Blur (Changing Colors Book 2) (40 page)

Two songs later, I’m cracking up and losing myself to the music. Dancing like my life depends on it. Beads of sweat pepper my forehead, and a giant smile consumes my face. I miss moments like these with Lindsay.

She crooks her finger towards me. “Come here. I want to share something with you.”

I follow her lead, away from the DJ booth, through Frankie’s bedroom, and out onto the private rooftop deck that’s void of partygoers. The Manhattan skyline glimmers and glistens like a mirage. I pinch my arm just to remind myself it’s real. I doubt I’ll ever be immune to this picturesque view.

A quote from
The Fountainhead
resonates within me.
“I would give the greatest sunset in the world for one sight of New York's skyline."

Ayn Rand was right. This view never disappoints. The sparkling lights and towering skyscrapers electrify.

I sit beside Lindsay, gaze still fixated on the skyline.

She holds her closed palm out to me. “Shut your eyes and give me your hand.”

My expression is skeptical.

“Just do it, okay? I’ve got a surprise.”

I relent, closing my eyes, and holding my opened hand out to her.

She drops two things into my palm. One is light as a feather. The other is a little heavier and cooled from the crisp night air. “Open your eyes.”

At first glance, I think it’s just a cigarette and a lighter, but the shit-eating grin on her face has me doing a double take.
Oh, fantastic.
I had part of it right. It is, in fact, a lighter, but
a joint
accompanies it. “What the hell, Linds?” I laugh.

“I thought you said you wanted to get white girl wasted tonight?” My best friend is still smiling, visibly enjoying my surprise.

“I said
you were white girl wasted
. As in present tense, it’s already happening.”

She grabs the paraphernalia from my hand. “Well, pretty lady, I’d say it’s time to get white girl wasted
to-getha
.” Lindsay slides the joint between her lips, lighting it, and taking a long drag. She holds it in for a good five seconds, before a cough overcomes her. Clouds of smoke push from her mouth, blowing straight into my face.

“Been a while,
Puff The Magic Dragon
?” I giggle. “Dear God, where are you? I think you’ve blinded me with your inability to hold your weed in.” My hands push the smoke from my face in exaggerated swipes.

Lindsay laughs. “Do you want to know where I got this from?”

My eyebrow rises in skepticism. “I don’t know,
do I
? I feel like your answer could go either way, here.”

“Oh, chill out, crazy. It’s not laced with anything. At least I don’t think Millie would gift me laced Mary Jane,” she teases, taking another drag.

It takes a minute for my brain to catch up.
No fucking way.
“Hold up…” I snatch the joint out of her hands, staring down at it. “Repeat what you just said.”

Her lips crest into a lazy grin. “I was gifted a generous amount of weed from Millie.”

“
Seriously?
”

“Yep.” She nods, giggling. “Your crazy ass grandmother had her lawyer mail this to a random PO address in New York City after she passed away. Apparently, it was in her will. I got a letter a few weeks after her funeral with specific instructions.”

My jaw hits the deck. “Millie had a weed clause in her will? Am I high?”

She giggles. “I don’t know, are you?”

Even I’m smiling at the absurdity of my question. “Considering I’m smoking out with Puff The Magic Dragon, there’s a good chance.”

“Well, well, well. Looks like the party has started without us.”

Oh God, I know that English brogue…

Lindsay and I turn, finding Dylan and Jesse walking towards us. They’re both grinning, eyeing the joint in my hand.
Son of bitch.
This is the second instance in too short a time frame that Dylan has seen me in a situation where pot is involved. And both times, my beloved grandmother is to blame. This is probably Millie’s version of haunting me from the grave.

I look at my best friend, shrugging my shoulders. “Go big or go home, eh?”

She nods, giggling. Good Lord, awfully giggly for someone who’s taken all of three hits…

I scrutinize her face, taking in the lazy smile and heavy eyelids. “This isn’t your first joint of the night, is it, Puffy?”

She giggles…again. “Jesse and I indulged a little earlier this evening.”

“Was this before or after beer pong?”

