… Brazil.” I shrugged. “But you know I was born here. I—” I didn’t get to finish that sentence because he kissed me. It was a soft, devout kiss, and as his body pressed in close to mine and I felt his warmth, his heartbeat, his fingers digging into my arms as he held me to him, I could feel how much he really did care about me.

Maybe Ashley’s feelings for me weren’t only based on a misguided desire to keep Dylan intimately attached to him. If Dylan wasn’t even in the picture, maybe Ashley really would fall for me?

But Dylan was in the picture.

And I wondered, like I had many times now, was it even possible to love two people at once? Equally? Or would there always be an imbalance, one who owned your heart more than the other, and always would?

And what if you were the one who didn’t get equal real estate in the equation? Would it be worth it to stay, or better to break loose and find something that was one-hundred-percent your own?

These questions reeled in my head as I allowed myself to cling to Ashley, selfishly, for a lingering moment on Dylan’s deck.

When we broke apart, I told him, “I’ve never seen two guys closer than you two.”

“Amber…”

“Unless, you know, maybe if they were married or something.”

Ashley drew away until we weren’t touching anymore. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “there was that one time he came in my face.”

I froze. “He… what?”

His eyes found mine. “He came—”

“Oh,” I said. Oh.

Shit.

I did not need that visual. Weeks ago, maybe it would’ve piqued my curiosity or turned me on. Now it only scared me.

“He loves you, Ashley,” I choked out. But I couldn’t help it; jealousy burned behind my words, making my throat tight. I swallowed with difficulty.

Ashley went silent.

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