Dylan saw red. “Stay the fuck out of the water,” he yelled at them. “Joy, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Something daring!”

No shit. Damn her. Why skinny-dipping? Why not something a ton less provocative and a hell of a lot safer? She could have totally rocked a handstand in the middle of Route 66.

“Get out of the water. No, wait. Don’t move.” He rubbed his face with both hands. He didn’t like the idea of her naked with SpongeBob and Patrick nearby. He didn’t trust them. Obviously she hadn’t thought this through.

He let his arms fall. “Okay, you’ve had your fun.”

“Toss me my suit.”

And risk exposing her boobs when she tried to catch it? Not a chance in hell.

Dylan picked up her suit and waded into the water.

Joy’s eyes bugged out. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you doing?” she squeaked.

Something daring. “Bringing you your suit.” Obviously, he wasn’t thinking any straighter than Joy.

“Stay right there,” she ordered when he came within arm’s reach.

He held out her suit, letting it dangle from his index finger. “You didn’t put much thought into this, did you?”

Joy snagged the bikini. “No, I didn’t, or I’d get cold feet. Now shut up and turn around.”

He did. He also positioned himself between Joy and the numbskulls leering from shore. Dylan wanted to punch the lecherous grins off their faces. “Why’d you do this?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Judy never had the chance, that’s why.” She splashed to shore and bundled up in her towel. SpongeBob and Patrick clapped. Joy bowed dramatically. She then dried her hands and crossed out do something daring on the list.

“Feel good to get that one over with?” he asked dryly, scooping up his towel.

“So good.”

“Ready to get out of here?”

“So ready.”

Good, because he needed a cold shower.

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 17

AFTER

Dylan

Dylan settles in the chair across from Chase’s desk. Fresh off a weeklong trip to New York, he drove straight from LAX to Westfield Records on Sunset Boulevard. Their digs aren’t glamorous—three floors of studios and offices in a concrete box of a building with reflective glass windows. But the place serves its purpose, having pumped out some ridiculously sick top-grossing talent and chart-topping tracks.