Dirty Like Dylan_A Dirty Rockstar Romance

by Jaine Diamond

  Amber had spent more time talking to Lydia, though, than anyone else—even though she had no way of knowing how that would hit me in the heart.

  Lydia had always been kind of a misfit. She wasn’t “gifted” with music or math like me and my other sisters, and she looked different than the rest of us. The reality was I knew she’d never felt as pretty, and she’d always been more socially awkward. She’d been diagnosed with a learning disability from a young age and had struggled through school. She was sweet, though, hilarious when you got her to open up, and if anyone held a gun to my head and forced me to pick a favorite, it would be Lydia.

  Julie and I were closest; closest in age, and we’d been through school together, shared a bedroom for many years, and we were the most alike. Jocelyn was a lot older and had always looked out for me. And Sammy was a sweetheart. But Lydia had my heart in a way that I’d told her, in secret, the others never would, just because she was Lydie.

  She was a woman now, but she’d always be little Lydie to me.

  And Lydie never had to do anything to impress me. She didn’t have to be anything different than what she was. She was just special, from the very first moment I met her, the day she was born; when I was six years old and I got to hold her, and she looked up into my eyes.

  “You got along with Lydia well,” I said.

  Amber smiled. “You sound surprised.”

  “Not exactly. Just… there was a lot going on in there. Cope family functions are a little… loud.”

  She laughed. “Understatement.”

  “Yeah. And sometimes a person like Lydie goes unnoticed.”

  She looked over at me. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I think she’s always felt kind of invisible. Jocelyn’s fucking brilliant, went through school on scholarships and now she’s a professor. My dad was so fucking proud of her, maybe because he barely made it through school himself. Never went to college or anything. And Julie’s always been the bubbly one who pulls everyone together, likes to bake and hand-make everyone’s Christmas presents, and she’s always been so bonded to Mom that way. And Sammy’s so cute. She’s always been popular, and she sings in a vocal group and plays guitar and dances…”

  “And then there’s you,” Amber said, her tone slightly accusatory.

  “Yeah.” I laughed. “There’s that.”

  “Big brother the rock-star-underwear-model. I could see how a girl could feel like she might disappear.”

  I grinned, but then got serious. “Thank you for taking an interest in her.”

  Amber looked genuinely surprised. “She’s interesting. And besides… she reminds me of you, actually.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Not the emo part. But there’s this thoughtfulness in her eyes. This deep, kind quality. She has your eyes.”

  “Does she?”

  “Yes.” A silence fell, and I could feel her eyes on me as I drove. “So why didn’t you tell me you were taking me there?”

  “Honestly?” I glanced at her. “Thought you might’ve been scared off if I told you.”

  “Uh, yeah.” She smiled, but then she looked away, the smile fading. “Guess you’re starting to figure me out then, huh?”

  I was.

  I was figuring out how she used her camera to distance herself from people. How she used it to protect herself, avoid getting close.

  How she often felt like she didn’t quite fit in.

  She was a lot like Ash that way.

  Ash used his rock star image, his player persona, his cocky attitude and crude tattoos to keep people out. And he’d always lived on the edge, keeping himself on the outside of things, not even wanting to fit in.

  But maybe that just helped to explain why I liked Amber so much. Because I’d been drawn to Ash from the first day I met him, too.

  Maybe I’d just always preferred the misfits.

  When I took Amber home to bed at the end of our date, and Ash was waiting up for us… and he joined us in my bedroom… It hit me that it felt kind of off. For the first time ever, I was so focused on her, on wanting her… it felt uncomfortable having him here, in my bed, while I was with a woman.

  I didn’t like the feeling.

  So I tried to ignore it.

  Amber had pulled out her camera when we were coming back on the boat, and she didn’t put it away when we got home. Her, taking photos of me, had become foreplay that we all enjoyed. She kneeled above me on the bed, taking photos of me laid out beneath her, as I slid my hands up her thighs, under her dress. And Ash started feeling her up.

