Page 15 of Dirty Dylan: Dirty Dusters

I push the door open and step inside her apartment. I had to take the stairs as the elevator was out of service due to the lockdown. I tell myself that’s the reason my heart is pounding in my chest.

I swallow thickly as I look around the space. Her space. Everything is white and mirrored. It’s pristine and stunning. Just like her. Months later and it still smells newly painted. I like the smell. It’s clean and fresh with just a hint of Jessie.

Springtime.

“I’m through here, Dylan.”

After wiping my sweaty hands down the front of my jeans, I run one down my face. We could be locked down for a week. Maybe more. I need to get used to being in her company.

I follow her voice to the back of the apartment. As part of the fit-out, she specified that one room be large and windowless. I’m guessing that’s where she keeps her equipment, away from prying eyes. Even airborne ones.

Her subtle scent gets even more enticing as I approach the door. I can hear her now. She’s humming along toComfortably Numb.

I take her in as I push the room door open. She’s a vision in tight white jeans and a tank top, finished off with a pair of sneakers that have seen far better days. Her white-blonde hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She has her back to me, her attention focused on three giant wall-mounted screens, her hands gliding across them effortlessly. It’s like something from that oldMinority Reportmovie.

“This isn’t the sort of music I thought you’d be in to.”

She smirks at me over her shoulder. I feel my cheeks redden when I realize I’ve spoken my thoughts aloud.

She turns to fully face me, resting her backside against the narrow white table that’s been positioned directly below the middle display.

“And what did you expect me to listen to, Dylan?”

Jessie’s accent is like Jaine’s, but with a sprinkling of Irish mixed in, the soft lilt undoubtedly inherited from her daddy. I swear to The Almighty it’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. I stare at her, lost for words.

Enraptured. Captivated. Dumbstruck.

Not that it takes much for me to be the latter. I see a flicker of something cross her eyes. It’s understanding. She realizes how difficult this is for me. How uncomfortably numb I am right now trying to hold a conversation with a stranger which, in truth, is what she is. She continues when I don’t respond, so there’s no pressure on me to reply.

“I bet you’ve got me down as listening to heavy rock or thrash metal. Am I right? That you reckon I like to headbang in my spare time just because I’m a biker.”

I nod, my face reddening further when I realize I’ve assumed her music choices because of her background.

She smiles gently, but it’s forced, I can tell. I’m not too sure why. She then turns back towards her screens.

“See, that’s where you're wrong. Just because I’m from an MC life doesn’t mean I ride a hog and wear leather pants. I don’t. Or at least, not often.”

I watch, hypnotized, as she flicks across thousands of numbers on the screen, drilling down when she spots something of interest. Meanwhile, the other two displays are rolling with real-time data. I have no clue what or where from. For a nerd like me, it’s fascinating. I want to know more. I want to know how it all works. What makes it tick.

What makes her tick.

“I like classical music,” she continues to fill the silence. “Or anything I can have on in the background that doesn’t disturb my concentration. As you can see, I like to focus on what I’m doing with my hands at all times.”

She winks over her shoulder, her real smile returning when she takes in my worsening cheek situation. She probably knows I’m now thinking about her hands and what she could do with them.

To me.

“And then I like bands likePink Floyd, Dyl.”

She called me Dyl. She’s never called me that before. She glances at me over her shoulder once more. “You’re okay with me calling you Dyl?” She arches one sleek eyebrow on that beautiful face of hers with its elegant nose, pointed chin, and high cheekbones. She can call me whatever the fuck she likes, and I’ll answer. Any fucking thing at all. I’m not fussed.

I don’t say that aloud, though. I simply nod once more.

“Well, let’s be clear. You don’t get to shorten my name. You don’t get to call me Jess. And you definitely don’t get to call me Jay. Only my baby sister and people from my hometown call me Jay.”

CHAPTEREIGHT

JESSIE

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