Rhythm and Blu

by Jennings, S. L.

  Jonas plasters on a tight smile and scoops up the docs. “We’ll just table this for another time after amendments have been made.”

  After Jonas makes a hasty exit, Riot slides off his stool and extends his hand. “Come on. I’ll show you to your room.”

  I look down at the offered palm and wonder what it would feel like. Would it be smooth save for small calluses at the base of his fingers like I remembered? Or would this larger, much more…experienced hand feel foreign to me?

  I go with the Option C: I won’t find out. And slide my butt off the stool without his assistance. At the end of the day, this is business, regardless of how freakishly attractive he is or how he bossed up to Jonas in my defense.

  Riot retracts his hand and stuffs it in his pocket. “Follow me.”

  I do as requested, making certain not to ooooh and ahhhh at the magnificent architecture and design of his home as we head down the hallway. Clean lines, neutral tones. Even some artwork to complement the contemporary feel of the space. We pass at least six doors and what looks like a den outfitted with a pool table before we stop. My room.

  Riot pushes the door open and steps aside to let me in first. I’m cautious, but I must admit, I’m a bit enamored. It’s modern, much like the rest of the house, but I can see that someone took extra care to ensure that a woman would feel comfortable in this space. And I look around the room decked out in rose gold, dove gray, and ivory to create a Hollywood glam vibe, I have to wonder if it actually does belong to a woman. Or maybe it’s merely the designated sleeping quarters for his overnight guests, since I can’t imagine him being the spooning type. We never got that far.

  “I hope this is cool,” he mutters behind me, still stuck at the doorframe. I turn around to face him.

  “It is. I hope I’m not stepping on any toes staying in here though.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  I wave a hand towards the bed outfitted with a tufted wingback headboard that makes me salivate at the thought of sinking into it with a good book. “Bruh. I highly doubt this is your bedroom, unless you have something to tell me. Don’t worry; I won’t judge. I mean, you are wearing more jewelry right now than I even own, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  He laughs, and the sound becomes a glass arrow that goes sailing straight into my chest, only to shatter against a brick wall of resistance. Still, it echoes inside me, stirring dormant emotions I had long laid to rest.

  “Nah. Not my room.”

  “Then whose is it?” I challenge.

  “Yours.”

  He says it like it’s true. Like it’s so easy to carve out space for me in his life—the life he built from the rubble of my wrecked heart. And when he looks at me like that—those blue, soulful eyes low and his bowed lips parted just enough for me to glimpse the tip of his tongue running over his teeth—I almost want to pretend that it’s true.

  I shake my head, banishing the thought. “There’s no way you created this room for me. This would have taken days to design. Less than an hour ago, you didn’t even know I’d agree to stay.”

  A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I knew.”

  I’m reluctant to unpack because I don’t plan on staying for long. Not that I wouldn’t mind. After Riot was called away to resume filming whatever the hell he’s supposed to be chronicling, I let myself admire the beauty of my new digs. Everything appears to be new, thoughtfully chosen, and masterfully placed. The bed is a marvel all by itself, with its cushioned headboard and luxurious linens that complement the bedroom’s theme. Someone’s even added lots of fun accent pillows and a blush-tone fur throw. There’s a desk outfitted with high-end accessories and stationery as if someone wasn’t sure what I would need, yet wanted to be prepared. There are plenty of dressers and storage space and cute, feminine accents, along with a walk-in closet that Haze would probably give up her firstborn to own. On that note, I whip out my phone to snap a few pics to text then I scroll down to call her.

  “Biiiiitch! Don’t tell me that’s your closet!” she shrieks into the receiver.

  “Yup. Ridiculous, right? Even if I brought my whole wardrobe, I still wouldn’t be able to fill it up.”

  “Shit, we wouldn’t be able to fill it up, and you know ya girl’s fashion game is strong. I swear, Rox. If you haven’t fucked and made up by now, I will gladly volunteer as tribute. I wouldn’t even need a bed. I’d sleep in the closet.”

  Laughing at her crazy ass, I twist the knob of the door stationed beside the closet and nearly drop my phone.

