Page 31 of Dirty Like Dylan

“I’m not fucking Susanna.”

“Then you didn’t invite her here for a three-way?”

“I invited her here for you.” True. Whether or not it was gonna turn into a three-way was up for discussion.

“Hmmm.” He took a swig of his beer and turned down the volume on the show so I couldn’t even hear William H. Macy’s drunken rant.

“Turn it the fuck up,” I grumbled.

Instead, my best friend sat up, swung his legs off his couch and leaned forward on his knees, hitting me dead in the eyes with a rare ultra-serious expression. “Since Elle ditched your ass,” he asked me, straight-up, “how many people have you had sex with?”

I rolled my eyes and drank some more beer. “A man can have a mourning period.”

“She’s not dead. She’s alive and happy, and knocked up with Seth’s baby.”

“I’m aware.”

He sighed and raised the volume back up. Barely.

But he just couldn’t let it go.

“If sex is what you want, why aren’t you having any?”

“Whip it out right now,” I said, not looking at him. “I’m good to go.”

Dylan ignored the invitation, like he always did. “Here’s a better question. How come any woman who even gets close to feeling like a fit, you push her away?”

I grunted. “A fit for who?”

“I was flirting with her for you, you know.”

“Fuck you.”

I was watching the show, kind of, but I could still feel him watching me. “Just admit it. You like her.”

“Who?” I looked at him, deadpan. “Susanna?”

He sighed and got up, stretching out his spectacular six-foot-five bod. “Christ, you’re stubborn.” He tossed the remote at me. “Get outta my house already. You go make an attempt to get laid, she might actually take you up on it. You know, if you stop scowling at her all the time.”

I scowled and turned back to the show.

“C’mon, I’ll let you have her.” He strolled past me, scratching his ass, shoving down his sweats a bit as he did. “Assuming you remember how…”

“I remember.” I watched him stroll on over to the stairs. His sweats now sat way-low on his sculpted, muscular butt, showing off a bit of crack. “You’re such a fucking liar, you know that?”

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Huh?”

“You’re not gonna let me have her.”

Dylan shrugged, then gave me one of his easy but sly-as-fuck smiles as he disappeared upstairs. I was pretty fucking sure I heard him say, “Probably not.”

Chapter Seven

Dylan

Just after dawn, I strolled down from my bedroom in my underwear, a little groggy, stretching. I was not used to getting up this early, but Ash was up, cooking breakfast; the house smelled of bacon and coffee. Lately, he’d made it his business to be up before me and cook for me, no matter what time it was.

As usual, the dude was probably drowning his sorrows in labor. Ever since his breakup with Elle, he’d been buried in one project or another.

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