I chuckled. “I’m sure she would.”
“We’re sistas. You don’t mess with that.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I love her to death.”
“Dylan is my best friend,” I admitted. I didn’t usually talk to just anyone about him or the other members of Dirty. They were crazy-famous, and I respected their privacy. But it seemed fair, since she was being open with me. “Dylan Cope. How well do you know Dirty?”
“I don’t know them. I knowofthem. I do have some of their songs in my iTunes…”
“And she hits him where it hurts.”
She smiled a little. “Just being honest.”
“Good. Keep doing that.”
She helped herself to some more Brussels sprouts. Girl had an appetite.
I liked that, too.
“How long have you known Dylan?” she asked me.
“About seven years.”
“And were you always close? Did you hit it off right away?”
“Yeah. Right away.”
“How did you meet him?”
“At a festival called DreamWarp. Ever heard of it?”
“No.”
“It’s this massive music festival in England. I was playing on one of the smaller stages with the Penny Pushers, he was playing on the main stage with Dirty. He actually saw our show and came up to me afterwards. We got talking, drinking, and we were pretty much inseparable after that. Actually, I’m heading over there in a couple of days. Dirty’s playing DreamWarp again and they’ve asked me to join them onstage for a few songs. I play there with them whenever they go.”
“Wow. That sounds like fun.”
“Oh, it’ll be fun.”
She gave me a look I couldn’t interpret. “I kind of can’t believe you’re sitting here with me right now.”
“Why?”
“Well, when you say things like that, it’s kind of hard to digest that I’m eating Brussels sprouts with a guy who’s gonna rock a huge stage in a few days.”
“Hey, even stunningly talented rock stars need interior decorators, right?”
She laughed a bit. “Apparently.” She took the second-last Brussels sprout from the serving plate and deliberately left the last one for me. “So, what are you doing after that? After the festival?”
“I’m coming back here and working. Eat,” I said, and scooped the last sprout onto her plate.
“Working on what?”
It wasn’t something I’d tell just anyone. But fuck it. She had nothing to do with the music business…
“You can’t post it on your Facebook page or anything.”
