Blur (Changing Colors Book 2)

by Alcorn, N. A.

He shakes his head. “No. I want to, but we don’t really have the money for a guitar or lessons.”

  “Well, that’s a shame, kid. You know who Jimi Hendrix is?”

  “He wrote Purple Haze, right?”

  Dylan chuckles. “If Purple Haze is the only song you know by Hendrix, we’ve gotta fix this situation.”

  Alexander shrugs, staring at his shoes now. “My mom doesn’t have the money to buy me a lot of stuff. I have to go to the library if I want to listen to any music besides what’s on the radio.”

  Despite the cashier’s original impatient attitude, she took her grand old time bagging the groceries. She gives his credit card back, receipt wrapped around it, and slides the bags towards the edge of the counter.

  “Thanks.” Dylan grabs a few bags, nodding towards the parking lot. “Let’s walk outside and chat some more so we’re not holding up the line.”

  We make eye contact as he pushes open the door. A silent moment passes between us. I know it only lasts a second, but it feels so much longer. I smile at him, silently telling him I’m more than awed by what he just did. He smiles back, eyes tender, and then walks out the door.

  My hand goes to my chest, clutching at the material above my shirt.

  Be still my beating heart. Dear God, be still.

  Dylan affects me like no one else. His smile. His laugh. The way his green eyes light up for me in that perfect way. And he’s such a good man. Probably far too good for someone like me. No matter what circumstances may be perpetuating my lies, the bottom line is I’m not being honest with him. And I’m sure, in his eyes, I’m a liar. A cold-hearted liar who’s yet to give him a real reason for why things ended the way they did.

  But despite my inner turmoil, and the taunting past that’s brought us here, I can’t stop my heart from falling more in love with him. Every day, all of these little moments keep adding up. The way he’s so serious about his music. He’s all business in the studio, solely focused on perfection. The way he can drop the serious act at a moment’s notice and be his playful, loving self. His heart is so big, so kind, and he proves it time and time again.

  He didn’t have to help Alexander.

  He didn’t have to do anything. But he wanted to, and that’s what sets Dylan apart from everyone else. That’s why my heart wants so badly to beat in time with his. That’s why I’m standing here speechless, watching him walk towards the tour bus with Alexander in tow.

  The cashier clears her throat. “Are you going to buy those or just hold them all day?”

  Man, she’s a ball of fun.

  Even though every nerve in my body wants to tell her where to shove her attitude-ridden expression, I take the high road, smiling apologetically. “Sorry, it’s been a long few days on the road.”

  I toss a pack of gum, a bottle of water, and the barbecue chips onto the counter. Ignoring the bristling cashier, I hurriedly check out and walk outside.

  Dylan and Alexander stand beside the tour bus. The kid has a guitar in his hands, bags sitting beside his feet. Choosing to give them space, I stop at the garbage can outside the store and fiddle with my purchases, tossing the extra paper and wrapper into the trash.

  “Did you know Hendrix taught himself to play?” Dylan asks.

  Alexander shakes his head, entranced by the gorgeous acoustic guitar in his hands.

  It’s Dylan’s guitar, one of his favorite guitars to use when writing music. The one he calls baby and constantly refers to as female. Hell, he strokes the chords like he’s petting a damn cat whenever he takes it out of the case.

  “Well, little dude, you’re in luck. I want you to have this guitar, but under one condition.”

  Alexander’s eyes are as big as saucers.

  Dylan slides an iPod and ear buds out of his back pocket and holds it out him. “Promise you’ll listen to the music on this and use it as motivation to learn to play. Like I said, Hendrix didn’t need lessons. He just loved music. Hell, he lived for music. It was in his blood. When he was a teenager, he listened to his favorites and slowly learned to play from their sound. When you love something that much, nothing can stop you.”

  Alexander’s jaw is damn near falling off at the hinges. “Are you kidding me? You’re joking, right?”

  Dylan chuckles, shaking his head.

  “I can’t…I don’t even know what to say. Thank you so much. I can’t believe I just met the lead singer of Careless Cockups, and he’s giving me his guitar. Is this real life?”

