Page 49 of Dirty Like Dylan

I blew out a breath and got to work uploading yesterday’s images from the memory cards to the cloud, by way of my laptop. Ashley had laid them on the island, which had seemed like a good sign, at first.

Now, maybe not so much.

While I waited for the images to transfer, I thought about just getting the hell out of here. I had two more days on this shoot at best. I’d probably be finished mid-day tomorrow. I could maybe stretch it out to a full day, but I didn’t want to abuse Dylan’s kindness any more than I already had.

Shit. It was official; I was fucking terrible with people.

Especially hot men.

Because even when Ashley stood here and explained to me what an asshole he was, and that he liked to fuck men, I was still attracted to him.

Something was definitely wrong with me.

Or else my pussy had just been out of the game too long; long enough to get totally confused. Clearly, Ashley did not want me.

Dylan did not want me.

I told myself if I even let myself masturbate thinking about the two of them again, this was going to get messy. For me.

It was already getting messy.

As much as I would’ve loved to just disappear right now, though, I could not get around the fact that I owed them an apology, whether they fired me or not.

So I put on my big girl panties and headed over to Dylan’s house.

When I arrived, the guys were gone. A woman let me in, but at least this one wasn’t a living incarnation of a Barbie doll. She was middle-aged and friendly and said she was the part-time housekeeper. She seemed to have expected me.

She offered me a tea—more loose-leaf Ashley had obviously bought yesterday, for me—and told me she would keep out of my way. She even said if I needed her to tidy anything up for my photos, to just let her know.

So maybe I wasn’t fired?

I wondered, had Ashley even told Dylan about my newly-discovered voyeur status?

I worked alone all morning. I was upstairs in Dylan’s bedroom when I heard the drums thudding through the basement. I hadn’t even heard him come home.

In the early afternoon, when I came downstairs, I saw him out by the pool, through the windows. He was on his phone, and he looked so fucking gorgeous laid out on his lounge chair. He wasn’t naked this time, just shirtless, which was probably a good thing since the housekeeper was in the kitchen. But those fucking abs. A girl could suck some serious vodka off those abs.

Well, a guy could.

I was tempted, so fucking tempted to take his picture, but the last thing I was gonna do was pull another embarrassing mistake like I’d already made.

The house smelled like fabulous cooking, and the housekeeper lady fed me lunch as she cooked food to stock up Dylan’s freezer.

In the late afternoon, Dylan came to check out what I was doing, just like he had yesterday. Like he was genuinely interested. He didn’t say a thing about the photo of the kiss.

So I decided not to rock the boat by bringing it up.

Chicken shit move, I knew.

“So, hey,” he said, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe as I shot his master bathroom with my wide angle. “I was wondering… if you want to come to a party tonight.”

I looked up at him, my heart thudding. He was in my shot, but I wasn’t about to ask him to leave. He hardly made the room look worse.

And as for my heart thudding? I knew he was gay. But somehow it just hadn’t made him any less attractive to me.

Because apparently my lady parts were slow like that.

“It’s just a small cocktail party,” he added. There was a slight, crooked smile on his face, maybe because my eyes had gone wide. “No big deal.”

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