Blur (Changing Colors Book 2) (4 page)

“Do you think cocks have doppelgängers?”

I spit water all over the kitchen counter.
“What?”

“I swear to God, the guy I banged last night, I’ve seen his dick before. He dropped his pants and
boom!
Déjà vu. His schlong looked
so
familiar. Seriously, do you think it’s possible for a penis to have a doppelgänger?”

“Uh…I’m not sure I’m the right person to add insight into this topic. I don’t exactly have a lot of cocks to go by.” Is it bad that the only cock I can picture right now is Dylan’s? If it’s possible to achieve perfection in the dick-appearance category, Dylan Bissette’s dick deserves the major award. I’ve never thought penises—
or is it peni?—
were attractive until I laid eyes on his. And good God, his is perfect. Beautiful. Mouth-watering…

She rambles for a good two minutes, and I lose myself to dirty thoughts. My brain too consumed to hear a word she’s saying.

“
Hello?
Are you still there?”

I clear my throat, ridding my filthy mind of the hot-as-fuck pictures of Dylan I’ve stocked away. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Anyways, like I was saying, I had a hard time getting into it. I just kept trying to place where I’ve seen that cock before. It was like a game of
Where’s Waldo’s Weiner?
But instead of a nerdy guy in glasses wearing a red-striped shirt, I was looking for a thick-veined cock with a mouth-watering pink crown and a shaft that’s curved slightly to the right. Not to mention, a nice cock to balls ratio. Shit was symmetry, that’s for sure.”

And just like that, the conversation about Dylan and Jamie is over. If Lindsay is my enabler, I’ll gladly let her enable my avoidance tendencies. It sure as hell feels like the only way I’ll be able to navigate this clusterfuck of a mess I’ve created.

She proceeds to tell me in great detail about her late night escapades with Doppelgänger Dick. Lindsay doesn’t hold back, even providing exact specifications on size and foreskin status. Usually, I’d be entertained by all of this. Well, I’d act appalled, but secretly find enjoyment out it, but I can’t stop thinking about Dylan. I can’t stop wondering what he’s doing, right now, at this exact moment.

Dylan is in LA.

Here
.
In LA
, where
I
live.

While Lindsay regales on everything lookalike cocks, I put her on speakerphone and shoot Jamie a quick text.

‘What house did your dad put Careless Cockups in?’

‘Pyramid Pl’

‘I thought he got rid of that one?’

‘He was, but ended up remodeling it instead.’

The house in question is located on a street that is parallel to Mulholland Drive. Should I mention that I’m still living at Millie’s house? The one that’s on a private drive off of Mulholland Drive…

‘Oh. Wow. I’m out of the loop these days…’

‘Yeah, but it’s okay, baby girl. Movie night tomorrow?’

‘I knew you’d get a hankering for Clueless…’

‘Never mind. Scratch the movie night.’

‘Haha! I’ll bring the booze if you supply the movie and food.’

‘Deal. Mexican sound good?’

‘Only if it’s La Costa Blanca.’

‘Only if movie night is at your house then.’

“So are you just going to keep texting while I’m pouring my heart out to you?” Lindsay’s voice pulls my attention.

I send
‘Deal,’
to Jamie, close out the text box,
and try to act like I’ve been listening. “Don’t be so dramatic, I’ve been listening to you the entire time.”

“Oh, really, then what did I just say?”

Searching our conversation for tidbits of information, I throw out my best guess. “That riding a cock that’s curved to the right has some surprising advantages when you’re in the correct position.”

She sighs heavily. “I said that like five minutes ago, asshole.”

“I’m sorry, Linds. My mind is all over the place. Don’t be mad at me. Me love you long time, darling,” I say, in the most obnoxiously sweet voice on the planet.

“All right. I guess I’ll let this one slide.” I can hear the small grin in her voice. “How about you call me tomorrow and let me know how things go in the studio?”

“Do you think it’d be crazy if I stop by their place and attempt to talk to Dylan tonight?” I blurt out, not even sure why I’m asking this question in the first place.