Lindsay shrugs. “Does it matter?”

“You’re an asshole.” I wave the joint in her face, standing up. “Because of that I’m commandeering your weed.”

“What? Why?”

“First of all, we’re terrible at beer pong
sober.
Second, I didn’t even want to play, but
you
dragged me into it. So, yes, darling, you owe me this.” I slip the joint between my lips, inhaling a nice drag. Leaning my head back, I release the smoke from my lungs. “And I accept your apology.”

“I didn’t even apologize!”

I grin. “No, but Mary Jane just did.”

Dylan chuckles behind me. His arms wrap around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder. “Mind sharing, love?”

“You, yes, but those two,
fuck no
.”

“Hey, now! How’d I get pulled into this?” Jesse questions, holding his arms out.

I shrug, handing the joint to Dylan. “Sorry, but you’re guilty by association. You’re
her
Cockelgänger.”

Lindsay giggles. “That’s right, Cockelgänger. You’re mine.”

Jesse grins, striding towards my best friend and pulling her to her feet. “Christ, you drive me fuckin’ insane. Let’s go, crazy. I’ve got something
real
special to show you.”

She smiles, fighting the giggles wanting to bubble up from her throat. “I hope it’s
huge
. And
hard.
And—”

“We get it, you horny bastards,” I interrupt. “For the love of God, go find a bedroom.”

Jesse wraps his arm around her waist, gripping her ass, and leads her back inside.

“I’m praying they find a spare bedroom. I don’t feel like walking in on those two banging it out,” I admit out loud.

“Preachin’ to the choir, Sawyer. I’d prefer to go the rest of life without seeing my brother’s bare arse again.”

I turn in his arms. My hands rest on his shoulders. “Again? As in it’s happened before?”

Dylan grins. “Jesse made a point to shag anything in a skirt in college. We shared an apartment. Believe me, I’ve seen more of my brother than I’ve ever wanted to.”

The joint pulses orange and red as he inhales a slow pull. His chest expands as he holds the smoke deep in his lungs. He tilts his head down, cupping his hands around my mouth. Warm smoke is slowly blown into the space between his hands. I suck it in, tasting sweet and sour against my tongue. As soon as I exhale, my head turns fuzzy, body warming in the crisp night air.

I feel so good. My eyelids are heavy as I take in Dylan’s face. He’s sliding the joint between his lips again, taking a slow drag. He smirks down at me, before leaning his head back and blowing the smoke up into the dark sky. It billows around us.

His lashes swipe downwards, kissing his cheeks.
God, he’s so fucking hot.

Dylan tilts his head, mouth turning up at one corner and forcing my favorite dimple to peek out and wave at me. “What was that, love?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

A brow rises, refuting my claim. “I could have sworn you said,
God, he’s so fucking hot.”

I’m buzzy. Hell, I’m white girl wasted. The filter that should rest between my brain and mouth has left the building. “I said that?”

He nods, grinning down at me.

“I was thinking about Captain America,” I blurt out.
Am I really talking about superheroes right now?

“Huh?”

“You know, Captain America. Well, Chris Evans playing Captain America. He’s so fucking hot.” Hells bells, that sounded like utter bullshit.

He laughs. “For some reason, I don’t believe you.”

“Who did you think I was talking about?”

Dylan doesn’t respond. He just shakes his head, taking another drag. His hands find their way to my cheeks again, cupping around my mouth. And then he’s leaning towards me, nose pressed against mine, as he slips the smoke into my lungs. His lips touch mine, but he doesn’t kiss me. He merely grazes his mouth against mine, but doesn’t pull away.

And I don’t pull away.

I don’t want him to pull away.

I want him to kiss me.

I want him to do a lot of things to me in this moment, and none of them include us merely holding our lips against one another. I wish he’d move. I wish he’d slide his hands into my hair and ravish me.

But he doesn’t.

As the smoke slowly escapes my lungs, he leans back, grinning down at me.

The last hit takes hold. My head spins around like a withered leaf from a tree. I blink a few times, trying to push the hazy fog from my vision.

“You okay, love?”

