Blur (Changing Colors Book 2) (44 page)

Jesse taps my arm. “Let’s hear it, Tink,”

“Hear what?” Dylan asks.

“We were just having a good old-fashioned debate. Stones versus Beatles,” Nigel updates. “Brooke was just about to tell us her take on it.”

I scowl. “No, you bastards were making fun of me. Acting like I’ll go into some hour-long diatribe about classic rock.”

“I’ve seen her in action,” Dylan interjects. “She has quite the opinion on the naysayers of The Strokes.”

I find the strength to meet his eyes. They’re not like I expected them to be. I had prepared for green eyes blazing with disdain. I had expected averting glances and disinterest. I didn’t prepare for calm, relaxed, and genuinely interested in having a conversation with me.

Instantly, I’m relieved. A huge smile threatens to split my face in half. I know this can’t take away the words we said, but I can’t stop myself from feeling thankful he’s here.

But my relief is short-lived. It nose dives into the pit of my stomach when Chrissy sidles up next to him, tucking herself under his arm. “I thought you were waiting for us!” she teases, lips pouting flirtatiously. “You left me behind in the limo.”

In the limo? They rode here together?

Dylan shrugs. “You girls were taking too long.”

“Yeah, you were taking bloody forever,” Alex agrees, wrapping his arm around Lily, Second Hand Girls’ bassist.

Lily giggles.

Chrissy gazes up at Dylan, her blood red lips cresting into a seductive smile.

My expression free falls into a dark abyss. I don’t know whether to scream, run away, or slide underneath this table and curl up into the fetal position. He was alone with her. In a limo. And now she’s pressed against him like she belongs there.

Did something happen between them?

Nausea rolls my stomach. I want to vomit all over this table. I want to spew all over Chrissy and her tight black dress. I want to puke the smile right off her slutty face.

Instead of turning the night into a remake of
The Exorcist
, I swallow my emotions, plastering a neutral look on my face. And when the waitress sets a fresh drink in front of me, I tip my head back and nearly down the whole fucking thing.

“Damn, Tink. You looking to get pissed tonight?” Jesse jokes.

I shrug. “Jamie’s in town. It was the last show of your US tour, not to mention the last show I get to attend. Seems like reason enough to celebrate.”

Jamie grins. “Looks like I’ll be carrying Brooke back to the hotel tonight.”

Dylan’s eyes lock with mine. I freeze for a long minute while that emerald gaze bores holes into me. I have to look away when painful thoughts whip through my mind, wondering what he’s been doing with Chrissy for the last hour.

I didn’t know I had it in me to feel this invidious. But I am. I’m angry and upset and jealous. So very jealous. I’ve been sitting at this bar, silently freaking out and hoping that he’s okay, while he’s been off doing God knows what—
with her
.

I guess it’s safe to say he’s okay. He’s
very
okay. Chrissy has made sure of that.

She’s dressed to the nines tonight. Her miniscule attire showcases her ample cleavage and mile long legs. The stilettos give her an extra six inches, nearly placing her eye to eye with Dylan.

They look like a match made in rock star heaven.

Nigel clears his throat. “Brooke?”

“Huh?” I meet his curious stare.

“Beatles or Stones?”

“That is a stupid debate,” I groan. “I’m not choosing.”

“Nuh uh.” Jesse sets his beer down. “You don’t get an option, Tink. You have to choose one. That’s the whole bloody point of even having this discussion.”

“It’s a silly, pointless debate, Jess. You’ve got what many,
probably tens of millions
, consider two of the greatest rock bands of all time—why do I have to choose one over the other? Or, worse, choose one and not the other? I don’t consider myself a Stones fanatic or Beatlemaniac, but they are both crazy-awesome bands.”

“You’re avoiding the question, baby girl,” Jamie chimes in.

“I am not,” I respond, flashing an annoyed glance in his direction. “I’m merely pointing out that I’ve been asked a stupid question.”

“Get some balls, Brooke. Choose one,” Jesse taunts.