“Uh…I’m not sure. I get why you’d want to hash things out before working together, but maybe give him a heads-up first?”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Text me some pics of your shoot tomorrow.”

“Okay. Night, Brookie. Love you.”

“Love you too. Night, Linds.”

As I knock on the door, I realize that I didn’t take Lindsay’s advice on the whole giving Dylan a heads-up. I glance down at my attire—flip flops, yoga pants and a tattered Led Zeppelin tank—and start to turn and bolt for my car, but Jesse swings the door open, shouting. “Holy shite! Well, look who’s here!”

“Hey, Jesse. Is…uh…is Dylan around?” Could I be anymore awkward right now? Probably not.

“Mi casa su casa and all that jazz, Tinkerbelle.” He motions dramatically with his hand. “Come on in! The party is in full swing!” As if on cue, a blonde—clad in only a neon green string bikini—practically molds herself to his side. “We’re just getting ready to take a swim. You should join us.” His grin is all lazy and eyes glazed over.

Jesse is plastered, and I’m starting to re-think my decision to come here tonight. My gut clenches from the notion that nothing good will come from this.

He doesn’t give me time to think of a quick exit strategy, grabbing my arm, and yanking me inside the house. I glance around, taking in the newly updated digs. It’s a gorgeous house, contemporary appeal with white oak floors and walls and walls of glass windows. The view is beyond breathtaking. The last time I was here, I was in the midst of producing my first album with
Cursed Prototype
, an indie band that was unknown when I first met them. Now, they’re sitting pretty with a platinum album under their belt and an abundance of radio airtime.

“Does Dylan know you’re stopping by?” Jesse asks. He extricates himself from the blonde bombshell, smacks her on the ass, and tells her he’ll meet her outside.

I shake my head, staring down at my feet, wishing I had some sort of invisibility power or the ability to burrow into the ground. “I kind of decided this random drop-in last minute.”

“Interesting. He’ll be surprised, that’s for bloody sure. Can’t say he’ll be
as
surprised as he was today, when he found out you were
engaged
, but definitely surprised.” The stiff tone in his otherwise slurred voice pulls my eyes upwards. He stares at me with a not-so-friendly glare.

“That’s kind of why I’m here.” My voice is small, silenced by the guilt and regret weighing heavy on my heart.

“So tell me this. Did the engagement happen before or after Paris?” Despite being shitfaced, he’s in full interrogation mode. I can’t blame him. From an outsider’s perspective, I‘ve fucked over his brother. I blatantly lied about everything—my life back in LA, my relationship with Jamie, my career.

“I wasn’t engaged when I was in Paris.” I don’t know why I’m standing here explaining any of this to Jesse. He’s loaded, most likely won’t remember a word of this conversation, and I don’t really owe
him
an explanation. Dylan is the one I should be talking to. “Do you mind telling me where I could find him?”

“I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. Last time I saw him, he was playing strip poker with Mercedes and Melody.” He shrugs, turning on his heel and walking away.

Mercedes? Melody?
Have I fallen down the rabbit hole? I have a hard time believing Dylan would ever entertain the idea of fucking around with girls who were quite literally born to be strippers.

He was playing strip poker with women that are here because they love to fuck rock stars.

My entire body cringes. God, that’s a painful thought. One that I deserve to hear, but painful nonetheless. I have zero claim on Dylan. He can spread his love all over LA if he wants, and I don’t have a say in the matter.

Even though my brain keeps screaming,
Go! Go! Now isn’t the time for a heart-to-heart,
I walk through the house, trying to find him. The kitchen and living room are empty. The large glass doors are open, spilling light onto the pool deck where mostly women in bikinis are enjoying themselves. These guys are in LA for all of twelve hours, and they’ve already got enough groupies to see them through retirement
and
a reunion tour.

Bile rises in my throat. I swallow down the discomfort and head to the hallway bathroom. Shutting the door behind me, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Dark circles under my eyes, curls spilling out from the messy bun on top of my head. Horrible doesn’t explain the half of it. I’m a fucking mess.

