Tetris in Red

18: Tetris in Distortion

'Oh? What makes you think you're the sweetness? What if the apple's sweeter than you?'

My thumbnail indents crescent moons on the pad of my index finger as I wait for the reply.

My, I wouldn't know. I haven't tasted the apple yet.

I don't know why I'm hearing the voice of someone else as I read this. But something tells me these texts came from that person. Before I can process it, my phone pings again.

What's your building? I'm five minutes away.

You're texting while driving, sweetness? I hope the cops are having doughnuts when you turn a corner.

I have a driver. Don't want the coveted rockstar on the headlines for reckless driving, you know.

Pings.

What's your building?

Pistachios. Fifteenth floor. 15-B, right in front of the stairs.

He doesn't reply after that.

I went back to the kitchen as the microwave dings and put out the heated lasagna. Then I scramble to my room, changing out of my pajamas to a freshly-washed shirt and yoga pants. A knock on the door echoes to my room just as I finish washing my face and swipe moisturizing balm on my lips. Making sure I look a little human, my feet carry me to the door.

"Well, hello there, sweetness." I greet as I open the door. "Care to explain why you think I'm the apple?"

Leaning on the door jamb with all his six-feet glory, Alec tilts his head as he studies my figure. His gaze sweeping from my toes to my head, to my eyes then to my glistening lips. "Red like the apple when we first met. And redder lips every day after that."

I didn't recognize my voice as I speak, low and clearly distracted. "And you, sweetness? Why?"

A smirk pulls on his lips. "Aren't I?"

I snap out of whatever haze I'm in and roll my eyes, giving him my back as I walk to the kitchen. My hand unwraps the lasagna and start to eat, chewing loudly as he settles on the sofa. "Not gonna touch that. Why are you here?"

He gives me a look, as if silently asking for permission when his gaze found my opened notebook. "I was polishing my drafts. Figure we should get started on it while you're on a break. Holland said you need to perform an upcoming single when you get back."

His hands are flipping the pages now. "Yeah. You're truly a poet, love." I quickly turn around when his gaze finds me again, not wanting him to see the heat creeping up my cheeks at the very British endearment. "I have written a few of my own as well. You free this afternoon? We can merge whatever fits each other."

I clear my throat. "Sounds good, sweetness. I'll just wash these plates then we can start."

Not two minutes pass by, Alec stands up from the sofa and walks to the kitchen—a smaller room than the living room. I will my eyes to stay on the plates I'm washing as he stops behind me, gazing at the large window in front of the sink. He is everywhere, the size of him not lost on me. Somehow, he appears bigger here. The lowlight helps in highlighting the veins on his forearms, the cracks on his knuckles and the guitar scars on the pad of his fingers.

"Is it safe here?" His question causes me to rear back and drop the plate I'm about to put in the dishwasher. He catches it, his other hand finds my shoulder. "Woah, easy there."

I lift my shoulders in a shrug, hoping to shrug his hand off too. He had touched me a lot in a week than he did that first night. And my feelings with him had never been so distorted. I have no idea if I like him or hate him at this point. But I'm starting to see him as that hot guy everyone gushes on social media. I hate to admit, but I don't know what will happen if I stare too long.

I dry my hands as I walk back to the living room with him on my trail. "As safe as you can be in downtown LA."

He stops again on another window where lights enter the living room. "This place is all roughed up. No offense, but what kind of people live here?"

"Me..." I start, ignoring his privileged jab. "People with minimum wage. Drug dealers. Wanted criminals. Grandmas smoking pot. You know, the likes."

Alec scowls as he turns back to me. "You should move out of here. This place is dangerous, Rhys."

"This is all I can afford."

He rolls the sleeve of his sweater to his elbow and focuses his eyes on me. His gray eyes lighter as the sun shines on his face, his lips in a thin line. I'm staring too long and I can't help but stare a little longer. This is bad.

"Tell you what." His lips dissolve into an excited grin that makes him look boyish. "The boys and I have an extra room in Santa Monica. It's a house turned studio so no one lives there except when we pull an all-nighter to record. You can pay rent if that's what makes you comfortable. What do you say?"

WHAT? "Um, no."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because?" He sits opposite me, ignoring my shocked stare. My jaw is on the freaking floor right now, I'm not sure when I can move to pick it up.

I nervously chuckle, trying to come up with something to say. "Come on, Alec. You can't seriously avoid me there."

More frowning. "Avoid you?"

"Aren't you?"

"I wasn't."

"You were." Then I remember Cyprus and the guys, and everything wrong about his idea. "Anyway, let's not sidetrack. I can't live there. The guys hate me. You're hot and cold with me. Your fans won't like it when they figure it out. So, so wrong, Alec."

"Red." I immediately loathe the determined glint on his face. "I can't say anything about the guys but I wasn't avoiding you. My mind just got busy." Then he leans closer and I sink to the sofa. "Think of it this way, it would be easier for all of us if you're in Santa Monica. We can work with the songs together once we're in the recording phase. The guys can get used to you. And I don't have to risk being seen with you here and also worry about you being kidnapped in your own home. All good, yeah?"

A loud ruckus makes our head snap in the direction of the window. My heart stops as I hear a name being chanted in the air. Tripper comes out of his hiding place and bark so loud my ears start to ring.

Then my sweet, little pup turns his attention to the brown-haired rock star who begins to survey out the window.

"Guess you have your answer, love—holy shit!" Alec falls to the floor, cursing all the saints like I did when I fall down the stairs of the motel all those days ago. My hand flies to my mouth. "Fuck, your dog has a mean bite, Red."

Oh, my god. He just has to have something to blackmail me. God, Tripper.

sorry for the late update! been busy with the holidays and all that. hope this makes up for it hihi plan to update this monday. god, i dont wanna go back to uni yet.