Blur (Changing Colors Book 2) (18 page)

But how much longer can I withstand this pain until I just can’t do it anymore? How much longer can I be okay with watching Brooke with another man until I finally break?

How much longer can I hold out hope that one day soon she’ll wake up and realize she’s making a big fucking mistake?

How. Much. Longer?

Christ, I need to think about something else. I glance over at Jesse, who is still fiddling with his phone. “I forgot to mention Lindsay says hi.”

“What?”
His fingers stop moving. He turns towards me. “When did you talk to her? And why are you just now mentioning this?”

“She called Brooke when I was in her office.”

Jesse’s eyebrow rises.

Before letting his mind wander, I add, “To discuss working on a song together, you twat. Anyways, she called Brooke and happened to mention you and your doppelgänger dick.”

“Wait…what? She’s been thinking about my cock?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, apparently, your cock has a twin.”

“I can’t believe it. She’s still thinking about me, and all the wild sex we had in Paris.”

I laugh, baffled. “Did you hear anything I just said? Some other bloke’s dick reminded her of you.”

Jesse’s grins, nodding. “Exactly. My cock is so memorable that she can’t shag someone else without thinking about it. This is the best goddamn news I’ve heard all day.”

I’m laughing as Nigel, Zach, and Alex hop into the Escalade. “What’s so funny?” Zach asks, slipping into the backseat. “And why do you have that creepy smile on your face, mate?” he asks, staring at Jesse.

“Because my cock is fucking brilliant.”

Zach starts to question further, but Alex stops him. “Yeah, I’m not about to hear any of this shite on my way to lunch.” He eyes me through the rearview mirror. “Let’s roll. I’m starved.”

“Where’re we headed?”

“I need a pint. How about LA’s best version of a pub?” Nigel asks.

“I’m game,” Alex agrees.

“All right. Let’s head to Lucky Baldwin’s then. They’ve got about eighty brews on tap. I’d say a good twenty of ‘em are worth the drive,” Nigel decides. “Take a left out of here, Dylan. I’ll play backseat driver on the way.”

Photographic Evidence on why you should be following Jesse “Brown Eyes” Bissette’s Instagram

TheFeed.com

In case you’ve been hiding under a rock the past couple of weeks, Wallace & Wright Records just signed a new band, Careless Cockups, and women everywhere are all kinds of starry-eyed and drooling over the London-based foursome.

And did we forget to mention that front man, Dylan, and drummer, Jesse, are brothers?

Sigh.

Yes, they are brothers, and these two fine-looking pieces of British meat are too gorgeous for words.

Jesse recently posted a photo of Dylan to his Instagram account (@itsjessejessejesse). His older brother is shirtless and hard at work in the studio. This hilarious comment accompanied the photo: “What a bloody twat. #putafuckingshirtonyouarse”

Needless to say, it made us all sorts of excited. In our humble opinions, Dylan Bissette can rock the no-shirt look any day of the week.

Jesse followed up that photo with a video clip of him rocking out on the drums. He was shirtless as well. Yum.

And we haven’t even begun to mention the myriad of photos showcasing his sexy smile and gorgeous brown eyes that fill his social media platforms.

Sheesh. We’re blushing just thinking about them.

Fingers crossed there’s more to come from the Bissette brothers, preferably of the less is more variety. Now, if only we could find a way to get Dylan on Instagram too…

Brooke

Yesterday was stressful. After William, my grandmother’s lawyer, read through the fine print of the reality show contract, I had a few more bones to pick with Alistair and Ari. Boundaries needed to be placed. No way in hell would I allow a cameraman to follow me home and film at my house. Well, Millie’s house. I think if I had agreed for those bastards to film me in the shower, they would’ve added it to the terms.

Luckily, William agreed to join me for the final meeting. It wasn’t pretty. Alistair was bristling when I introduced him to
my
lawyer. But it needed to be done—for me, for Nigel, for the band.

By the end of the six-hour meeting, we came to an agreement that I was comfortable with. The plan is to make this show as real-time as possible. Alistair wants to fuel this media train that is now surrounding Careless Cockups. The first show will air two weeks from today. Two weeks from today, my face will be on television screens across the country.

Every time I think about it, I want to vomit.

And when I try to forget about it and focus on my job, a camera lens gleams in my direction. Like right now. I’m sitting behind the soundboard, watching Jesse execute his drum solo on the track
Moan
, and I can’t ignore the cameraman shuffling around beside me.

I have no idea how people can stand to have cameras following them around everywhere. I think about
The Kardashians
and how they’re now on their umpteenth season. Cameras even hang around their own homes, filming every little part of their day.

Sweet Jesus, how can they stand it?

It’s been one day, and my privacy has turned nonexistent. I feel utterly exposed, violated even. My only saving grace is when I get to go home and sit inside Millie’s house without having to worry about what someone is getting on film.

There are two camera guys in total. Dean, the one standing beside me, and Thomas, the one currently zoomed in on Jesse’s performance inside the sound booth. Both men are all business. All they do is shoot. No words, no facial reactions, just silent scrutinizing behind their lenses.

It’s unsettling.

“All right, Jesse. I think we’ve got it, mate,” Nigel speaks into the mic.

Jesse nods, getting up from his drum set and walking out of the booth. “One take you pussies,” he teases, plopping into the leather sofa beside Zach. “Who dares to live up to my brilliance?”