  “Holy shit, Haze. You thought the closet was insane? The bathroom!”

  “Oh my God, on the Kardashian/Jenner scale, how extra is it?”

  “It’s Kylie, Haze. This bathroom is freakin’ Kylie!”

  She trills like she’s right here beside me, and more than ever, I wish she was. Everything from the rose gold faucets to the drool-worthy vanity to the gorgeous freestanding tub is enough to bring a tear to my eye. Haze could sleep in the closet, and I’d be more than happy to camp out in here.

  “I’m giving you a day to get settled, and then I’m coming to visit. What’s the address?”

  “Ummm, uh…”

  I hadn’t talked to Riot about visitors, not that I had time. Surely he wouldn’t mind Haze coming over, but I know better than to assume. And he has to know that Haze isn’t his biggest fan, although the bedroom set up is changing her mind.

  “Let me get back to you after I coordinate with Riot’s schedule,” I tell her. Old friend or not, Riot is still a huge celebrity. And Haze isn’t exactly discreet…about anything.

  “Cool. So how is he? Are things super awkward? Is he being a total dick or acting like nothing ever happened?”

  I make a groaning noise. “Honestly, he acts as if no time has passed. Yet, I can see that he’s trying to make up for something. I should bring it up, shouldn’t I? I should tell him everything.”

  “No!”

  “No?” I’m confused. Normally, Haze is all about the ugly truth, and anyone it hurts is merely collateral damage.

  “No. Not until you get your story. He played you, Rox. And he thought he was doing it again by having you move in with him. Maybe it’s time you change the game and give him a taste of his own medicine.”

  “You’re right.” I shake my head and snort a laugh. “I swear, ever since you binged Gossip Girl, you’ve been downright diabolical.”

  “Blair Waldorf is my spirit animal. Xoxo, bitch. Love you!”

  “Love you too. Call you later?”

  “I’ll call you. I have a date.”

  “Oh? With Dane? Did he say anything about Riot?”

  “Girl, please. I don’t have a date with him tonight. Besides, if Kaz is his butler, Dane might be his driver or something, and I can’t go out like that.”

  I don’t have the patience to reiterate that Kaz is not Riot’s butler, and I really don’t know what he does exactly. So I bid my friend goodbye and unpack only the necessities: my laptop and my music.

  Then…I stare blankly at the monitor for what seems like hours.

  I don’t know where to start. Honestly, I have nothing to start with. I’ve listened to our short exchange on the digital recorder at least a dozen times, yet none of it moves me enough to write about it. I only asked a handful of questions, and each one was more generic and predictable than the last. Anyone could have interviewed him, yet he chose me, the one person who knew Riot Nathan Blufield before he became Riot Blu. Before the promise of fame stole him away from me. That should count for something.

  “What the hell are you doing, Rox?” I mutter to myself. I’ve wasted an entire day and have nothing to show for it.

  This is the craziest, most erratic thing I’ve ever done. I don’t pick up and move anywhere for a job. Hello? I literally moved twenty minutes away from my parents’ house, and even that was scary as hell. If it weren’t for Haze encouraging me to chase my passion, I probably would have run home and moved back into my old bedroom. />
  Sighing, I look towards my closed bedroom door. I’m not going to find my story in here. I can’t lock myself away in hopes that inspiration will strike. If I want to capture Riot in all his arrogance and grandiosity, I have to witness it for myself. There’s an opportunity on the other side of that door. I just have to open it.

  Breathing deep, I snatch off my headphones and cross the room to do just that. When I step into the hallway, I realize that there are a lot more voices echoing from the living room than there were earlier, and it sounds like a party is in full swing. Music, laughter, the distinct clink of glasses, and the distant scent of weed. I also smell food, which instantly makes my stomach growl, realizing I haven’t eaten all day.

  Slowly, I make my way out towards the commotion and find that I’m right. To a celeb, this probably seems like a simple gathering with friends. But to us common folk, it’s a soirée. There are at least twenty men and women from all walks of life; some dressed as if they’ve just strutted off a runway, others outfitted in jeans and tees. Flutes of champagne, tumblers top shelf liquor, and hors-d’oeuvre are in hand as they chat jovially. There’s music playing, and while I can’t find where it’s coming from, I know the artist well.