“Fine.” In the spirit of distracting myself from Dylan, I give in. “One thing no one ever mentions is how the Stones and Beatles fared on the rare occasions when they actually did go head-to-head.”

“Uh…They never played together,” Chrissy chimes in.

Man, I’d love to smack the smug grin off her makeup-caked face.

“I never said they played together.”
Dumbass.
“I’m talking about when they played the same song. Because both bands
did
do the same song, probably more times than most people realize.”

Her face scrunches up in feigned confusion. “I don’t remember the Beatles doing a cover of
Wild Horses
or the Stones doing a cover of
I Want To Hold Your Hand.
”

Figures, she’d name-drop the most popular songs by these bands. I’m actually a little shocked she said
Wild Horses
instead of
Paint It Black
or
Satisfaction
.

My mind fantasizes about yanking her hair out of her scalp and pushing her off the rooftop.

This chick doesn’t know shit about music. Sure, her band is pretty good, and she’s a fantastic lead singer, but that’s it. She doesn’t get music like
I
get music. She won’t be the girl who writes her own songs. She’s talented, but she’s not in
that
way.

I know I don’t have the balls to pursue my own career, but I know I’m far more talented and knowledgeable about music than she is. There isn’t a comparison.

“Yeah, that’s because they didn’t,” Dylan interjects. “But both bands did the song
Money
.”

I look up at him, surprised he’s adding to my argument.

“The Beatles did a better cover of
Money
than the Stones,” he adds, offering a natural smile.

I nod. “Agreed. Their cover blew the Stones out of the water. But the song,
I Wanna Be Your Man
—”

“Hands down the Stones.” Dylan reads my mind. “The Beatles’ version was good, but it was jocular, whereas the Stones were—”

“Assaultive.” I finish his thought.

“Exactly.” He smirks. “They turned it into something different. Something better. It was an authentic pounding blues-rocker.”

“Never mind,” Jesse groans. “I forgot the music-duo was here tonight. Dear God, it’s like they’re inside each other’s head.”

“They do this a lot?” Jamie asks, glancing between Dylan and me.

Zach nods. “I’ve lost hours of my life on that tour bus listening to them go back and forth on shite like this.”

“This is exactly why I talked Brooke into singing harmony on
Blur
, mate” Nigel adds. “These two are bloody in tune.”

“More like demanded,” I mumble.

Nigel grins. “Don’t get sassy on me. You know that track is brilliant.”

“Speaking of
Blur,”
Alex interjects, “is everyone ready to be in the hot seat tomorrow?”

Shit.
I almost forgot about that interview.

Our promotions team managed to get the band a spot on the West Coast’s most popular radio station. Careless Cockups will be debuting their first song on HotMix93’s morning show. The station is syndicated across the country and has maintained the number one spot for the past three years.

As of tomorrow,
Blur
will hit airwaves across the nation.

Plus, we’re scheduled to sit down for an interview with the show’s host, Caine Matthews. Jesse, Zach, and Alex will sit with him for the first fifteen minutes, and then Dylan and I will do the last half of the interview. Marketing thought this setup was not only a good way to endorse the album, but also a way to clear the air regarding all the speculation about our relationship as well.

If I had to guess, I’d say Alistair was the sole force behind this.

“I’m ready. You think he’ll try to spring Cover It on us?” Dylan asks, looking around the table.

Caine Matthews is notorious for playing this game called Cover It. He’ll give a band two song choices, chosen by his audience, and they have to pick one to play acoustic. I’ve always loved that part of the show. Until now. Until I know I might be the one put on the spot. See, he doesn’t do it every interview, and I’m beyond worried he might tomorrow.

“I think it’s a good chance, mate,” Jesse states, smiling at Dylan and me. “Honestly, I think he’s going to do it while interviewing you two.”

Zach nods, chuckling. “I guarantee that’s when he does it. Especially with all the rumors out there about you guys. The man wants the kind of ratings that duet would bring.”

