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

guitar riffs filled the cab of the truck, then the heavy bass kicked up to rattle the windows.
    “‘Santa Monica’? Really?”
    “Straight up. Everclear should be on your playlist as a lyrical lesson.” Max turned the volume up even louder as one of his all-time favorite bands crooned out in a harsh declaration of wanting to find themselves a new place and wanting to see some palm trees.
    The ancient pickup truck puttered down the Santa Monica Boulevard, owning it. Both cowboy hats ticked to the thick beat Everclear delivered as the guys sang along to the top of their lungs, releasing pent-up frustrations in a creative way until they were close to becoming hoarse.
    Halfway to the best hot dogs on the planet, both guys morphed back to just listeners. The more relaxed expression on Max’s face from their earlier jam session began to harden again, lines forming along his brow with lips pressed firmly together. Now his eyes were trained on the palm-tree-lined boulevard as though it may have held the answer he needed.
    Will kept stealing side glances, worrying the mood would carry to the stage that night. He wished Max would talk to him. Nervous to broach the subject, Will decided to try another approached as he leaned forward to turn the music way down.
    “Stella is hawt ! I ain’t ever seen grey eyes like hers before.”
    “Who?” Max mumbled distractedly, not taking his attention off the road.
    “Leona’s assistant.”
    Max finally glanced over, but quickly went back to studying the highway. “Ain’t she too old for ya?”
    “Nah, man. She’s only three years older.
    “Like father, like son.” Max snorted.
    “Mona is older than you, too. Only by a few months, but still…” Will threw it out there, but wished he hadn’t when Max’s face crumbled. Clearly, the problematic nail had been hit on the head. “What’s up with you?”
    Max worried his thumbnail between his teeth, not wanting to answer, but the burden weighed too heavy. “We split.” His voice barely had enough volume to confess the two words, but from Will’s quick intake of breath, they were received.
    “That sucks, man.”
    “No doubt.”
    “Wanna talk about it?”
    Max left his nail alone and shook his head. “Nah. Right now I just want to eat a hot dog.” He pulled into the busy little place, lucking up with actually finding a vacant parking space. Max left his funk in the cab of the truck, and sent out a challenge to Will as he slid on a pair of Logan’s aviators wanting to blend in more. As they stood in line, Max nudged Will’s arm with his.
    “What?”
    “Hot dog eating contest. Winner gets the Gibson.”
    Will was naïve enough to think he had a shot at the coveted guitar and shook Max’s hand automatically. “You’re on.”
    Max grinned knowingly as he ordered two dozen chili dogs and two large sodas. Maybe he could push down the hurt clawing at his gut with the food and a little friendly competition since the pie didn’t cut it earlier.
    The guys were actually able to go unrecognized. The only odd looks they received were over the obscene amount of hot dogs they ordered and then commenced to devouring. In the charismatic world of Maxim King, he declared it a successfully normal afternoon…
    Or it was until he had to park in the median on the boulevard so Will could puke underneath the sparse shade of a tall palm tree.
    Leaning out the truck as he pushed down on the rusty horn, Max hollered, “Come on, lightweight! We gotta hit it!”
    Will shuffled back to the truck and slowly slid back inside. The rest of the trip back to the beach house was filled with miserable moans and gagging.
    Later on, Max strolled up the back deck of the beach house where everyone was gathered. They all seemed ready for the concert and were just catching up with Leona and Kyle. Seeing the newly married couple caused his heart to squeeze in pain, reminding Max of how he had squandered his chance.
    “Hey, hey,” Trace welcomed, drawing