Page 41 of How to Love a Rockstar

Dylan nudges me out of the way. “I’ll help him.”

I fist my hands on my hips. “I never pegged you for a male chauvinist pig.”

“Not a chauvinist pig. But I do want to show off my muscles for you.”

He flexes his biceps and I have to admit they are pretty impressive. Especially the arm with the tattoo. I was jealous of those girls’ names inked on his arm before but my jealousy vanished when I realized those names are his sisters’.

“Fine. You’re not a chauvinist pig. You’re a pretty boy.”

He gasps. “Pretty boy? I am not a pretty boy.”

“If the veneers fit.”

“I am not some vain Hollywood actor with veneers.”

“Especially not after he lost his front tooth in that bar fight,” Cash hollers.

“Bar fight? You were in a bar fight?”

“It was Cash’s fault.” Dylan leans close to whisper-shout. “It’s why his nose isn’t perfect anymore.”

“Indy says the bump on my nose makes me appear distinguished.”

Dylan snorts. “Because she’s love blind.”

“You’re just jealous because you’ve never been votedTime’s sexiest man alive.”

“Neither have you.”

“Is this how they act all the time?” I ask Fender. He grunts in response. “I’ll assume your grunt is a yes.” He winks.

“Fender,” Dylan growls at him. “No.”

No what? No grunting. He grunts all the time. Hold on. Does he mean the wink? Is he angry at Fender for winking at me? Is he jealous?

I should probably be annoyed at the idea of him being jealous. But I’m not. Someone wants me? And doesn’t want anyone else to have me? It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Fender barks out a laugh. “Too easy,” he says and begins carrying the table away.

Since Dylan’s holding the other side of the table, he’s forced to help Fender. As they move the table to a different area, my eyes are glued to Dylan’s ass moving in his jeans. I’ve always had a thing for men in faded jeans. Although, I have a thing for everything Dylan related.

Enough obsessing over the rockstar. I scan the room to figure out how I can help. The men are moving the tables. I guess I can do the chairs.

I pick up the closest chair and start to carry it to where they’re stacking the tables. Dylan snags it from me. “Thanks,” he says with a wink.

I sigh before returning for another chair. This one he steals from me before I manage to lift it.

I throw my arms in the air. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Beer run!” Gibson shouts.

Dylan frowns. “No beer but some coffee would be nice.”

“And maybe some of those amazing chocolate cupcakes fromBake Me Happy,”Jett adds.

“Here.” Dylan sets the chair down and digs out his wallet.

I place a hand on his wrist to stop him. “I got it.”

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