Tetris in Red

08: Tetris in the Know

08: Tetris in the Know

Rhys

"Such a shame." I shake my head as Alec stares at me as if I'm a complicated puzzle to solve. "I thought you'd figure it out by now."

He scrunches his brows, frustration darkening his eyes. Widening his stance, Alec crosses his arms as if he's guarding himself against me. I get it. I do. But I can't help but snort at the irony. He's the one who wronged me. I should've been the one cracking my knuckles here.

I cock an eyebrow as I look up at him. Is that supposed to threaten me? My ankle has been throbbing terribly throughout my exchange with Holland. Standing isn't an option. Still, I'm not one to back down. My spine straightens, letting him know that I have the advantage.

"What does that mean?"

He advances toward me, his arms now on his sides. My gaze travels on its own accord as it registers that he discarded his jacket. The V-neck shirt he wears clings to every dip and swell of his body. They didn't photoshop those photos. Alec MacSweeny's abs are real and it's staring at me in the face.

I clear my throat, my eyes jumping back to his narrowed ones. Oops. My chin juts to emphasize my resolve, "It means you're not looking closely."

"I don't have time for games, Tetris—"

"Rhys."

He glares at me. "Tell me the truth. Why were you in my room that night?"

I weigh my options, which is really not a long list. I can either tell him and deal with the consequences or not tell him and send myself to prison. There's nothing I can do really. My plan to just steal it back and move on went to shit.

To my horror, tears begin to well in my eyes as uneasiness crawls around my stomach. But of course, he misinterprets it because he's a narcissistic bastard. "Really, now? You gonna cry on me because you couldn't lie yourself out? What's next, seduce me?"

I almost teach him a lesson that not every thing's about him by punching his dick right then. The amount of tears that might be shed on his dick's funeral stops me, though. Don't want to be murdered in my sleep.

Instead, I glare at him. "I don't know how you aren't floating right now with that big head of yours. Come to think of it, you're not here without the people behind the stage. So shut the fuck up."

"Well, sorry about that. But if I shut the fuck up, will you speak the fuck up?"

"I'm speaking now, am I?"

He mutters along the lines about women being difficult before he takes a seat on the sofa.

A sigh escapes me as I look at the time. I have revisions I need to make and this charade took up so much of my time already. Pulling my phone out of my pocket means accepting defeat. But pride is a silly bitch; trying to make everyone see you're winning even when everyone, including you, knows you already lost.

He glances at the device on my hand, but doesn't say a word. I scroll through my playlist and click play when I found the song I'm looking for. He frowns as the first note of the song's instrumental penetrates his ears.

I nod. "The song that brought your band your first five awards and made you guys the most outstanding musicians in 2013. It was also your biggest break."

The song reaches its chorus. And Alec still hasn't caught my drift. I continue, "You sang it on the Grammy awards. It was the song that started your brand—songs with a beginning and an end. Like Taylor Swift's Love Story. You said you wrote it after your junior promenade, after the girl you really liked rejected you a dance."

The bridge comes on. The words roll off my lips like silk. "Time and time, our feet were inches from each others. But our eyes and hearts were miles apart. Dance with me, I beg. But when I looked up, you weren't there."

I tilt my head as I study him. His lips thinning as he stares back at me. "What does it have to do with you?"

My nostrils flare. Of course! "Your first album. Susurrous. Eunoia didn't write any of the songs in there."

He snorts. He leans his back against the sofa while crossing his arms. "Oh, the conspiracy theory? That shit is old, babe. Can't you be more original?"

Unbelievable. "Would it be called conspiracy theory when the songwriter is already staring at you in the face?"

I see the moment my words dawn on him. He rears back as if I slapped him, but it doesn't last long. He cranes his neck from side to side, as he masks his shock with a chuckle. Alec gives me a patronizing stare. "I see your creative juices are flowing. Look here, babe, I suggest you stop with the nonsense—"

"That's right." I stand up all of a sudden and limp toward the door where Holland and the guys exited. "I'm not going to waste another minute with you. I still have the drafts of those poems. And I posted them privately on Tumblr back in 2011. I want a part of that album's royalties from the past six years delivered on my bank account or I'll ruin you."

"What? Poems? Royalties?"

"Yes." I smirk. "They're poems and they're not about junior promenades."

My hand is grasping the doorknob when he speaks. His voice gravelly. "Then what were you doing in my room that night?"

"The draft of your new song."

Feeling good with myself, I open the door abruptly, only to find Holland and the guys staring back at me in horror. The Chicken man even more so. He's in the highest level of pale, I'll wonder if he's even breathing.

I march past them.

What's the worst that can happen now?