  “We all started somewhere, mate. This is your start. I have a feeling about you. I think you’re going to be bloody brilliant with that guitar in your hands.”

  Alexander remains silent for a few moments, staring down at the guitar and iPod. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do…do y-you think playing the guitar makes girls like you more?”

  Dylan lets out a loud laugh. “Consider yourself the next Casanova of the playground, my man. You’ll have more girlfriends than you’ll know what to do with.”

  “Girls like her?” he nods in my direction.

  Dylan’s eyes meet mine, a soft smile cresting his mouth.

  Shit. I realize I’ve been standing here eavesdropping. Shaking myself from my gawking trance, I start walking towards them.

  He leans closer to Alexander, keeping his voice low, yet loud enough for me to hear. “Have you ever seen the movie Almost Famous?”

  Alexander shakes his head.

  “Well, you need to watch it, because that pretty lady is the Penny Lane to my William Miller. She’s the girl…” His voice turns to a whisper, and I can’t make out the rest of what he’s saying.

  She’s the girl…who what? I try to think of what Penny Lane was to William Miller in the movie. Broke his heart? Lied to him?

  This is the first time someone has referenced that movie and I didn’t internally cringe or want to curl into the fetal position. My mind doesn’t have enough brainpower to venture into painful territories or fixate on the reasons that movie is usually a big-time trigger for me. I’m too busy wondering what in the hell he said.

  Seriously? What. Did. He. Say. Christ, it’s going to drive me crazy trying to figure this out, and I’m not even sure I want to know. Because what if it’s bad?

  What if it’s something that will rip my heart out?

  Dylan

  Well past two in the morning and I’m wide-awake, lying in the bunk while the rest of the guys saw logs. A loud, high-pitched whistle, followed by a low-frequency rumble fills the silent bus. I’m half tempted to suffocate Zach with his pillow. The man could wake the dead.

  I stare at the door to the back bedroom, wishing I could walk in there for so many reasons. The temptation of Brooke—for one—I’d say that much is obvious. I’m not even talking sex at this point. I just want to see her, be next to her, hold her in my arms behind the seclusion of that door—a beacon of privacy that would muffle out the infuriating noises coming from Zach’s nose.

  After Bob stopped to refuel around midnight, our camera stalkers resided to the other bus for some shut-eye. Brooke also called it a night, heading to bed after telling us good night. But the soft sounds of music coming from her room tell me otherwise. I’m guessing she’s up writing or reading or plotting some evil plan to pay me back for tossing her over my shoulder and spanking her beautiful arse.

  Considering we were under the watchful eye of Dean’s camera, it probably wasn’t the best plan I’ve ever come up with. Brooke and I have now become fodder for the gossip hounds, everyone skeptical that our relationship is just platonic. The words ‘love triangle’ have been tossed around more than a few times.

  A part of me feels bad about this, worried about what it could mean for Brooke. I don’t want her to receive backlash because I lost myself in the heat of the moment, forgot the part I’m supposed to play.

  But another part of me, a bigger part of me, feels a small victory. It’s a caveman’s instinct, but when you want someone as much a
s I want her, love someone as much as I love Brooke, you want everyone else to know. You want everyone around you to see that she’s it. That she’s everything. That she’s yours.

  Fuck it. I slide out of my bed, purposefully kicking the snoring twat in the gut as I climb out of the bunk. He grunts in response, but doesn’t budge from sleep. The man is a bloody grizzly bear. Zach doesn’t sleep. He hibernates.

  I knock twice on the door and open it slow enough to give Brooke warning. For what I’m not sure, but I’m trying to be a gentleman.

  “Hey,” I whisper, locking eyes with her. She’s sleepy-eyed, but still awake. Her laptop sits across her thighs, fingers tapping over the keys. They stop moving the instant she comprehends she’s no longer alone.

  “Hey…” she pauses, abruptly shutting her laptop. “What are you still doing up?”

  I shrug. “Bob’s backup took over driving a few hours ago. Dean and Thomas resided to the other bus. Everyone else is out, but trying to fall asleep with Zach snoring beneath you is like trying to stay dry during a hurricane.”

  Brooke smiles softly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “By all means, come on in and enjoy the peace and quiet. That door is a godsend. It manages to shut out everything else,” she says, scooting over and patting the spot beside her.

