Blur (Changing Colors Book 2) (31 page)

No matter how hard I try to act like it, we’re not just friends. The friends-ship sailed a long time ago. Hell, it’s docked somewhere between our magnetic attraction and me eventually giving in to the incessant need to ravage the fuck out of her. I know it, and I feel like somewhere deep down in her beautiful soul, she knows it too.

She pulls away too soon, leaning back into my arms and staring up at me. “I think we need a drink, and I’m sure your brother has interrogated our server long enough to find a good spot to get one.”

I nod, refusing to let go of her little waist. She’ll have to make the first move to disconnect us. “Does Wallace & Wright Records foot the bill for drinking and debauchery too?”

“As long as we engage in some album related conversation, I’m pretty sure we can consider it a prolonged business dinner—which moved to an alternate location—because it’s hard finding an establishment that wants to stay open past four in the morning.” She winks.

My brow furrows in surprise. “We’re staying out past four tonight?”

“Get your big girl panties on, Dylan. The bars in Louisville stay open until four and who are we to question their authority on when it’s time to go home?”

I shake my head on a laugh. “You’re full of surprises tonight.”

I doubt she’ll make it past one. Since we’ve been touring, this girl has been more of an early riser than a night owl. Her eyes almost always become sleep-filled by midnight.

“Don’t get that look,” she declares, finger pointed in my direction. “I
will
make it to the end of the night.” Determination shines bright in her golden eyes.

“One more drink, and I bet you’ll be calling it a night,” I retort, smirking down at her. My fingers still grip her waist.

She scrutinizes my face. “How much?”

“You wanna put a wager on this, Sawyer?”

She nods, stepping back and crossing her arms.

I slide my hands in my pockets. “Count me in. Name your terms.”

“You’re agreeing to the bet without even knowing what you’ll have to do when you lose?”

“Me losing?” I chuckle. “That’s not how this will play out.”

Her eyes crinkle in irritation. “All right, Bissette. If I win,
which I will
, you have to play the didgeridoo for me.”

“
The fucking didgeridoo
…Seriously, Brooke? The last time I played the didge, I was twenty, and there was a lot of weed floating around the room.”

Christ, I knew that one would come back to bite me in the arse.
During one of our late night tour bus chats, I might have mentioned my amateur talent in playing the didge. Figures she’d put that bit of info in her back pocket for a later date.

“Yes. You’ve already agreed to this bet so…” she pauses, a smug smile kissing her lips. “Man up, Bissette. You and the didgeridoo are going to get reunited…
and it feels
sooooo gooooood
,” Brooke quietly sings the rest of the chorus for Peaches & Herb’s hit song.

She couldn’t be any fucking cuter if she tried.

“All right, all right, you’ve made your point…” I try to interrupt, but she keeps on singing.

“If you win, I’ll play the bloody didgeridoo,” I declare, once I let her finish the chorus for the second time. I manage to keep an annoyed look on my face during her sarcastic solo, but I’m far from annoyed. I could listen to Brooke sing for days, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

The biggest, self-assured grin crests her mouth.

“Don’t get too excited. I still have to choose what you’ll do when I win.”

“Let’s hear it.” She gestures with an impatient hand.

I stay silent, acting like I really have to think about it. I don’t. I knew what I wanted the second she said
how much.

That impatient hand of hers makes its way to my shoulder, shoving in frustration. “Oh come on, just spit it out. I know how your brain works. I’d lay money on the fact that you already know what you want. It’s written all over your self-satisfied face.”

She’s getting riled, and I love it. A frustrated Brooke equals a feisty Brooke, which equals a sexy as hell Brooke.

“You want to bet on the bet we’re currently betting on? How does that even work? Do I have to come up with two wagers then?”

She sighs, rolling those pretty golden eyes heavenward. “Stop screwing with me and just name your price.”

I chuckle. “Okay. If I win,
which I will
, you’re going to join me on stage again. New Orleans, baby, you and I will bring back
Touch My Body
.”

“Is it too late to say the whole bet thing was just a joke?” she asks, eyes begging to be let off the hook.

I shake my head.

“Your fans don’t want to hear us sing
Touch My Body
. Well, maybe they’d tolerate you singing, but me?
Hell no.
Careless Cockups’ fans will boo me off the stage.”

Determine to get her on stage with me again, I cut her a little slack. “How about I’ll choose a different song? Something more mainstream. Maybe I’ll even let you have the last say…”

She ponders for a second or two, her gaze still busy scrutinizing my face. Brooke isn’t thinking about a song choice, she’s still trying to extricate herself from our bet.

Sorry, Little Wing, that’s not happening.

“Okay,” she blurts out. “Okay, I’m still in, but I’m saying a big, fat fuck no to anything Mariah Carey.”

If I could fist pump in this moment without looking like a cunt, I would.

“All right…” I pause, grinning. “I’ve decided. I know exactly what we’ll sing.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Let’s hear it.”

“In honor of your love of pop princesses, I’m choosing something by one of
my
hometown favorites. Major Lazer’s
Powerful
with the lovely Ellie Goulding.”

Brooke lets out a humorless laugh. “Are you serious?”

I wink. “As a heart attack, love.”

“Because I like that song
and
I’m curious to see what you’ll do with Tarrus Riley’s vocals, count me in.” She holds out her hand, making it official. “Shake on it?”

It takes all of my strength to hide my shock. I was all too ready for Brooke to get stubborn and withdrawn. I was ready for those walls to slide back into place. I was ready for everything but her agreeing.

