Page 58 of Dirty Like Dylan

I looked up, and the sun streaming in through the skylight above the bed made me wince.

I felt the bed shift, but in a way that Ashley, on my right side, could not possibly have made it shift, and my head reeled with sudden vertigo. With some effort, I looked to my left.

Dylan was sprawled next to me on his stomach, naked—not a sheet in sight. All I could do was stare at the curves of his broad back and that perfect, muscular ass.

Holy fucking hell, I wanted to bite that ass.

But I did not remember ending up in bed with Dylan last night.

I slept with both of them? In one bed?

“Hey,” Dylan said. When I glanced up, his green eyes were watching me, that crooked, sexy smile on his face. “How you feeling?”

“Fine,” I said.

“Yeah? You drank a lot of bubbly last night.”

Really?

“And beer,” Ashley said.

Great. Cocktails and wine and beer. Awesome combo.

“I’m fine. I never get hangovers.”

I didn’t. Unless, of course, if you considered waking up with I splitting headache and two hot, naked, and possibly gay men in bed with you a hangover.

“I really didn’t drink that much,” I added, trying to save face, but they knew the truth.

Or at least, Ashley sure did.

The truth was, at some point, way late in the night, I’d tried to get some.

From him.

I couldn’t even remember why, exactly, it happened. Just that I was alone in Zane’s kitchen with Ashley and Zane, sometime after getting tossed in the pool. My wet dress was gone, and I was wearing a T-shirt and rolled-up sweats that belonged to Zane. The three of us were smoking a joint. We were laughing at some story Zane was telling about the time Ashley’s boat broke down on them, and they had a bunch of raw meat for a barbecue that went bad in the heat and they got all sunburnt while they floated around waiting for Dylan to come rescue them, and Zane had “downgraded” the boat’s Falcon status, dubbing it the Silver Sparrow instead because Ashley refused to “put it out of its misery” and sink it, as per Zane’s suggestion—He’s overly sentimental, this one, Zane had said—and I was laughing too hard, and the booze had started to make gravity disagree with me. I’d leaned into Ashley without even thinking about it. Because, well… all the booze. And then something strange happened.

Ashley put his arm around me.

He’d held me up and went right on talking with Zane as if it was no big deal that I was pressed up against him—just the way a boyfriend would. And I got a warm, fuzzy feeling.

Well, a horny feeling.

Then Zane had magically disappeared. And as soon as I’d registered that Ashley and I were alone, I put my hand on him. Flat against his stomach. I could feel his tight abs through his shirt. Or Zane’s shirt, which he’d also changed into.

Then I’d looked up, and he was looking down at me, his blue eyes dark and intent. I slid my hand downward… and his hand caught mine. He’d stopped me, just before my fingers could venture south of his waistband.

He’d stopped me from groping him.

Even though I could’ve sworn the look in his eyes was pure sex… he’d rejected me.

After that, it was a blur. Mostly because I’d just wanted the whole night to be done with so I could forget about it. I’d drank some more. I’d avoided Dylan and Ashley, until Dylan collected us and drove us home in his boat. Dylan hadn’t drank a drop.

Which meant he was stone-cold sober when he peeled Zane’s clothes off me and tucked me into bed. I didn’t remember him getting into the bed with me, but I definitely remembered the undressing part.

Which was all kinds of weird. At least, it was for me.

I couldn’t remember a guy ever turning me down for sex before. Not when my hand was an inch from his dick. And not when I was standing right in front of him, drunk and naked.

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