  I shut the door and lean against it, sighing in relief. “God, I was praying you’d let me stay in here for a bit. My ears couldn’t take much more. I was half-tempted to post a ‘New Bass Player Needed’ ad on Craigslist and then suffocate Zach with my pillow.”

  “That could have gotten ugly. Glad I was able to prevent a homicide.” She giggles. “I’m not good with hiding bodies, and I doubt I’d have enough bail money to get your sorry ass out of jail. Although, the idea of you in an orange jumpsuit might be worth it.”

  Despite all of the things I want to do with Brooke in this bed, I keep my cool. We lie side-by-side, shoulders brushing against one another, while we stare up at the ceiling. My hands are folded over my stomach, hers resting at her sides. The bus softly rocks as we glide along the darkened highway.

  I glance at the laptop that now sits on the bedside table. “Did I interrupt something?”

  “No, of course not. I was just fiddling around, browsing random articles on Buzzfeed.”

  Turning on my side, I raise a skeptical brow. “Are you sure? You looked a little busy.”

  She peeks out of the corner of her eye, fighting a secret grin. “Stop interrogating me, Bissette.”

  Gripping her chin, I turn her gaze to mine. “Were you up to no good, Sawyer?”

  “No,” she answers, but it’s not convincing.

  I waggle my eyebrows. “You were up to no good, weren’t you? What were you really looking at, love?”

  “God, you’re pervy!” She laughs. It’s a brilliant laugh. Sweet and soft and infectious. Just hearing that laugh makes me smile. “I was, in fact, up to no good, but it’s not in the way your randy brain is thinking,” she admits.

  “Don’t act innocent. I know your brain can be just as filthy when it wants to be.”

  She turns on her side, eyes still locked with mine. Her teeth snag at her bottom lip. Christ, her mouth. I’m in love with Brooke’s mouth. The upper lip is the same size as the bottom one, both soft and lush, and highlighted by gentle, pink curves. I’m dying to taste that mouth again, desperate to press my lips to hers and swallow her sweet whimpers.

  But I won’t. I refuse to cross that line. Refuse to push Brooke into something she’s not ready for yet. ‘Yet’ being the operative word. Even though the intense yet tender emotions resting within the depths of her gaze reveal she’s thinking about it. In one way or another, Brooke is thinking about us.

  I hope she’s remembering the way our lips together equal perfect kisses and endless passion. I pray she’s remembering all the ways I’ve kissed her before. All of the ways I’ve whispered the way I feel about her through soft kisses, deep kisses, mind-blowing kisses.

  The soft sounds of Jeff Buckley’s voice fill the room as her iPod switches over to Lover You Should Have Come Over.

  The urge to kiss her only builds. It’s become this living entity, pulsating between us. Our eyes refuse to leave one another, locked in a heady embrace. The unspoken truths pour from our souls. I love her. This she knows. She loves me too. This is something Brooke has never said, but it can’t be misconstrued while she looks at me with her heart in her eyes. It reaches out to me with each soft blink.

  My hand rests against her cheek, thumb caressing the soft skin. She sighs, and it’s a beautiful sound of contentment. A sound that solidifies that she wants to be here with me. No matter how much she tries to deny it, she wants this too.

  I prop my hand under my head, looming over her. She doesn’t budge, doesn’t startle. Her breasts thrust forward as she inhales a deep breath. My index finger brushes against three small-discolored spots peppered across her forehead. Remnants of her recent case of Shingles. The skin is no longer an angry shade of red, mere shadows are all that remains.

  “They look terrible, don’t they?” she asks, voice a softened whisper.

  I shake my head, smiling at her. “No, love. They’re just healing. No one else would even know they’re there.” I run a finger down her cheek, paying homage to the small freckle beside her ear. “This is cute, Sawyer.”

  “Cute…Tinkerbell… Ugh,” she groans. “I’m like the adorable kid sister.”

  Running my nose across her hers, I shake my head. “I refute that claim. I wouldn’t have a head full of filthy thoughts if you were my kid sister.”

  She raises a lovely brow. “You think rude thoughts about me, Bissette?”