Dylan laughs, sliding off his beanie and running his fingers through those gorgeous dirty-blonde locks of his. God, it’s painful sometimes.
Okay, all the time.
Being this close to him on a daily basis might be the death of me. We’ve laid out two tracks so far, and there’s still eight more to go. Honestly, it’s a crapshoot if I’ll survive.

“Dylan, since you’ll be losing studio time this weekend, let’s finish up your vocals on this track,” Nigel decides. “You good with that, Brooke?”

I nod, busying myself with adjusting the volume controls. The fact that I’m supposed to spend the weekend working on music alone with Dylan has my stomach in knots. We’ve yet to spend any time alone together without someone getting off. And I mean that in the crudest sense possible.

And now that we’ve got these fucking cameras in our faces, I was hoping to spend the weekend working on the song in the privacy of Millie’s house. But the fact we can’t seem to keep our hands off each other—
in public places, mind you
—has me worrying over the idea of us being alone together in a house, with a closed door, and
my bed.

Dylan’s voice grabs my attention. I know without a doubt it will take him far. Music fans across the world will embrace those baritone vocals strengthened by that distinctive English brogue. And that free and flowing French inflection laced within his words will have women everywhere falling to their knees. His voice is heady—deep and smooth, hearty and saturated—and unquestionably will be one of the reasons this band will make their mark in the industry.

And why you’ll probably lose your mind by the end of this…

Yeah, that too. It’s damn near impossible to keep my mind from wandering to dirty places when his voice is surrounding me through the soundboard speakers. It’s hard to quell my imagination and not think about all of the times that voice has been in my ear, whispering everything I want to hear.

“What do you think?” Nigel asks, startling me.

“H-huh?” I stutter, realizing the room is now silent.

His head tilts in confusion. “Do you think we go it?”

I blink, desperately trying to replay the vocals Dylan just laid out in my head.
Did we get it? Hell if I know, I was too busy thinking about him whispering dirty things in French to me.

Nigel laughs, eyeing me with amusement. “Are you okay? Need a minute to process that? Don’t worry, because I can relate.” He glances towards Dylan in the booth. “I think you’ve left us all speechless, mate. Tell your brother to eat his words. That was bloody brilliant.”

Dylan walks out of the booth smiling, wide and beautiful. “Kiss my arse, Jessica. One take and
I’m brilliant
, you pussy.”

Zach laughs, adding. “He’s even got Brooke mesmerized. I don’t recall that look on her face when you finished banging around on your little drums.”

“Mesmerized?”
Dylan’s eyes meet mine, a hint of softness lacing their green depths.

For the love of God, get it together, Brooke
, I mentally chastise myself, swiping the mindless gawk off my face.
I hate that he has this power over me. The ability to make me lose all coherent thought. Clearing my throat, I glance around the room, before coming back to his softened gaze. “It was good,
damn good,
but bag the ego, cocky. We’ve still got more tracks to record.”

“Touché.” He smirks. “Whenever we’re in the studio, consider it my new life’s mission to leave you mesmerized.”

Oh, the memories that statement has the power to spur. I swallow them down, forcing them to remain in the deep recesses of my mind. Now is
not
the time to take a stroll down Memory Lane. “I’m holding you to that, Bissette,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.

“I’m a man of my word, Sawyer,” he one-ups.

When I notice the rest of the room has fallen silent—watching the back and forth between us like a goddamn tennis match—I stand up from my chair and busy myself with grabbing my phone from my purse.

And when the glare of a camera lens follows me across the room, it’s then I start worrying over what type of exchange they caught on film. Did we just look like two people joking around? Or did it appear like something else? Something more?

“Let’s take a quick break, grab some grub, and plan on getting back to it in an hour. Sound good?” Nigel asks, standing and sliding his keys, wallet, and phone in his pockets. “You all right with that, Brooke?”

“Sure,” I mumble, head down and eyes focused at some nonexistent item in my purse.

“I’m driving, you fuckwits!” Jesse shouts, sprinting out the back door.

“Christ,”
Alex mutters. “How does walking to that little pub down the street sound?”

“Their food is awful,” Zach says through a laugh. “Ah, fuck it, I’d rather stomach their microwaved fish and chips than suffer through ten minutes of Jesse behind the wheel.”

“You joining us, Dylan?” Alex asks.

Say yes. Say yes. Say yes,
my mind chants. My back is still towards them, eyes staring down at my phone. Hell if I even know what I’m looking at. Lindsay could have just texted me the secret to multiple orgasms and I wouldn’t be able to process it, much less muster the right amount of enthusiasm for a revelation of that magnitude.

“Yeah, I’ll meet you outside,” he answers. The door slides closed, leaving us alone in the room. “You hungry, Brooke?” Dylan asks, his voice closer now.

“Uh…” I search for an appropriate excuse, turning around to face him.
Think of something, you idiot. Something. Anything.
My mind is blank, eyes meeting his.

“Food? Lunch? Any of those sound like a good idea?” He grins, hands held out and head tilted to the side. “Are you okay?”

God, he’s adorable. And sexy. And beautiful. Why does he have to be so beautiful?

“Yeah, I’m good. I just…uh…” Stalling, I glance down at my phone. “I…uh…I have to pick Teddy up from school,” I lie, holding my phone up like a dumbass, as if the black screen explains my sudden onset of weirdness.

He’s making you swoony again. All motherfucking swoony and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.
Well, isn’t this fantastic. Glad I could channel my inner fan girl just in time for these stupid cameras.