  Clearly, he’d missed her, and I watched his hands roaming over her body, undressing her, until she couldn’t hold the camera steady anymore… caught between the arousal of watching him make her feel good, and that odd discomfort.

  I watched him remove the camera from her hand, pull her down to the bed, and fuck her. It was the only time, so far, that he’d fucked her in my presence before I did.

  And it turned me on.

  As always, I was transfixed by the pleasure I saw him giving her. But more than that…

  I was fascinated by her.

  And yes, I could feel myself starting to want her in ways I wasn’t used to wanting a woman.

  I wasn’t a caveman, but women, in my life, had always been for fucking and fun. Relationships were serious things. I wasn’t a serious guy. So for me, hanging with women was casual, or I didn’t bother with it.

  Sure, I’d been in love. Kinda-sorta, and briefly.

  But I’d never really been in love.

  I’d never really cared to be.

  I’d accused Ash of being jealous. But I was feeling it now, whenever he touched Amber: a twinge of serious jealousy like nothing I’d ever felt before.

  By the time he came, then rolled off of her, panting, and Amber reached for me, pulling me to her… it had me so worked up… so hungry for her and so fucking confused. I got so totally lost in fucking her… I almost forgot he was in the room.

  When she cried out my name as she came, it made me come… and for a moment there, I actually did forget.

  It was the hottest sex I’d had with Amber yet.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ash

  I was jealous. I could admit that to myself. Seeing Dylan and Amber coming back from their date last night, all aglow. They looked so fucking perfect together, and I could see how wrapped up in each other they were getting.

  Kinda blew me away that they still wanted me around, actually.

  After the three of us ate breakfast together, Amber walked Dylan down to the dock and kissed him goodbye before he got into his boat. It was a long, lingering kiss, and his hands were on her ass. She stood up on her tiptoes to give it to him, her body pressed up against his, arms wrapped around his neck.

  I watched it from his bedroom window, which was the only place the dock could be seen from either house. And yes, I’d gone straight up there when they left, so I could watch them.

  Then I watched Dylan take off in the Dirty Deed. I knew he’d be gone most of the day, rehearsing with Dirty at the church.

  When Amber came back into the house, I was already in the kitchen, pouring myself a coffee. “Any plans for today?” I asked her as she slid onto a stool at the island.

  She started making herself a pot of tea with the water I’d just boiled for her. “Not sure. I was thinking about going to see my mom later, maybe. I should really do that soon…” She didn’t sound enthusiastic about it. She leaned her chin on her hand and gazed at me. “And I still have some of the images from Katie’s art show to get through. I told her I’d have them to her by the end of the week.”

  “Or, you could hang out with me.”

  She smiled at me.

  I really wasn’t sure at what point she’d started doing that, but she had. Regularly.

  I also wasn’t sure at what point I’d started longing for those smiles, but every time she did it, it hit me straight in the gut. Gave me this weird bubbly feeling in my chest tha
t I really couldn’t remember feeling since I’d been with Summer. I’d totally forgotten about that feeling, actually. Or maybe I’d convinced myself it had never been real.

  But now here it was.

  Every time Amber Paige Malone smiled in my direction.

  About half an hour later, as I slowed my boat down in a secluded little tree-lined bay around the far side of the island, Amber, in the co-pilot seat, looked over at me. When I cut the engine and dropped the anchor, she gave me one of her bright smiles again.

  “So what are we doing here?” she asked, gazing around. It was dead quiet, other than the rhythmic lap of the water against the boat, and the odd bird. The coastline that swept around us was dense with trees, not a house or other boat in sight.

  “Absolutely nothing,” I said. I grabbed each of us a beer out of the cooler, cracked them open, and handed one to her.

  “Don’t you have work to do?” she asked me as she took the beer and reclined in her seat.

  “Nope.”

