Blur (Changing Colors Book 2) (39 page)

He smirks. “By all means, don’t let me stand in the way of beer pong greatness.”

And with that, she’s pulling me out of the kitchen and towards the game room, where the beer pong has commenced.

Dylan

The girls are getting pummeled. Jesse and I are sitting back, watching them miss every throw. They’re good spirited about it, but it’s probably the beer talking at this point.

“Are they trying to lose on purpose?” I mutter towards Jesse.

He laughs, nodding his head. “They’re terrible. I’m not sure if I should be shocked or impressed that two people can be this awful at throwing a little ball into a cup.”

I catch sight of Brooke’s phone, and shoot her a text.

‘The point of the game is to make it in the cup.’

‘I resent that…’

‘What? It’s becoming quite the mystery that two people can miss this many throws.

Jesse and I are starting to wonder if you’re actually trying to lose.’

‘What are you trying to say, Bissette?’

‘You’re quite terrible at beer pong.’

‘And here I thought you were a perfect English gentleman…a GOOD guy?’

‘Are you fishing for compliments, love?

Is that what you really wanted when you asked me about cheesy pickup lines?’

Brooke glances at her phone, but doesn’t respond. She rolls her eyes, fighting a smile, and proceeds to take her next shot. It goes without saying, she misses the shot by a mile. Her feigned annoyance only fuels me further. I decide to start a round of our odd compliments game. They’re bloody awful, but funny nonetheless.

‘You have the voice of an angel doing an impression of Josh Groban.’

While Lindsay is throwing, she peeks at her screen and bursts into laughter.

‘I think that’s the worst one yet.’

‘I’ve got plenty more where that came from…

If I was Peter Pan and this was Neverland, I’d only have to think of you to fly. And all the Lost Boys would be like, “Man, you fly a lot.”’

‘Okay, maybe that’s the worst one yet.’

‘You know that’s the point. Your turn, Sawyer. Hit me with the best you’ve got.’

Her brow furrows, fingers typing away as the opposing team slam two shots in a row, earning another turn.

“Goddamnit, Brookie!” Lindsay shoves her. “Focus! We’re getting crushed!”

She laughs, glancing up from her phone. “Linds, we suck. You know this. I know this. But for some reason, whenever you get liquored up, you forget just how bad our suckage is.”

“She’s right, love!” Jesse calls from beside me. “You ladies are bloody terrible!”

“Bite me, Jesse!” Lindsay yells over her shoulder.

“Don’t tease me, sweetheart!” he retorts.

‘You’re like the fanny pack of life. You’re cool, but in your own way.’

‘Well, fuck, Sawyer. I should’ve known you’d get out the big guns.

I almost forgot you’re a natural at this.’

She turns around, facing me, and that sassy hand has found her hip again. “Are you calling me weird, Bissette?”

I grin, nodding. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, love, but in the nicest way.”

‘You’re kind of awkward.

But in a cute way.

Like an elevator ride, but with puppies.’

‘I like you so much, that if I were a cat,

I’d want to spend at least six lives with you.

Which, if you think about it, is a pretty big commitment for a cat.’

‘If airplanes in the night sky were like shooting stars,

I’d make sure you never got on another flight

because that just sounds really unsafe.’

‘If I had a nickel for every time I thought of you, people would be like,

“What are you doing with all those nickels? That’s too many nickels.”

And they would be wrong.’

“Brooke! You’re not even trying,” Lindsay whines, chugging another loser’s cup of beer.

Brooke shrugs, a lazy smile consuming her face. “Get over yourself. You’re not good, either.”

“All right, boys, I’m calling this game,” Lindsay announces. “Enjoy your shitty game of beer pong, you fucking cheaters. We’re out of here.” And with that, she pulls Brooke over to us, and makes the executive decision that we’re “blowing this popsicle stand.”

“Where in the hell are we going?”

Lindsay wags her eyebrows, grinning.

Brooke backs away, hands raised. “Nope. No way. The last time I saw that look, I ended up with my face in Frankie’s toilet, praying to the porcelain gods.”

“Well, maybe this time, you shouldn’t drink so much. Anyways, I’ve got a special surprise for you, Brookie. I promise it’ll make you super, super happy.”

She points an accusing finger in Lindsay’s direction. “That’s exactly what you said the last time!”

“Ladies,” Jesse interjects. “Now’s not the time for a cat fight.”

“Shut. Up. Cockelgänger.”
They respond in unison, ignoring my brother.

“Frankie is having one of his impromptu house parties, isn’t he?” Brooke asks, staring at Lindsay.

“Don’t you think the guys deserve to experience at least one of his epic shindigs? It feels like such a waste if we don’t make an appearance.” Lindsay clasps her hands together, begging, “Please, Brookie. Pretty, please can we go?”

Brooke stares up at the ceiling for a second. “Fine,” she sighs. “But if we don’t make it back to the hotel by nine tomorrow morning, you are handing over your Fendi.”

Lindsay’s mouth gapes. “Not the black crocodile baguette?”

“That exact one. Take it or leave it, sister.”

“
Goddamnit…Fuck…Shit
…Okay, fine. It’s a deal.” She grimaces, taking Brooke’s hand and shaking it.

