Free A Bleu Streak Summer (The Bleu Series Book 3) by T.I. Lowe

of the chords.
    “Alright, wise guy. You made your point. Now teach me that.”
    The two sat on the couch for a long stretch with Max patiently showing Will the riffs. Oddly enough, the guitars seemed to bring him out of his funk.
    “What’s wrong, young whippersnapper?” Max mimicked an elderly voice while he watched Will flex his fingers, knowing he made another point that his fingers wouldn’t be slowing down any time soon.
    “Nothing,” he muttered, dropping his hands in his lap.
    Max rose, stretched his back, and moved to place the guitar back on its display. “I’m starving.”
    Will snorted. “Nothing new there.” He put away his guitar as well, standing several inches taller than Max’s six-foot stature. “Izzy has a salad made.”
    “It’s wise for me not to be eating anything from Izzy for a while.” He slid a pair of flip-flops onto his feet while shoving his wallet into the back pocket of his shorts.
    “What did you do now?” Will watched him curiously.
    That twitchy shoulder shot up in a shrug as he said, “I sorta gave her a scare with one of her kids so I could steal a pie. She wasn’t cool with that.”
    “I bet not. Where are you heading?”
    “I want a hot dog.” Max shoved a set of keys in his pocket before pulling on a lightweight plaid shirt with a country western flair to it. He unrolled the sleeves and buttoned the pearl snaps at his wrists to conceal his tattoo.
    “Pinks?” Will asked and Max nodded. “That’s a bit of a haul from here. How are we getting there?”
    “I’ve got a set of wheels, but who said you were invited?” He lifted a brow at the kid he’d witness grow before him over the years into the too-sure-of-himself man.
    “Come on, man. Let me go with ya.”
    Max didn’t know why Will was all of a sudden attaching himself to him like white on rice, but he had no real reason to refuse the kid a slamming hot dog. “Meet me in the garage. Hurry it up.”
    Those long legs had already disappeared upstairs before Max finished speaking. Will yelled from above, “Sweet. Let me grab my shoes.”
    A few minutes later, Will rushed in the garage nearly out of breath, but froze at the new addition to the auto collection. In the midst of three sleek SUV’s, one top-of-the-line Jeep Wrangler, and a half dozen shiny Harleys sat an outcast.
    “Dude, tell me you didn’t buy this piece of crap.” Will wrinkled his nose while eyeing the rusted late-model pickup truck. Hints of baby-blue peeked out in a few spots, letting it be known that at one point there had been actual paint on the beat-up body.
    Max moved to the driver’s door. “ Language ,” he mock-scolded, allowing plenty of sarcasm to coat the word. His eyes went wide with bogus outrage.
    “Man, if that’s the worst I ever say,” Will retorted.
    “Ya preaching to the choir on that one, kid.” Max held his hands up lazily.
    Will circled around the poor excuse for transportation. “Seriously, why this?”
    Max pulled two worn cowboy hats out of the back. “What happens when we parade around in your pop’s tricked-out Escalade?”
    “Lots of attention.”
    “Yep. He’s broadcasting. I ain’t feelin’ up to that today.”
    “I get it.” Will nodded his head.
    “Good. Then get in and let’s go.” He tossed one of the hats and Will caught it one-handed.
    “What’s with the hats?”
    Max shoved the other straw hat on low and refrained from rolling his eyes at the kid’s naivety. “To hide your purdy mug. Come on, man, wake up and stop with all the questions.”
    “Oh,” Will drawled out as the lightbulb blinked on with understanding. Shoving the hat on low, Will plopped onto the vinyl seat and slammed the door, leaving a dusting of rust on the garage floor.
    Max slid in and after trying to start the engine a few times, the truck coughed heavily to life. He worked on syncing his phone to the impressive sound system that was way out of place and clearly a new addition. A few moments later, heavy