  “Rox! You made it!” Kaz is the first one to glimpse and greet me with a warm embrace that completely catches me off guard and makes me go stiff. When he wraps his arms around me, I get a whiff of pot on his clothes and a slight tinge of booze on his breath. “Been waiting for you to show up, girl.”

  I look around, scanning the room to see if anyone caught what just happened. “Um, yeah. What’s going on here?”

  “Just a couple people stopped by. What are you drinking? Vodka soda?”

  Although I could use a drink, I can’t remember the last time I ate an actual meal and technically, I’m on the job. I shake my head. “No thanks. Is this normal?”

  Kaz shrugs. “It’s Friday night. This is actually pretty chill.”

  “Who are all these people? I thought Riot wanted to keep a low profile.”

  Kaz looks around as if he’s just noticed how crowded it is in here. “Not really sure about half of them. Most of them work with Riot in some capacity or are in the industry. And then there are Poppy’s friends. They all just flew in from Milan.”

  At that exact moment, the group of people hanging out around the couches disperse, parting to reveal a lounging Riot Blu with a waif-thin, long-legged, gorgeous blonde tucked under his arm.

  Poppy Brooks. Model. Social media sweetheart. And Riot Blu’s on again-off again of two years.

  And from the looks of it, they are very much on again.

  I DON’T KNOW WHY MY stomach twisted into a pretzel at the sight of them together. I don’t understand why it feels like I may cry and pass out all at once as I watch her nuzzle his neck and rake her short nails down his chest. Riot appears oblivious to it all as he continues his conversation with a couple of well-dressed guys I’d never seen before, but he probably doesn’t want to look too thirsty for the crowd and cameras. Image is everything and being whipped won’t do well for his playboy image.

  Rumor has it that his very public breakdown was the result of their breakup, and when she heard he was in a dark place, she ditched New York Fashion Week and rushed to his side. Of course, this is all speculation since Riot hasn’t spoken about that time in his life to anyone in the press…except for me. However, we didn’t cover whether Poppy was the catalyst for his blow up and his recent reemergence after months of radio silence. And now he’s hosting parties?

  I inwardly grimace. I know things have changed and we’ve both grown up, but Riot used to hate the schmoozing and showboating part of the industry, and he vowed to never be the guy who had to front like he was on top of the world. He was never one for parties, especially if his heart and head weren’t into it. And I could tell that he wasn’t over what had happened. Sure, he’s a different person now, but aside from a handful of people, everyone seems so fake and rehearsed, as if they were hired to play a part for the cameras. And I can’t imagine Riot ever being one to resort to that level of superficiality.

  Then again, this isn’t the Riot I used to know. Even on the surface, he looks like some alternate, much more ostentatious version of himself. His light hair, cut short on the sides and longer on top, swoops over his brow and frames his face on one side. He’s dressed in Gucci from head to toe, and while Haze would find it impressive, it’s just too much for my taste. And he’s dripping with ice—diamonds in each ear, on his fingers, wrists, and neck. I get it—he’s rich and famous. But I never knew him to be so wrapped up in labels and material possessions. It was all about the music. As long as we had it, we were wealthy beyond measure.

  Heat floods my veins and pools in the pit of my stomach the moment he turns away from his guests and his eyes fall on me. His lips part and his back straightens, prompting me to do the same where I stand. Then Riot climbs to his feet without excusing himself from his conversation or even his date. Every measured step towards me synchronizes with my pounding heartbeats.

  “Rox,” he breathes, his tongue moving over the letters slowly. He smiles. “I was convinced you would hide out in your room forever. Do you like it?”

  “Sure, it’s great,” I nod. “But you didn’t have to do all that.”

  “I wanted to,” he proclaims, and those three words snake through me like a sensual curse.

  “Well …” I begin, trying to ignore the way he’s gazing down at me, his gaze hooded. “I appreciate it.”

  “Oh my God! Is this her?”

  I don’t even have a good five seconds to realize that her is me before Poppy is pulling me into her slender arms, her nearly six-foot frame dwarfing mine. She smells like Chanel and a musky essential oil, and the combination is still lingering in my nostrils when she pulls away.

