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Authors: M. J. Kane

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A Heart Not Easily Broken (The Butterfly Memoirs)

BOOK: A Heart Not Easily Broken (The Butterfly Memoirs)
3.99Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub










Book one of

The Butterfly Memoirs



This is a fictional work. The names, characters, incidents, places, and locations are solely the concepts and products of the author’s imagination or are used to create a fictitious story and should not be construed as real.



PO Box 16507

Denver, CO 80216


ISBN 13: 978-19392170-2-8 ISBN 10:1-939217-02-4

A Heart Not Easily Broken

M.J. Kane

Copyright MJ Kane 2012

Published by 5 Prince Publishing

Cover Art: Jason Freeman of Jayjerkin Productions


All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations, reviews, and articles. For any other permission please contact 5 Prince Publishing and Books, LLC.





First of all, I’d like to thank my family who has been so supportive of my writing career. To my amazing husband, K.C.: I would never have picked up a laptop (well, your laptop!) and started writing, much less learned the business side of things (a work that is still in progress!). Words can never express how much I appreciate your time and patience, even when it seems I don’t. I promise, one day it will stick! To S.C., my manager, number one beta reader, best friend, listener, and sounding board for my crazy ideas: if it wasn’t for your opinions and suggestions, I never would have taken the time to delve deeper into my characters and find their real stories. Knowing that if you liked it, someone else would too, has been my motivation! To my wonderful kids, K.C., J.C., X.C., and E.C., though you’ve driven me crazy along the way, you’ve been an inspiration and support in your own ways. Thanks for your hugs and kisses and undying support, and above all, thanks for letting mommy find herself again!


A heartfelt thank you goes to the many authors I’ve met along the way. Sandra C., an amazing playwright, who became my first writing mentor. Thanks for taking me under your wing and sharing your knowledge! To the talented women of the Critter Yard: Chicki Brown, Erin Kern, and Zee Monodee: all of you have paved the way and helped me find my true writing voice. Remember what the first draft of this story looked like? LOL, it took four years to get it right!


Thank you to Sherry Turner, an amazing librarian who is always there to show support to the talented people of Clayton County. She never hesitates to go above and beyond to make the programs offered stay alive. Without you, the opportunities to showcase our talents, (authors, poets, artist, and musicians) would not exist.  Thanks for the advice you’ve offered me along the way!


To my beta reader, A. S., my oldest friend, and classmate. Thank you for reaching across cyberspace to read my work when it was still in its raw stages. I’m sure you’ll love the edited version!

A special thanks to fellow 5 Prince Publishing author, Carmen DeSousa, for reaching out to hold my hand through the process of becoming a published author. I hope to one day make the Best Seller list just like you!


A special thank you to my editor, June Ruppel, who read my manuscript, fell in love with the story, and had to have it. And thank you to 5 Prince Publishing for giving me a chance and allowing me to keep my creative voice!


And a much special thanks to each and every one of you who have followed my writing journey online and have purchased a copy of this book. Enjoy!


Oh yeah, can’t forget about my two most loyal followers: my dogs, Vader and Ivy, who were always there to lick my feet, trip me up when I tried to get up from my desk, and begged for that special attention. Now we can go outside and play! Well, until the next deadline draws near!




Chapter 1


“This is the last time I wear this dress.”

“Oh, please, Ebony,” Yasmine, my best friend and roommate, yelled in my ear.

The music pounding out of the nightclub’s speakers made it nearly impossible to hear her.

“Stop fidgeting. You look uncomfortable,” she added, winking at the bartender who handed us our drinks.

No matter how many times I adjusted the hem of my dress, it was impossible to ignore the warm air tickling the backs of my thighs as people pushed past me in the crowded bar. It would take more fabric to keep my shapely derriere from involuntary exposure.

“Thanks.” I slipped money into the bartender’s tip jar, and he rewarded me with a gorgeous smile. “For the record, I am uncomfortable.” I turned to face Yasmine. “Freakum dresses are your thing, not mine.”

Yasmine laughed. “True, true, everyone’s not blessed with a body like mine.” She ran a hand over her hips, striking a pose. “Besides, I love showing mine off.”

I smirked before sipping my margarita. Yasmine’s light-skinned complexion, slender ballet dancer body, long legs, and B-cup breasts suited her personality.  There were times I wished my body was more like hers, though. It would make shopping for clothes a lot easier. As it was, I had been blessed with the shapely figure my Nana called ‘bootylicious’.  According to her, and her photo albums, I looked just like her when she was my age, with caramel-colored skin, perfectly proportioned hips, a butt that drew major attention, and D-cup breasts, making it hard for a man to look me straight in the eye. 

I groaned while making another wardrobe adjustment. The jaw-dropping cleavage of my dress threatened to give my ‘girls’ their own airtime.

“I love my body, too. I’d just rather not show it to everyone.”

Yasmine shook her head while my attention went back to the patrons of the club. A wide variety of men lined the dark walls, standing just out of range of the overhead lights, making it impossible to pick out their faces in the smoky room. No doubt, many were on the hunt, looking for an easy lay. It shouldn’t be hard; one scan of the room revealed potential opportunities in every direction. Nearly every woman in the club wore a dress so tight it appeared to be a spray on, with skirts stopping just below their hips. I cringed. That sounded like my attire. Self-conscious, I tugged on the edges of my dress again. 

The next time we go out, Yasmine is not selecting my outfit.

“That dress is going to get you some major action tonight. You’ll be thanking me in the morning…or afternoon.” She laughed.