“Why am I here? What good could come of this?” I ask the girl in the mirror.

She has zero answers.

“This wasn’t a good idea.”

The girl in the mirror shakes her head.

Dylan is probably outside with the bevy of bikini whores frolicking in the pool. And walking out there to talk with him will only create drama. I need to leave before this situation turns into something I’m not equipped to handle.

Splashing cold water on my makeup-less face, I try like hell to pull it together. But it’s no use, tears wait behind a dam of pent-up emotion. Any second and I’ll start bawling like a baby.

Get the fuck out of here, you idiot. This won’t end well…

Quietly, I open the door, slipping into the darkened hallway. My feet turn in the direction of the front door, but faint voices stop me in my tracks.
“Dylan,”
a voice purrs, and then giggles.
“Let’s go outside.”

I’m frozen to the ground, heart migrating up to my throat.

“Come on, Dylan, let’s go outside and have some fun.”

I can’t deny the urge to turn on my heel and walk towards the voices. And like a stalker, I do. God, this is the worst plan I’ve ever had. The. Worst. I’m officially certifiable and should be locked up in a padded room.

Standing in the doorway of one of the bedrooms, I find the source of the slutty voice. Dylan is lying on his back, clad in only tight black boxer briefs. A colorful, tattooed arm is thrown across his eyes. The woman—wearing nothing but bikini bottoms—straddles his hips, grinding herself against him.

What. The. Fuck.

Music echoes from the outside speakers near the pool. Sia sings
Elastic Heart
and every word slips under my skin—pricking at nerves and forcing goose bumps to appear. My chest is too tight, the process of breathing seemingly impossible. My entire being is ready to scatter to pieces across this hardwood floor.

I wrap my arms around my stomach, holding myself together.

But I continue to stand here, watching some half-naked girl rub herself on him.

“Dylan, we can just stay in here. I promise you’ll have a good time,” she says, still moving her hips erotically against his body.

My fists clench. I want to scratch her eyes out and drag her out of this room by her goddamn hair extensions. My heart threatens to pound itself out of my chest. It might as well be a rubber band, pulled taut in every direction and damn near stretched to the max.

How much more can I take before it snaps?

He sighs heavily. “I’ve already told you five fucking times, I don’t want whatever bullshit you’re peddling. And still, you decide to jump me when I’m passed out. Get off me, or I swear to God, I’ll throw you off me.” His chest rises and falls in irritated movements. The tone of his voice is sharp enough to cut glass. Even when we were fighting over my avoidance tendencies, I never heard Dylan sound so mean, so undeniably cold.

“Oh, come on, baby. You’re hard,” she moans, grinding against him in exaggerated—and super slutty—movements. “I can feel how much you want me.”

“No offense, but my dick is a bit of an attention-seeker. The fucking wind could get me hard. So, don’t take it as a sign that I’m enjoying you’re shameless display. Because I’m not. I couldn’t be less into this if I tried.”

“What? Do you like have a girlfriend or something? I promise I won’t tell anyone. I don’t kiss and tell.” She runs her hands up his chest.

“You mean, you don’t fuck and tell.”

She giggles. “That too.”

“As amazing of an offer
you
might think this is, I’m not interested. Remove your ass from my cock and get the fuck out of here.”

“You’re an asshole,” she huffs, disentangling her shameless body from his.

“Yeah, I am,” he mutters, not even opening his eyes.

The slutbag walks past me—fake tits still out and defying gravity with each movement. “He’s all yours, honey. Good luck trying to get him to do anything
but
be the world’s biggest dick,” she tosses over her shoulder.

It takes every ounce of willpower I have to not follow her into the hall. Lord knows I’m dying to unleash the wrath that is jealousy, boiling hot and molten under my skin.

Dylan sits up against the headboard, eyes still closed in irritation. He hasn’t noticed my presence.

Considering that I came here uninvited, and then stood in his doorway like a green-eyed girlfriend watching slutbag’s blatant come on, now would probably be a good time to leave. But despite my better judgment, I stay rooted to my spot, leaning against the doorway.