Blur (Changing Colors Book 2) (33 page)

I raise an eyebrow. “Your women? How many women are we talking about?” Irrational jealousy stirs inside my belly.
His women?
Is he seeing other women? Has he been seeing other women?
God, I’m hopeless.
And really, it’s none of my business.

“Haven’t you read the latest gossip rag? I've got three wives, four baby mums, I’m in the middle of a hot and steamy love triangle, and I'm newly divorced from a waitress in Idaho. Irreconcilable differences. It's tough being on the road when your woman's sharing her cherry pie with every man that walks through the door.”

That gets a laugh from me.

“So what's my favorite girl been up to?”

His favorite girl.
I try not to put too much thought into that one.

“Not much. Just having a solo jam session.”

He sits up, rubbing his hands together in excitement. “Ohhhh, I'm game.” Dylan reaches for my guitar but I’m too quick, pulling it into my lap.

A pout tilts his mouth. His emerald eyes wreak havoc on my heart.

“I'm pretty sure no one invited you to this solo-jam-session-pajama-party.”

He looks down at his lap. “But I'm all dressed. Can't I get a pity invite?”

“You're relentless.”

He nods. His eyes search the room, seeing the half empty bottle of wine sitting on the nightstand. "And you started into the wine without me? What am I going to do with you?” Glancing towards the garbage can, he catches sight of the empty bottle of Moscato. “Damn woman, I'm hurt.”

He takes the bottle off the nightstand, taking a hearty drink. “But I'll let it slide since you let me see your cute arse in those little black knickers.”

“This is
so
wrong,” I blurt out, moving the guitar to cover as much of my underwear as possible.

“Nah, pretty baby,” he responds unfazed. “Sometimes friends just hang out in their underwear.”

Thank God for the wine or else I'd be sprinting towards the bathroom for reprieve. Or maybe that's what I should be doing?

He doesn’t give me time to contemplate this dilemma. “Name the one song that describes everything you’re feeling right now. Your current life theme song so to speak.”

I stare back at him, unsure if I should really say the first song that comes to mind.

“Out with it, Sawyer. And tell me the first one that came to mine, not the one you’re currently trying to think of.”

“God, I wish you weren’t so damn perceptive.” Or maybe I wish he were more perceptive. Maybe I wish he could see through the grey-tinted lens I’m using to cover his eyes from the truth. “Incubus,
If Not Now, When
.”

“Cryptic choice. Care to explain?”

I shake my head. When Incubus wrote that song, they weren’t even thinking about the meaning behind the words. They just opened themselves up to the creative process and let the lyrics and notes flow from their souls. Everyone has their own interpretation to
If Not Now, When
. And mine has everything to do with the man sitting across from me.

“You’re really not going to tell me?”

“Nope. Your turn, Bissette. Name your song.”

“Easy. James Bay,
Hold Back The River
.”

My heart flutters inside my chest. “That’s my favorite James Bay song.”

“Mine too.”

I tilt my head, eyes searching his. “Care to tell me why?”

His expression turns tender. “It’s not for me to tell, love. It’s for you to find out.”

The lyrics scroll through my mind. My mouth opens and closes as each word hits me square in the chest. My heart flutters no longer. A deep, seated ache takes its place, consuming my ability to speak. Abruptly, I hop up from the bed and stride towards the bathroom.

“You all right?” Dylan calls behind me.

“Uh huh. Just give me a sec.” My voice scratches against the tears in my throat. “I just need the ladies room.” Once I’m safely hidden inside the bathroom, I let the pent up tears slide down my cheeks.
Damnit, Brooke. Get it together.
I stare at my reflection. Cheeks flushed, lids reddened, I’m a mess. A sob bubbles up from my throat, but I swallow it down.

I’m not doing this right now.

I’m not going to lose it.

“You sure you’re okay, love?” he asks, voice just outside the door.