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t have time to get into a real relationship right now. Finishing this last year of college is my focus. I’ve got to get that veterinarian job at the zoo, I’ve worked too hard to mess up now. Besides, I don’t need a man to take care of me.”

Yasmine smirked.

“Financially,” I clarified. “Having a nice body to lie against is a different story.”

She laughed and held out her hand for a high-five. “That’s my girl. Look around tonight. I bet you’ll find someone.” Her attention went to a dark skinned guy headed in our direction. He glanced over, smiled, and kept walking. “There’s one right there.”

He was attractive all right, but not the physical type I preferred. I was attracted to men who were tall, had thick lips, and eyes that peered into the depths of my soul. A man with the body of a sex machine, yet had no problem working hard for a living and wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.

One of the first things I noticed about a man was not his shoe size, but his hands. If they were too pretty and soft, the man didn’t believe in hard work. If they were overly calloused with visible dirt under the nails and full of scrapes and bruises, those were signs that a man didn’t take care of the little things, which meant the rest of him would be questionable. Now, a man with hands somewhere in between, calloused from work with no traces of dirt under his nails, those were signs of a hardworking man who could clean up nice. Everywhere.

I shook my head and sipped my drink. “He’s not my type.”

“Stop being picky. It’s only going to be a summer fling.”

“Even so, if I’m going to give a man my body and my time, I should at least be able to hold an intelligent conversation. Everything doesn’t have to happen between the sheets.”

Yasmine shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She resumed drinking her wine.

I scanned the crowd to find my other roommate. “Yaz, have you seen Kaity?”

“What?” Yasmine shouted back.

 I leaned closer. “Kaity, have you seen her?” My voice cracked. Clubbing could be fun, but it wore out my vocal cords.

Yasmine pointed to the opposite end of the bar. “She’s over there talking to some guy. Look at Miss Texas.” Yasmine gestured to Kaitlyn with her plastic cup of wine. “She comes to the club to hang with us black girls and the guys go for her first.” She shook her head. “I’m not mad at her, though. You work with what God gave you.”

Kaity’s choice of club attire made her stand out in a sea of women wearing barely-there dresses. Tonight, she’d opted to wear a form fitting dress, which stopped just above her knees. The olive satin fabric matched her green eyes, and she’d pinned her long blond hair away from her face.

Along with her outfit, Kaity’s bubbly laugh and infectious smile attracted men like a magnet. Her large breasts on a slender frame didn’t hurt either. Somehow, her country twang seemed to fascinate the men in southern California.

Yasmine stared at me questioningly. “Why are you still here? This whole night is about you. How are you going to get laid if you just stand there?”

“I’m still looking.”

My gaze centered on a man across the room who appeared to be watching me. A quick appraisal revealed a nice-looking guy with the appropriate build and a cute smile. He fidgeted with his drink more than I did with my dress. Every time our eyes connected, he looked away. Oh, well, if he couldn’t man-up, it would be his loss.

My search resumed just as the music blaring from the speakers ceased. The colorful strobe lights continued to twirl, painting the room with a blue, red, and yellow glow, while the house lights dimmed, cloaking the smoke-filled room in near darkness. Lights now centered on the stage as the club MC came on. After thanking everyone for coming out and making the obligatory remarks about the bar, he introduced the house band,
Diverse Nation

“Javan said his roommate is in this band,” Yasmine informed me.

The club we were at came highly recommended by him, who of course was one of her hook ups. I never understood what she saw in him. The man was too GQ. Besides, he made me uncomfortable every time he came around.  

I wondered what category Javan’s roommate would fit.

Only one way to find out.

The band came onto the stage; their name suited them. The different members represented every nationality, it seemed. My attention immediately went to the drummer.

He had dark mahogany skin, but it was impossible to judge his height, since he stood on a stage. His build was exactly what I liked - shoulders the width of a doorframe and muscles bulging through his t-shirt like the Incredible Hulk. 

He took his place on stage, tapped his drumsticks together, and proceeded to drum out a rhythm, making the crowd go wild. Impressive. Within minutes, the dance floor filled with gyrating bodies, moved by the music.

I pointed to the drummer. “Is that Javan’s roommate?”

She shrugged. “I’ve never met him.”

“Come on, Yaz, let’s dance,” I said, draining the last of my drink.

“No thanks. Like I said, tonight is about you.” She tipped her cup toward the floor. “Besides, girls in packs don’t get picked up easily. Go shake what your momma gave you.”

“So you’re going to leave me all alone?” My hands were on my hips while I tapped out a rhythm with my heel.

“Hey, my job is done. I picked out the dress, brought you here, and planted the seed of suggestion in your thick head. The rest is up to you, sister.”

I searched the end of the bar, looking for Kaitlyn. Maybe she would join me on the dance floor. Unfortunately, she entertained the same man. I was on my own.

I rose to the challenge and made my way onto the crowded dance floor, through the sea of gyrating bodies - again, adjusting my dress’s hem - with one goal in mind. Meet the drummer.

After securing a spot near the front of the stage, I raised my hands in the air and began to dance. For the first time in months, I forgot about books, the stress of my internship at the zoo, and work at the clinic. I closed my eyes and got lost in the music, letting it guide my body in sensual movements while telegraphing my desire, hoping the drummer would notice my body language.

The song ended, and I opened my eyes to cheer with the rest of the crowd. I was noticed all right. Various men in my immediate vicinity threw out catcalls and whistles, which were flattering, but the drummer paid me no attention. In fact, no one in the band seemed to notice me, except for one man.

BOOK: A Heart Not Easily Broken (The Butterfly Memoirs)
3.99Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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