  “You know I do, Little Wing.” I purposefully slide my fingers behind her shoulder, running across that secret tattoo. The one that says she’s mine. The one that she’s still never explained. “You are the star of my dirty fantasies.”

  Her tongue sneaks out from her perfect mouth, swiping across her bottom lip.

  “Do you like the idea of being in my fantasies, Sawyer?” I ask, brushing my mouth across the sensitive spot behind her ear. “Do you like knowing you’re my favorite daydream?”

  Any fucking time of day this girl needs a shelter from her reality, she can step into my daydreams. She lights my world on fire. A sun resting on the horizon isn’t a match for her. Nothing is as picturesque as Brooke. My Brooke.

  Her cheeks color at my words.

  “No need to be shy. I’d die a happy man if I knew I was the star of your dirty fantasies. Do I, love? Do you think about me as much as I think about you?”

  “Yes. You’re all I think about.”

  I smile against her neck, nuzzling against her silky skin.

  An incessant ringing sound fills the silent room. She startles beneath me, face turning towards the laptop on the bedside table. “Shit,” she mutters, glancing back at me with apologetic eyes. “This might be important.”

  I sit up on the bed, back resting against the pillows.

  She sits up too, setting the laptop on her thighs and opening it. Her fingers tap the touchpad, answering the Skype call from Ember. Her sister’s face fills the screen.

  “Ember, what’s up? I’m surprised you’re still awake,” Brooke asks, concern etching her voice.

  “Someone is refusing to go to bed until he hears his aunt sing for him. Apparently, my voice isn’t good enough.” Ember tilts the screen to the side, revealing Teddy, Brooke’s adorable, curly-haired nephew, lying beside her. They’re both lying on top of an Avengers-themed comforter.

  “Hey, little man. Can’t sleep?”

  He shakes his head, brow furrowed. “Nope, I’s need a good night rock lullaby, Auntie Brooke.” He touches the screen. “I miss you.”

  A frown mars Brooke’s face. “I miss you too, buddy. I miss you so much.”

  “Who’s that?” Teddy asks, catching sight of my shoulder that’s managed to slip onto the screen.

  Brooke moves the laptop to put both of our f
aces onto the screen. “You remember my friend Dylan?”

  Teddy nods. “You’re the one with the funny voice. The one my Auntie Brooke is helping make music, right?”

  I chuckle. “That would be me.”

  “Guess what, Teddy?” Brooke asks

  “What?”

  “Dylan did his own version of ‘free heart smiles’ today. He gave a little boy named Alexander his guitar and iPod because that little boy’s mom doesn’t have a lot of money to buy him toys and gifts.”

  “He doesn’t have any toys?” Teddy’s lips turn into a pout. “Do you think he wants some of mine? I can give him some of my cool superheroes. I’ve got an extra Hulk!”

  Brooke smiles. “That’s really sweet of you, baby, but Alexander is very happy with his new guitar and iPod.”

  “Auntie Brooke, are you going to be home for Christmas so we can do our free heart smiles pancake breakfast?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

  He glances at me. “Can Dylan come?”

  “Can I come where?”

  Brooke’s eyes meet mine. “Every year on Christmas morning, Teddy and I make a ton of pancakes and fresh coffee—”

  Teddy cuts her off, voice excited. “And then we go downtown and pass out the goodies to people who don’t have a nice, warm home to live in. We even bring some gifts just in case there’s kids.”

  She nods. “It’s pretty sad how high the homeless rate is in LA. I’m surprised by how many people we find every year who have no place to go, and who couldn’t find space in one of the shelters.”

  Her sister comes into view. “If Brooke didn’t love music, I swear she’d be running a shelter somewhere,” she adds, smiling warmly. “Hi, Dylan. I don’t think we’ve officially met, but I’m Ember.”

  “Nice to meet you. Your sister goes on and on about how wonderful you are. I kind of feel like I already know you.”

  Brooke prods me with her elbow. “Don’t make her think she’s more awesome than she is.”

  Ember laughs. “I’m officially firing you from my client list. Find someone else to cut your damn hair.”

  Brooke grins. “Hey now! Don’t be such a b-i-t-c-h.”