“Of course,” I answer, lips still trembling. I flip on the faucet and busy myself with scrubbing at my face with cold water. “I forgot to wash off my makeup,” I lie. “Help yourself to my wine. I’ll be out in a sec.”

His footsteps move away from the door. The bottle of wine clinks against the nightstand. And then his bare feet are tapping against the carpet, striding closer. “Name the one band that can always put you in a fantastic mood,” he says, voice near again.

“You first,” I demand, patting my face with a white hand towel. My face is still flushed, but at least I can act like it’s because I had to scrub off makeup.

“I asked first, Sawyer.”

I open the door and find Dylan leaning against the wall across from me. Feet crossed at the ankles and bottle of wine in his hand. God, he’s gorgeous. From his messy hair to the tops of his bare feet, he’s everything I find sexy put together into one delicious Dylan Bissette package.

He flashes that sexy smirk. “Both on three?”

I shrug. “Okay.”

Dylan holds up each finger. “One…two…three…”

“Matt and Kim.”

“Matt and Kim.”

“Get out of my head!” I giggle.

He grins, chuckling softly. “I saw them live in London. They were brilliant. They're energy just consumes you. The entire show was just one giant party.”

I walk towards the bed, sitting on the edge. “I love their music videos. They're creative genius is perfection.”

He makes himself comfortable at the head of the bed, fluffing the pillows and getting cozy on my hotel bed.

Grabbing my guitar, I start playing the opening chords to Matt and Kim’s
It's Alright
.

I'm not sure why I choose this song, but it fits. Dylan and I sitting around in our underwear, we might as well be reenacting the music video for this song.

He grins, catching my drift. Those hypnotic vocals of his join mine, singing along.

I giggle when he starts messing around on the bed, doing his own reenactment of Matt and Kim's music video for
It’s Alright.

Lying on my back and still strumming my guitar, I join in, copying his goofy dance moves with my legs. We’re both laughing through the lyrics. He looks over at me, smiling, green eyes sparkle in the light. I’m cracking up—damn near snorting in laughter—when he flips to his belly, banging his hands against the pillows to the beat.

Before I can stop myself, I sit on his back, still strumming away on my guitar. I miss a few notes when I shift position to straddle his back. I’m just going to chalk this up to wanting to do the music video justice.

Yeah, that has to be it…

There’s a part in video, where for about twenty seconds, the camera flashes to Matt and Kim posing in various sexual positions, underwear still on. And when Dylan turns to his back, his body still beneath mine, I envision taking part in those positions.

His hands grip my thighs, gemstone eyes staring up at me.

I’m thankful my ass is resting on his belly instead of his…um…yeah. If I had to feel him hard and ready underneath me, while finishing out this song, I would be a lost cause. I know I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from giving in to this palpable sexual tension.

The song ends.

My chest heaves up and down, out of breath and flustered by his presence.

His tongue sneaks out, running across his bottom lip as green eyes move down my body. Then his gaze comes back to mine. We stare at each other for a good thirty seconds.

“We jam so good,” he muses. One hand reaches up, brushing a lose curl from my face.

I nod, still trying to regain my composure. Between the wine and Dylan’s abdomen between my thighs, I’m finding it pretty damn hard to stop myself from tossing my guitar to the floor and ravaging him.

Somehow, I manage. Some-fucking-way, I pull my shit together and stop myself from dry humping him. “Just call us Matt and Kim,” I tease.

He smirks. “I like the sound of that, Kim. I'll be your Matt anytime.”

Poleaxed. That guts me. I want him to be my Matt. Anyone that's seen the relationship between those two would know why. They are one of the best musical couples out there. It’s obvious how much they love and adore each other.

Their relationship is easy, free, and undeniably theirs.

They are their own brand of perfect.

I want that kind of relationship, that kind of love. I want someone who really gets me.

And even though I can’t admit it out loud, that’s what Bright Eyes is to me. It’s like he has a secret channel into most of my thoughts—almost always knowing what’s on my mind or what I’m thinking. He’s the guy who will go out of his way to cheer me up. The guy who sends random texts comparing me to the awesomeness of Mario Kart just to make me smile. Hell, he never hesitates to act like an ass just to make me laugh.