BREAKING NEWS: Dylan “Green Eyes” Bissette is on Instagram!

EyeCandy.com

Ladies, it’s past midnight, and I have spent the last ten minutes staring at this gorgeous picture of rock god Dylan Bissette.

I mean, look at him. Just look at him! Eyes closed. Mouth pressed to the mic. He’s the epitome of sex on stage. The photo is from Careless Cockup’s New York show on their pre-release tour.

Are you ready for the really good news?

The photo was posted a few hours ago from his official Instagram account. Get ready, ladies, because Dylan Bissette will now be gracing our social media feeds.

It’s okay to scream. We did.

Tonight, they played to a sold-out crowd at the Bowery in New York City. Their set list included our personal favorite
, Blue Daze
, along with
Moan
,
Lovely Calamity
, and a cover of the Arctic Monkeys’
Do I Wanna Know
. Rumor has it that Brooke Sawyer was in the crowd, and that song was dedicated to her.

Despite their “we’re just friends” claims, we’re skeptical. Two episodes deep into Mad Sounds, and every time Dylan looks at Brooke, a collective swooning sigh can be heard across the country.

His mouth is saying platonic, but his eyes are saying something else entirely. If Phoebe Buffay saw the way he looks at Brooke, we know she’d be yelling, “She’s his lobster!”

Even though, we’d love for Dylan Bissette to fall madly in love with us and serenade us on stage, we’re Team #NoSleepTillBrookeDylan.

Now, let’s keep our fingers crossed that he continues to send more pictures like that our way. Consider us here at Eye Candy your official Dylan Bissette Instagram stalkers.

Brooke

Frankie’s house is out of control. A few years back, he converted a Brooklyn warehouse into his own personal haven. It was designed with the motive of throwing insane parties, and tonight, he’s merely living up to his reputation. The party is in full swing, bodies covering every space of his living room, which has now turned into a makeshift dance floor. The massive glass windows have disappeared, opening up to a rooftop deck. I’m sitting beside Frankie while he works his DJ magic. He’s set up a booth for himself in the loft area, looking down on the gyrating bodies filling the space below. It’s a sight, that’s for sure. This might as well be a popular nightclub in LA.

But that’s what I love about Frankie. The man can turn a mere night out into the best night of your life.

I met him a few years back when he was fresh on the music scene and temporarily signed under Wallace & Wright. The first time I saw him in action, I realized he was more than just a DJ—he’s an innovator. He can mash together the craziest sounds to create something beyond your wildest dreams.

The lights are dim, colors flashing from the ceilings, painting the crowd in neon pinks, blues, oranges, and greens. Dylan and Jesse walk in from the rooftop deck, and I watch them make their way through the crowd. Women on the dance floor try to grab their attention. Jesse laughs as a brunette wraps her hands around his neck, swinging her hips erotically in front of him. He gives in to her demands, gripping her waist and returning her dancing advances. Her friend attempts the same moves on Dylan. He smiles and shakes his head, pointing up in the direction of the DJ booth.

He makes his way up the back stairs until he’s sitting beside me. “I was wondering where you went,” he whispers into my ear.

I shrug. “I felt like I was in the way. You and Jesse had your hands full out there.” They really did. Their newfound fame has definitely brought all the girls to the yard. That green-eyed goddess I’ve been trying to bury deep was desperate to come out when I saw a group of girls asking for them to sign their shirts, crudely pointing to the material above their tits. Talk about a punch to the gut. But that’s the price of fame. It’s a price I know far too well, and I refused to let myself sulk like a jealous girlfriend. I have no claim to Dylan, nor would I ever want to make him feel like he can’t interact with his fans…
cough, cough, slutbag groupies.

His brow creases. “Brooke, you’re never in the way.”

I wave him off, nonchalantly trying my best to put on my
‘I don’t care about anything’
face. My cheeks sting in refusal.

“So, Sid and Nancy?” he questions, eyes grinning at the t-shirt I changed into before we grabbed a cab to Frankie’s.

I glance down at my white, off-the-shoulder Sex Pistols t-shirt. My Arctic Monkeys tee stunk of stale beer and shame. “I’m just trying to support our fictional kids,” I tease. “You got something against Sid and Nancy?”

He chuckles. “They were only the most dysfunctional drug addicted couple in music.”

“What about Cobain and Love?”

“Okay,” he says with a laugh. “
One
of the most.”

“Brookie, this one’s for you, doll,” Frankie calls over his shoulders, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. The beat of
Pony
starts to vibrate the speakers. Girls from the crowd scream, losing their shit over one of Ginuwine’s sexiest songs. I can’t deny it. This song could get anyone to dance—in the dirtiest possible way, that is.

“Get up here!” Frankie yells to me.

Dylan smiles, encouraging me.

I shake my head, knowing I’m far from drunk enough to dance in front of everyone at this party.

Before I can refuse, Lindsay is beside me, grabbing my wrists and pulling me towards the DJ booth. “Go big or go home, bitch.”

“God, I hate you sometimes.”

“You love me!” she shouts.

“You’re white girl wasted!” I yell back, dodging her attempts to grind against me.