Tetris in Red

04: Tetris in His Story

04: Tetris in His Story

"MYSTERY REDHEAD IDENTIFIED—When we thought everything's finally settling down, well, there are surprises."

Alec

"Tetris Posziel. Tetris. Tetris. Tetris."

I take a long sniff from my inhaler. The evening chilly air blows on my face as I stare at the city lights. I thought about why on earth Tetris Posziel will attack me that night. I don't know her and I sure as hell didn't fuck her.

Those bright green eyes—beautiful, even on its irritated state—her slender lips, cute button-up nose, and those freckles aren't exactly forgettable. Add her orange short bob and ridiculous namesake? She's a living doll. One I would recognize anywhere even if I only spent one night with her.

I don't usually sleep around. I have a handful of women who in one text, will probably be knocking on my door within the hour. Those women know the deal and it's an open, non-committal relationship. That's because sleeping with complete strangers makes me uncomfortable. I want to get to know them first—know their likes and dislikes on the matter, their first and last name—before I invite them to my bed.

Which is why Tetris Posziel bothers me so much.

She's not an old friend nor is she someone I've had problems with. I can't place her anywhere. And it's giving me a bad case of headache.

"Still thinking about Blocks?" Holland suddenly speaks from my behind.

I bring the inhaler back to my nose instead of turning around. I don't even dignify the nickname with an answer. "Any leads?"

"Naw, man. It's like she disappeared from the face of the earth." He snorts. "Probably back on her 2D World, ruining 13-year-old kids' lives by giving the wrong blocks."

I chuckle. "I still can't recall when did that picture take place." I turn to him, my lips pinched together. "And you—" the tip of my inhaler is pointed to him "—should've remembered. You're my agent. It's your job to know what's circulating the web with my name on it."

He rolls his eyes. "The person who posted it said it happened in 2013 on a private party." He slumps lazily on the railings and looks up at the sky as if he'll rather stand anywhere than in front of my stupid face. "Dude, I'm probably busy changing your Facebook page's background than asking every person in there if they had a picture of you on your phone. And so you know, he didn't release it until yesterday."

"Hold up. Private party?"

"Yep. The guy's a roadie."

"What party was that, Holland?"

He narrows his eyes as if the answer's written on my forehead. "He said something about your album and award shows." I stare at him, waiting for the light bulb to appear in his eyes. It takes him three seconds before his eyes light up. "Ahh. It's The BRIT Awards. Tetris tried to attack you at the BRIT Awards. Reason's not stated."

A frustrated groan escapes my lips. I press the heel of my palms on my eyelids as I try to remember her. Hell, I can remember every fan—even it's just the color of their hair or the words they said—who came up on the stage while I'm singing. Why can't I remember someone who jumped on me with teeth and claws bared?

What I did must've been important to her if she came back for me six years later, yes?

"I couldn't remember her, man. I couldn't even remember what happened on that award show. And I certainly can't remember that someone attacked me at that time."