  I stripped off my long-sleeved Ramones shirt and stretched out on the floor, which was covered with clean but rough boat carpet. I lay my shirt down, then lay down on top of it. There was a cold breeze off the water, but down here, the wind was blocked. And the sun was out; it already felt warm on my chest.

  Amber sipped her beer, cozy in my hoodie, which was giant on her, with the hood flipped up over her hair, and I enjoyed how her pretty eyes moved slowly over my bare chest. “Like, don’t you have a band or something?”

  I frowned. “A band?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I heard, anyway.”

  “Hmm.” I pretended to search the recesses of my brain, shaking my head. “Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Really? I could’ve sworn you guys were called the Penny Pushers or something? Or maybe it was the Party Poopers. The Pickle Pumpers?”

  I laughed. “Shit. I’m calling the boys. We are definitely changing our name to the Pickle Pumpers, stat.” I dug my phone out of my pants and pretended to text that to someone.

  Amber grinned. “Seriously. Don’t you ever work? Or are you that ballin’ that you don’t even have to? On the rock star early retirement plan?”

  “I wish.” I stashed my phone away. “I’ve been writing. Got a new album in the pipeline. We’ll be getting together in the studio soon.”

  “Cool. Guess I should actually listen to some of your stuff.” She bit the side of her lip, looking adorably bashful. “I know some of Dirty’s music. But I don’t think I’ve heard yours.”

  “Don’t bother,” I said. “It’s shit.”

  She laughed. “What?”

  “Old news. You can wait ’til the new album comes out.”

  She shook her head at me, still smiling. “Okay?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe you can do a photo for the album cover or something.”

  She sat up, looking excited, though I wasn’t sure if it was an act or what. “For the Pickle Pumpers’ new album? I’d love to!”

  I grinned. “Perfect. So that’s one item down.” I pulled my phone back out and this time I did write a text, reading it aloud to her as I typed. “Just… hired… kickass… sexy… photographer… to… do… new… album… cover… SEND.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Just sent it to the band and our management company.”

  She laughed again. “Nice. You’ve got a concept in mind?”

  “I was kinda hoping you’d come up with that. I’m on the early retirement plan here.” I stretched in the sun, getting comfy again.

  “Hmm.” She sipped her beer, thinking. “Okay. Think I’ve got something here. Remember when the Red Hot Chili Peppers did that thing where they played shows wearing nothing but a sock on their penises?”

  “Sure. ‘Socks on Cocks.’”

  She giggled. “Right. And they wore them on the cover of an album, too, I think…”

  “Yeah, The Abbey Road E.P..”

  “Right. So I’m thinking something in that direction.”

  “I like it.”

  “BUT with pickles. Obviously.”

  “Obviously.”

  She snickered, sipping her beer. “We should really collaborate more often.”

  “Yup.” I threw my arm behind my head like a pillow, watching her. “So tell me. How was it working with Dirty yesterday?”

  “Good. I mean, I just photographed them a bit while they rehearsed. They were really nice about it, though, especially considering they had zero warning I was coming.”

  “Sounds like a classic Dylan move.”

  “He really operates on his own wavelength, huh?”

  “You know it. But I’ve never met a drummer who doesn’t. They’re always strange animals.”

  “Always?”

  “Always. And trust me, his band was nice to you because no one was gonna say anything to him in front of you. But they’re gonna bust Dylan’s balls today.”

  “About what?”

  “About you, sweetheart.”

  Her smile faded. “What? Why?”

  “Because the number of times Dylan Cope has ever brought a woman with him to any sort of band anything is exactly zero.”

  She blinked at me. “Really?”

  “Really,” I said, now wondering if I should’ve told her that. If it freaked her out, Dylan was definitely gonna be pissed at me for saying it. “I mean, he brought you there as a photographer, right? That’s probably what they’ll think.”

  That wasn’t what they’d think. But if she knew that, Amber didn’t say anything.

