Page 27 of Dirty Like Jude
I’d run into Ash a few times since then, but we’d really never talked much since that night. I wasn’t exactly crushed about it. Honestly, I figured he’d circle back around, eventually. Single dudes on the prowl pretty much always did. I had a Tinder account full of messages from horny dudes to proveit.
I never took those messages personally, just like I wouldn’t takethispersonally.
For one thing, Ash was very obviously inebriated. For another, I was going to assume that this—the nose kiss and the hug—had at least something to do with his best friend, Dylan, falling in love with Amber, a girl they’dbothbeen sleeping with; Jessa had recently filled me in on the latest Dirty drama and how MIA Ash had beenlately.
Even so, when he hugged me, I hugged him back. His body definitely pressed up against mine a little longer and a little harder than it needed to, but I couldn’t say I minded, exactly. Ash washot.
But I did not like men who playedgames.
Especially games that I couldn’twin.
I extracted myself from his arms, and after he’d told me how good I looked and gushed over me a bit in that way he did—kinda absently, like he was just putting the flattery out there and not really caring one way or another if I flattered him back—I let him know I was here to seeSummer.
I really didn’t want to miss my chance to talk to her. The next DJ had already taken over, and for all I knew she’d beelined straight out the back door the second she wentoffstage.
“Summer?” Ash said, both eyebrowsraising.
Then he took my hand, sliding his fingers through mine and yanking me through the crowd. He pulled me right past the bouncer at the entrance to a hall that shot behind the stage, a hall that was lined with people talking and drinking, some with staff shirts and others with thatI’m with the DJair aboutthem.
Ash knocked on a door along the hall, then tried the knob. He opened the door, telling some dude who was standing next to it and staring at us, “Five minutes,” then yanked me inside. “Suh-uh-uh-mmerrrrrr,” he sang out in his husky lead singer’s voice, even though Summer was right in front of us, standing alone in the smallroom.
She was taking off her crazy horned crown thing and turned to us, shaking out her thick, dark hair. “Roni,” she greeted me, pulling me in for a quick cheek kiss, which Ireturned.
“Hey,Summer…”
Before I could say more, Ash pulled Summer to him, his arm locked around her waist—pretty much like he’d done to me. He kissed her on the neck. Loudly.Repeatedly.
She shoved him off. Playfully—sortof.
“I found this lost kitten looking for you,” he told her, looking me over. He seemed to like the leatherleggings.
Summer cocked an eyebrow at me. “Yeah, Ash is really good at rounding up the lost pussy,” she informed me, dryly. Then she told him, “Go herd yourself somekittens.”
Ash did an obedient little salute thing, then stumbledout.
Summer shouted after him, not so playfully, “And stopdrinking!”
When he’d gone and shut the door, we looked at each other. I thought, for a moment, that she might say something about him. Something apologetic? Sympathetic? Something clever to gloss over the slight discomfort in theroom.
Or maybe it was justme.
I knew Ash was Summer’s ex-boyfriend. Clearly, he was sloppy drunk tonight. And who the hell knew how she felt about him or what she thought I might’ve been doing with him before we’d walked in here? Not me. But I was here to win her over, and now I wasn’t so sure if Ash getting me in to see her was a smart move ornot.
Though if he hadn’t, I wasn’t sure I would’ve even gotten in. There were a hell of a lot of people outside that door, waiting to party with DJ Summer. Many of them men who could offer her way more interesting companionship tonight than Icould.
I was about to say something, maybe open with a compliment—but she spokefirst.
“Welcome to my queendom,” she said, “and by that, I mean my mess.” She gestured around at her “dressing room,” which was, like the rooms reserved for talent in the backs of many clubs, pretty much as she’d called it—a mess. Random, somewhat broken furniture had been jammed awkwardly around a giant wall mirror and a makeup counter, where enough makeup for a dozen women had been laidout.
“Great show,” I said. “They should’ve had you playlonger.”
“They should always have me play longer,” she said, as she sat down to slip off her furry boots. “These things are hot as shit.” She sighed with relief as she kicked them aside. She had that mildly dazed, distracted, exhausted-but-wired look about her that a lot of performers did when they came offstage. Luckily, she didn’t look high, like some DJs did when I spoke to them during or after their sets; I really didn’t want to have this conversation with her while she was less than totallycoherent.
“Ah, but they look hot, too,” I said, speaking thetruth.
“Thankyou.”
“I spoke with the promoter on your New Year’s Eve show,” I informed her, as she slipped on a pair of black leather boots. It was only a white lie; so far, I’d spoken with his assistant. “Sounds like he’s going to let me buy him out. Which means I’m taking over the event, and my plan is to book the other DJs out to other parties intown.”