  “Poppy, this is Rox Lee. Roxy… Poppy Brooks,” Riot announces, waving a hand between our oddly contrasting bodies.

  We’re opposite in every way. She’s tall and thin with ice blonde hair cut in a severe, edgy style and sharp Nordic features. I’m petite yet curvy, and my dark, thick mane hangs to the middle of my back, complimenting my bronze skin and warm, exotic features. She is what Riot likes now—what he has chosen over the millions of women worldwide who have literally thrown themselves at his feet. And as I look at her now, I realize that no one ever really had a chance to win his heart. She’s gorgeous, confident, and drop dead sexy in her pearl colored silk dress that barely hits at her upper thigh. She’s doesn’t even have to wear a bra, and the thin garment fits her perfectly. Visually, she and Riot are evenly matched. Together, they are the internet sensation #PopBlu, or is it #RiPy? I can’t remember what hashtag is trending on social media, and I kinda hate myself for even caring.

  Refusing to look down at my own outfit in fear that it will draw attention to my Target bargain, I plaster on a small smile and extend my palm.

  “Good to meet you, Poppy.”

  “Are you kidding? I feel like I already know you! Riot told me everything about how you two grew up together.”

  Everything? I lift a question brow and shoot a quick look towards Riot. He returns the sentiment with a shrug and a crooked grin. Luckily, Poppy is oblivious and is still prattling on.

  “It’s so cute how you guys were next-door neighbors. You’ll have to tell me all about little Riot. I bet he was adorable.”

  Little Riot? Oh, if she only knew. At that, I have to bite my inner cheeks to keep from snickering.

  “Um, yeah. Sure.” Please don’t ask me any more questions. I have no idea what Riot has told her and I don’t want to slip up and say the wrong thing, especially since cameras have been trained on us—on me—the very second Riot crossed the room to greet me. And yeah, Poppy is coming on a little strong, but she seems nice, and way friendlier than I expected. I was prepared for snarky remarks, eye rolls, and hair flips. Definitely not a hug from a model who has graced the coveted cover of Vogue.

  “Let’s try to
get together while I’m in town. The way Riot talks about you … I know you must be very special to him, and that means you’re special to me. He needs good people in his corner. Plus, we both know he can be a handful. We can swap war stories.” Poppy winks and giggles as Riot wraps an arm around her waist and gently pulls her into his side.

  “Ok, that’s enough of that. You’re about to scare Rox away.” He kisses the side of her face, and nausea lurches in my gut. I turn to Kaz, who hasn’t said a word since Riot approached. He truly has a gift of making himself invisible, which is no small feat considering how attractive he is.

  “You know, I think I will have that drink,” I say just above a whisper.

  Kaz nods. “Vodka? Champagne?”

  “Yes.”

  “Champagne? Or you want hard liquor?”

  “Yes.”

  Kaz laughs, realizing that booze is as specific as it’s gonna get, then sets off to find me something to quench my thirst and ease my nerves.

  “So how long are you staying with us?” Poppy asks sweetly between girlish giggles.

  Us. She said us as if they share this space. This isn’t just Riot’s condo. It’s their home.

  I don’t know how to answer, especially after learning that little tidbit. Us. He and I were never an us. We were always Rox and Riot, neighbors, friends, and eventually, lovers. But here, I’m just a ghost from his past.

  “She’ll be here as long as it takes,” Riot chimes in after more than a couple seconds of awkward silence on my end. Poppy turns to him, her expression pinched with confusion, prompting him to tack on, “To get what she needs for her story.”

  “Yes,” I agree, finding my voice. “I’m just here to chronicle his comeback and hopefully get the scoop on his upcoming album. Have you heard any of the new songs, Poppy?”

  Still smiling, she shakes her head. “No. Riot doesn’t like me in the studio; says I’m a distraction. But to be honest, I’m not a music kinda girl. I mean, I like a nice beat, but most of the time, it all sounds the same to me. Riot understands, don’t you, baby?” she coos before pressing into him and laying a peck along his jaw.