“Or you could just offer to play an acoustic of
Blur
,” Alex suggests. “That’ll get you out of the hot seat and still appease him.”

“Woah, wait a minute.” I hold up both hands. “Dylan and I have practiced an acoustic version of that song
maybe
twice. I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

“Kinda like how you ran through
Powerful
two times,
on the tour bus
?” Alex raises a knowing brow. “And then you two played it on stage in New Orleans and brought the whole fucking house down.”

“Or how I asked you to sing back up on
Blur,
and you two finished it in one take?” Nigel includes.

I’m getting more uncomfortable by the minute. Afraid someone is going to mention Paris. Afraid Jamie is going to see right through the bullshit and know something is going on with Dylan and me. I bury my face in my drink, averting my eyes from everyone at the table.

Jamie wraps his arm around my shoulder. “Doll, you didn’t tell me you found your musical soul mate.” His words are meant to be light-hearted, but they hollow out my stomach.

Yeah, there are a lot of things I haven’t told you.

My eyes meet Dylan’s again. I see the tender expression on his face. But then, I also see the bored look on Chrissy’s face because she’s still glued to his side.

This is all so screwed up. So fucking screwed up.

The walls are closing in on me. I need to get away from this mess. I need something. Fresh air. A trip to the bathroom. Anything that will get me away from this table. Like right the fuck now. I push off my barstool. The legs screech across the ground, causing everyone to look at me.

“Just need the ladies’ room. I’ll be back in a minute,” I mutter, grabbing my purse and walking away from the table as fast as my legs will take me.

Heading downstairs, I find the hallway leading towards the bathroom. I’m opening the door when hands strongly grip my arms and push me inside the empty room.

I gasp, surprised, and turn around to find Dylan.

“What the hell?” I ask, backing away from him.

A part of me is ecstatic he left Chrissy at the table and followed me in here, but another part of me is still pissed at him. Beyond pissed, actually. I’m seething.

“Seriously, Dylan? What if someone saw you come in here? Or worse, what if you were just filmed walking into this bathroom with me?”

“No one saw me. Everyone is still upstairs, including Dean and Thomas.”

“What do you want?” I question, flustered by his cool and calm demeanor.

“You know what I want, Brooke.” He moves towards me. “I want you. All day. Every day. All the bloody time. I. Just. Want. You.”

“No.” I’m shaking my head, holding both hands out in front of me. “You can’t have me.” I feel sick the instant the words leave my mouth.

He stops in his tracks, eyes burning straight through me. “Say it again.”

“Say what?”

His face is stone, hard and unyielding. “Tell me you don’t want me. Say it again, and actually mean it this time.”

“I’m not doing this with you right now!” I shout, voice booming inside the small room.

A humorless laugh escapes his throat. “C’mon, Brooke. Say it again.” He holds both of his long arms out, wide-open. “Finish the job, love. You already have my heart. Go ahead and tear my fucking soul out,” he snaps, expression glacial.

Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back, refusing to become a sobbing mess when he’s the one who’s riding around in limos alone with a woman who’s made it known she wants to bang him.

“You seemed fine a few minutes ago with Chrissy plastered to your side. Seems like she’s doing a damn fine job of licking your wounds.” The visuals those words conjure are enough to kill me.

“That’s classic, love,” he mocks. “This is coming from the girl who ran off to her fiancée the second my cock slid out of her. Hell, my come is probably still seeping down your thighs while you’re sitting cozy with
him
.”

My jaw hits the floor.

“Tell me, Brooke. How does it feel to know that you’ll spend the rest of your life wanting someone to make you feel as good as I make you feel?”

That’s it. I’m not doing this with him. I’m not going to stand around and let him destroy me with his careless words.

“Fuck you.” I push past him and to the door.

“You already did.” His voice follows me out of the bathroom.

Dylan

I grip the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I’m appalled at the way I spoke to her, utterly disgusted with myself. I tried to stop when I saw a single tear slip past her lids, but the wrong, most vile words kept flowing out of my mouth.