Smirking, I shake my head, and draw her into another hug. “Friends don’t shake hands like they’ve just made a business transaction. Friends hug, pretty baby. Didn’t you know that?” I whisper into her ear.

She laughs. “You know what I’m thankful for?” she asks quietly.

“What?” I hug her tighter.

“Having met you, and Nutella. I
really fucking
like Nutella.” Her face is pressed against my chest. I can feel her grin through the material of my shirt.

Laughing, I agree, “Nutella is bloody brilliant.”

“My sentiments exactly,” she adds, and then leaves my arms Brooke-less.

I glance around the room while she signs the receipt, recognizing most of our group has left the private room. Only a few people linger to finish off their drinks.

Of course, my brother is one of them. He chugs the last of his beer, slamming the empty glass on the table. “Let’s get out of here so these wonderful people can close up.” He smirks like a cocky son of a bitch. “Get your purse, Dylana and meet us at Nach Bar. I’ve got a few rounds of shots with my name and wallet on them!” He shouts over his shoulder, heading through the door.

“Ready?” Brooke is at my side.

I nod, putting my arm over her shoulder and ushering us out of the restaurant.

We manage to spot a few of the blokes from our impatient group, and proceed to follow them towards the bar. I keep Brooke tucked into my side the entire time, refusing to let space get between us. My eyes peruse the streets of downtown Louisville as we walk, but my mind stays on her.
Story of my life.

We reach a small line outside the bar, only a few people stand in front of us, waiting to show their ID’s to the bouncer. Sure, I could name-drop my band, but there are three people in line.
Three people
. Even if my band continues to gain popularity, even if we hit record-breaking status, I refuse to turn into that kind of twat.

“You know our little bet is a win-win scenario for me right?”

“Huh?” She tilts her head, confusion etched on her face.

I lean down, whispering into her ear. “I’ll walk out of this bet winning no matter what. If I win, I’ll probably have to carry your cute arse back to the hotel,
and
you’ll finally get on stage with me. If I lose, I’ll have to play the didgeridoo …
for you
…” I add a poignant pause, watching her face closely. “I’d play a goddamn shoe horn for you. So believe me when I say playing the didgeridoo for you isn’t a burden by any stretch of the imagination.”

Her mouth forms a tiny of ‘O.’ It opens and closes a few times as if she wants to say something, but doesn’t have the words.

I like that reaction.

Scratch that, I
love
that reaction. I love that Brooke looks flustered. It reminds me of the métro. It reminds me of Paris. And it gives me hope. It proves my words mean something. I’ll take that over her being indifferent or her throwing the red flag any day of the week.

“Ready to let Jesse buy us shots even though we could put the tab on that Black Card sitting pretty in your purse?” I want to get her mind off of what I just said. I don’t want Brooke flustered for the rest of the night. I want her happy, relaxed, and carefree.

I want my Paris
Brooke back.

“That’s a rad plan,” she agrees, looking at me with a genuine smile.

“Everything is rad tonight, love.”

MAD SOUNDS, Blonde Curls, and Black Leather

StyleIT.com

Who knew black leather and cut-off t-shirts could be so hot? Brooke Sawyer simply
stunned us during last night’s episode of Mad Sounds. She wore the perfect concert look at Careless Cockups’ show at Headliners in Louisville.

The record producer, 28, wore a vintage Sex Pistols cut-off tee paired with sexy black leather pants. Black peep toes and a red clutch completed the ensemble nicely.

Sawyer’s beauty game was on point with a tasteful smoky eye and bright pink lips. She kept her gorgeous blonde curls low maintenance, loose and flowing, resting softly on her shoulders.

Brooke’s go-to spot for clothes is her sister’s Santa Monica boutique, Wild Spirit. “It’s my favorite place to shop! Wild Spirit always has one of a kind pieces, some by up and coming designers, and others, pure vintage.”

When asked for the name of her stylist, she simply said, “I don’t need a stylist. I have my sister. Ember is a genius. Plus, she has way better taste in clothes than I do. If it wasn’t for her, I’d probably be wearing cut-off jean shorts and raggedy t-shirts every day.”

What do you think of Brooke Sawyer’s ensemble? Tweet with @StyleITnow using the hashtag #StyleITnow

Here’s what a few of our readers had to say.

@MYlookMYway

#StyleITnow Brooke is fierce. #NoSleepTillBrookeDylan

@FashionIsME

#StyleITnow She’s looking hot for Dylan. No doubt about it.

#TeamBlackLeatherPants #TeamBrooke

@OptimismIsTheNewBlack #StyleITnow Brooke = fab. But can we talk about how flirty her and Dylan were? #celebritylovetriangle #whataboutjamie

@CurvyMamaandProud @OptimismIsTheNewBlack #StyleITnow Let’s talk about Dylan carrying Brooke back to the hotel! #SomethingIsUp #MadChemistry

Dylan

New Orleans has welcomed us with opened arms tonight. Second Hand Girls just finished up their set, and the crowd at The Howlin’ Wolf is ripe for the taking. The four of us are waiting stage right while our crew gets things ready.

Nigel strides towards us. “All right, why is Brooke backstage looking like she’s about to chunder?” He smirks, visibly amused. “Tell me she was in sound check for a reason. Tell me she’s making an appearance on stage.” He just arrived in New Orleans about an hour ago and missed our sound check because of a delayed flight from LAX.

Jesse chuckles. “Our girl lost a bet.”

Nigel’s smirk turns to mega-watt grin. “What’s she owe?”

“A duet with yours truly,” I answer, fighting my own smile. A part of me feels a little bad she’s standing backstage fighting nerves, but another part of me is thrilled she’ll be gracing the stage tonight.