I don’t know, am I?

Dylan laughs, smiling down at me. That perfect dimple waves at me again, and I can’t stop myself from my smiling back. “I’m high. I’m like
really high
.”

“Yeah, baby, you are.” His eyes are tender, face relaxed.

I feel like I’m hovering above us, a mere outsider looking inside someone else’s dream. I wish he were mine to kiss and love and cherish. In another life, under different circumstances, I would be the one he calls baby. He would be mine and I would be his. And I would get to kiss and love and touch him whenever I wanted.

Baby. I love that. I love him.

“What do you love?”

“The way you always say the right things,” I mumble. My limbs are heavy. I must have gained a hundred pounds in the last twenty minutes. I think everything would feel better horizontal. Yeah, that’s a good idea. Vertical is overrated anyways.

Dylan

Brooke sprawls out onto the deck; arms and legs stretched out in the most unladylike manner. Her cheeks are flushed pink and lips like cherries, begging me to bite. Her eyes fall closed, long lashes resting against her cheeks. Even high and half asleep, she’s still smiling.

“You still with me, Brooke?” I lie down beside her, turning my face to continue watching her, breathing her in.

“Uh huh.” She giggles.

That laughter is the best.
Beautiful, silly, Little Wing.
A grin consumes my lips.

She rests her hand on top of mine. I entwine our fingers, resting our joined hands against my chest. Her breath paints the night air as a sigh leaves her lips. It’s a good sigh. Even with eyes closed, she looks like the Brooke I fell in love with in Paris.

Content. Relaxed. Happy.

“Do you know this is the second time we’ve gotten high together courtesy of Millie’s stash?”

A quiet laugh escapes me. “That was Millie’s Mary Jane?”

“Yep,” she says through a giggle. Brooke turns her head to the side, gazing at me from beneath those long lashes. Her golden eyes are alight underneath the darkened sky, their honey depths mesmerizing. A secret smile rests on her lips.

“What?”

“I need to tell you something.” Her hand pulls her phone from her pocket, fingers swiping across the screen. She shields her phone from my view, peeking at me with hesitant eyes. “Promise you won’t get mad.”

Suspicion creases my brow. “Does it have something to do with your phone?”

She nods.

Before she can react, I swipe it from her hands, turning on my side and hiding it from her grasp.

“Hey! Give that back!” She climbs onto me, desperately trying to reach for her phone.

My eyes scan the screen, jaw gaping in utter shock. “What the sodding hell is this? That’s my photo! On a bloody Instagram account!”

She sighs, giving up the battle. Her chin rests on my shoulder. “So…about that…”

“Yeah…
about that
…” I flip onto my back, inadvertently forcing her body to sprawl across mine.

Brooke fights the giggles, striving hard to keep a straight face.

I hold the phone up. “Was this your doing?”

“So…funny story…” She grins, resting her chin on my chest. “I might have started you an Instagram account. I don’t know…maybe it was my version of payback.”

I stare at the screen, reading my username @BloodyHellItsDylan. “You’ve got to be fucking with me right now.” My eyes continue scanning my goddamn profile page. “Dylan Bissette, I don’t do social media,” I read aloud. “That’s my tag line? Christ,” I sigh, feigning irritation.

She taps my nose with her index finger, still grinning like a loon. “Don’t be upset. You’ve only been on Instagram for less than twelve hours, and you’ve already got over fifty thousand followers. That’s pretty cool, right?”

I glance at the screen again. “One hundred thousand, love. I’ve got one hundred thousand fucking people following this bloody account.”

“See? How awesome is that? People actually like you,” she teases. “Now, all that worrying over starting a social media account and no one following you was a waste, wasn’t it?”

“Cheeky, love.” I’m not even mad, but I’ll feign irritation for another five minutes just to distract her.

“Don’t be mad, Bissette.”

I ignore her. My fingers are busy finding my version of revenge. I scroll to Brooke’s pictures and find the hilarious eye patch photo I took on her phone. It’s of the two of us, both clad in white gauze eye bandages. She’s scowling. I’m smirking. It’s brilliant.