  “And how was the barbecue?” I asked, looking to change the subject.

  “Oh. It was great.”

  “Let me guess,” I said, reading between the lines of that response. “He didn’t tell you where he was taking you?”

  “Not so much.”

  “Damn.” I laughed a little. “Was it that bad?”

  “Not at all, actually. Dylan’s family is… Hang on. I’m searching for the right word.”

  “Intense?”

  “No.” She smiled. “Not exactly. I was thinking more along the lines of exuberant, in a good way. They’re so loving. Honestly, it kind of freaked me out at first.”

  “I know what you mean. First time I met his parents, they hugged me and called me ‘son.’ Don’t think anyone’s ever called me son.”

  “You’re close with his family?”

  “Pretty close. They come out here a lot. Hang out. His brother-in-law, Brad, works on my Camaro with me. We have ‘exuberant’ barbecues with ginger kids running all over the place.” She grinned at my use of her word. “Miss his dad, though. He was awesome.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  I shrugged. “Just a textbook awesome dad. Was always there for his kids, all five of them. Worked hard. Was totally involved in family life. Proud as fuck of his only son. He died pretty suddenly, about three years ago. Brain tumor. Just started acting strange overnight, like he wasn’t himself. Had headaches, stuff like that. It took him out fast, so at least he didn’t suffer too long. But it was hard. On everyone.”

  “Wow.” Amber processed that, shaking her head, her light-green eyes soft with sympathy. “And I get bummed sometimes because my dad can be kind of a jerk. I don’t know how Dylan stays so positive when he’s been through a loss like that. I think I’d still be grieving.”

  “That’s just Dylan. Not his nature to dwell. He doesn’t really do depressed.” I sat up and took a swig of my beer. “But trust me, he was heartbroken when his dad died.”

  Amber was silent a moment, looking at me. “You’re different that way,” she said. “I mean, you strike me as more of a dweller.”

  “You, too.”

  Her mouth twitched in a hint of a smile. “I guess that’s why he likes us?”

  “Huh?”

  “Because we’re kind of alike, you and me.”

  “We are?” I said, but by now, I kinda knew she was right.

  “I think you know we are,” she chal
lenged. “And for some reason, he likes whatever it is about us that’s different from him, maybe.”

  “Maybe.”

  “His mom told me a bit about your family,” she said, carefully. Maybe she wasn’t sure how I’d take that. “Your Aunt Ginny. The one on your fridge, right? She really likes her. Said she’s met her a few times.”

  “Yeah. Ginny’s kinda my angel.”

  Amber smiled at that.

  “She’s my dad’s sister. She’s been like a long-distance mom for me, all my life. She’s super Christian, really involved in her church, and family is important to her. She just always liked me, for whatever reason, looked out for me. She lives in Colorado, so I go visit her there whenever I can. Her and Uncle Joe and their little guy, Aidan. They’re pretty much my only family, so I try not to forget about them whenever shit with the band gets crazy and takes over.”

  Amber’s eyes had softened even more as she listened, and she said, “That’s nice, Ashley.”

  “Yeah. My dad raised me, technically, as in he provided me with a home and occasional meals, but he was kind of a deadbeat, and Ginny knew that. She’s his younger sister. I don’t know… somehow he didn’t inherit the same genes for giving a fuck. Until I started to become successful, anyway. Once I had a song on the charts and my picture in Rolling Stone, he took an interest.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Out east. He has a little shack out near Chilliwack, where he grew up. With his degenerate dad.”

  At that, Amber raised an eyebrow.

  “Trust me,” I said, “he’s a degenerate. But I like to think the Calegari men improve slightly with each generation.”

  Amber cocked her head a little but kinda smiled at me, sympathetically. “Slightly?”

  I shrugged.

  “Calegari? You’re Italian?”

  “The degenerate is. I’m a Player.”

  She just kept smiling and shook her head. “Right.”