I’ve never really had that. Not even with Jamie. Something bigger than us had brought us together. A different kind of love only we understand.

“This is my favorite Brooke,” he whispers.

I’m yanked back in the moment. “What?”

“This Brooke.” He pats my thighs. “The one that's got her hair thrown up in a messy bun and has music bleeding from her soul. The Brooke that doesn't have secrets filling her pretty eyes.”

Discomfort settles under my skin. I shift off him, standing up from the bed. Chest aching, I keep my back to him as I set my guitar against the wall.

He’s pushing me. Forcing me to see something I’m continually trying to dodge.

Bright eyes is my brand of perfect
, my heart whispers.

“Are you okay?” he questions, worry lacing his voice.

“I need to pee again,” I mumble, striding back into the bathroom.

My elbows rest on the sink as I stare at myself in the mirror.

Cheeks flushed, chest heaving, I’m a mess.
Again.

All of these feelings are rushing towards the surface. These feelings, the raw emotions only one person can spur within me.

But I can’t tell him.

Can’t act on them…
again
.

I can’t have him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Once my heart rate is back to normal, I walk out of the bathroom.

He’s sprawled out on the bed, enjoying re-runs of
Friends.
“I think you need to cut back on the wine, love. It’s wreaking havoc on your poor bladder,” he teases.

No, you’re wreaking havoc on my
heart
.
“Good idea.”

Phoebe starts singing Smelly Cat, and it makes me giggle. Grabbing a room service menu, I sit on the bed beside him. “Hungry?”

“Do I like oxygen?”

“Me too. One of everything off the menu?”

He smiles. “Like where your head’s at, Sawyer.”

And that's how we finish our night. We gorge on room service and fall asleep watching reruns of
Friends
. He doesn’t push anymore. Doesn't say anything that spikes my anxiety. We just hang out, purely platonic, laughing and joking.

Well, besides the sitting around in our underwear, and the constant sexual tension that seems to flow between us. Yeah, besides that, Dylan and I are just textbook friends.

Dylan

Tucking Brooke in, I place a soft kiss on her forehead before leaving her hotel room. I stood at her bedside like a complete creeper, just staring, taking in the beauty of her sleeping. Her long eyelashes rested against her face. Her chest rose and fell with soft breaths.

She makes me feel like I’m home. Wherever Brooke is, it’s exactly where I want to be. It’s crazy to feel this way about someone who isn’t mine, but I’ve lost the battle. I’m addicted, metaphorically strung out on her. I wish I could plead insanity to these charges. But I can't. I’m guilty. No contest. I
want
to love her. I can’t imagine living the rest of my life
without
loving her.

On my way back to the room, I pass the guys heading back from the bar. Jesse stops in his tracks. His eyebrows rise in surprise. “Late night?”

You could say that. “Propose to Lucky?”

“Nah, you left before I met Cheyenne. I got her number and plan on hitting her up the next time I’m in the Big Easy.” He waggles his eyebrows.

I laugh. My brother is the most spontaneous person I’ve ever known. He loves hard and falls harder. “Drummer marries stripper? Sounds like a match made in rock ‘n roll heaven.”

He smirks. “Don't knock on my girl.”

“I thought Lindsay was your girl?”

“Keep up, Dylana. I’ve got a big heart and an even bigger cock. There’s plenty of me to go around.” Jesse smirks. “And Cheyenne is a sweetheart.”

“I’m sure she is. She'll make a beautiful bride. Shall I call mum and tell her to start planning the wedding?”

“Fuck you very much, arse wipe.”

“I love you too, Jess. I can't wait to stand at the altar, supporting you on your big day. You think Cheyenne’s friends will help me plan your stag night?”

“Full of jokes tonight.”

I chuckle.

“So where were you?”