A Heart Not Easily Broken (The Butterfly Memoirs) (2 page)

One of the guitar players watched me intently. Astonished, I nearly stumbled in my heels. He was attractive but… he was white, not what I was aiming for. My lips tilted in a small smile before I moved out of his line of sight, placing myself in front of dancers who’d moved closer to the stage blocking my view of the drummer.

The next song played, and again, I tried to get lost in the music. My eyes closed, it was impossible to find my groove again without feeling stalked. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, drawing my attention down the length of the stage and to the guitar player, who once again, watched me with a predatory gleam in his eye. When the song ended, I worked my way back to the bar.

Neither Yasmine nor Kaitlyn were there.  They must have gone to the bathroom.

“What can I get you, miss?” the bartender asked, interrupting my thoughts.

Music from the loud speakers blasted again, after the MC announced the band was taking a brief intermission.

“Margarita, extra shot of tequila, please.” The bartender nodded and went to fill my order.

“Did you get a load of the blond guitar player? He’s hot!”

My attention turned to a busty brunette who’d taken up temporary residence in the empty seat next to me. I recognized her as being one of the women who’d been dancing next to me. She adjusted her boobs, primping while talking to her friend.

“He doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going home with him tonight,” she continued. Her friend giggled.

Good luck. She had a better chance than I did of finding a man tonight.

“Here you go.” The bartender placed a napkin in front of me with my drink.

“I’ve got this,” a deep voice said close to my ear, making me jump. It was incredibly sexy despite the fact it scared me. It also sent a warm tingle down my spine. Intrigued, I turned and found myself face-to-face with the guitar player. The same one my barstool neighbor wanted to go home with.

Any sort of coherent words failed me.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Two dimples rested on either side of firm lips when he smiled.

Wow. The man looked good from the stage, but up close, his presence demanded my full attention. He was tall, probably a good six-two to my five-foot-five. His build reminded me of a well-built basketball player. The low lights of the club reflected off damp blond hair with dark undertones. His confident smile cocked to the side, revealing pearly white teeth. The blue shirt he wore complimented the color of his eyes, sparkling like waves of the ocean while hinting at mischief. Baggy shorts and a pair of clean black Converse completed his attire.

His attention went to the bartender. “Joe, put her drink on my tab. I’ll have the usual.” The bartender nodded before walking away. The blond focused his gaze back on me, watching before he spoke again. “You’re not going to thank me?”

I raised my eyebrows in annoyance at his comment. “I didn’t ask for you to pay for this.” I couldn’t stand a man who expected me to be ecstatic because he bought me a drink. I was capable of doing that myself.

Humor flashed in his eyes. “Excuse me for being a gentleman. Unfortunately, it’s too late for you to pay. Guess you’re stuck.” He reached for his beer when the bartender returned, twisted off the cap, and took a huge gulp.

Stuck? Is that what he thought? Passing the drink over to the brunette, saying it came from him, then ordering my own sounded like a good idea. But at five dollars a drink, I’d be a fool not to accept a freebie.

Instead of saying thanks, I said, “Don’t let this dress fool you. If you expect me to sleep with you because you bought me a drink, forget it.” My focus left him and resumed searching the crowd for my friends.

I turned back around in time to catch blue eyes exploring the length of my body.

“That was not my intention.” His eyes now focused above the deep cleavage of my dress. “Since we’ve gotten that out of the way, maybe you’ll answer this question.”

I smirked. “What?”

He chuckled. “What’s your name?” He extended a hand. “I’m Brian.”

My attention immediately went to his hand. Large palm, slightly calloused, sporting a deep tan, his nails were a little rough, fingers sporting a few cuts, but they were clean. I glanced back up at his face. This white man was hitting on me. I was flattered knowing he watched me dance, but buying me a drink and asking my name? What did he expect to happen next?

He waited patiently, his hand suspended in midair.

“Ebony.” I accepted his handshake.

“Ebony.  That’s a beautiful name.”

The tingle going up my spine from the way it rolled off his tongue, and the sensation of our connected hands, kept my lips from moving. This was unreal. I didn’t expect any kind of spark from him.

I studied his eyes; lust and desire weren’t visible, but there was something else. Something made him hold my hand longer than necessary. I squirmed involuntarily before being the first to turn away.

“Meeting like this is not the best way to get to know someone.” He released my hand before leaning down to talk to me without yelling quite as loud.

My body tingled at the warm caress of his breath near my ear again. The scent of his musky cologne mixed with sweat from standing under the stage lights was alluring, the heat from his body inviting.

Then I looked back at his skin. “You’re kidding right?”

“Why would I be joking?” He took another swig of beer, his gaze steady on mine.

I laughed lightly while raising my hand to break his line of sight, wiggling my fingers.

He studied it briefly. “I don’t see a ring. Are you married or in a relationship?”

He seriously didn’t get it. I glanced over my shoulder for a moment, wondering which corner of the club my roommates were hiding in while laughing at the practical joke they’d sprung on me.

“Are you color blind?”

“No.”

“The lights in here are low, but you can’t say you didn’t notice. I’m black, that doesn’t bother you?”

A deep line creased Brian’s brow. “Why should it?”

I smirked.

He appraised me for a moment. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” I said a little too forcefully. I’d left myself open for that remark.

“So what’s your point?” He angled himself to look directly in my eyes.

I assessed him again. His cerulean eyes were sharp, studying me as much as I studied him. Sun-bleached hair set off his bronzed skin, a clear sign of time spent surfing, no doubt. Long legs led to a narrow waist and broad shoulders. I could only imagine what he would look like naked. Wait, why did I think that way?

“You’re not my type, and I’m not yours.” I put my cup to my lips and gulped, forgetting about the extra shot of tequila, I nearly choked.

Brian angled his head, apparently musing over my statement. “You have no idea what my type is.”

“What about her?” I nodded at the brunette who sat behind me.

She’d gone quiet the moment Brian came to the bar. I risked a glance over my shoulder and saw her lips were in a tight line as she glared at me. She didn’t bother to look away. If looks could kill, the coroner would have picked me up off the floor a long time ago. Fortunately, the music was too loud for her to hear our conversation.

When I turned back, Brian’s stare continued to be intense. The room felt as if it had shrunk to the size of a shoebox.

“If I wanted her, I wouldn’t be talking to you.”

Disbelief had me laughing. Of all the brothers in the club, none approached me. Yet, this man spied me from the stage and made his way over. I had to admit, he was bold.

“I want to get to know you. We could−” Annoyance flashed on his face when he acknowledged the hand on his shoulder.

I scoffed, nearly spitting out my drink. The drummer, the object of my suggestive dancing−and oh, my God, that body−stood next to Brian. He didn’t give me the time of day.

“Yo, man, the next set starts in five.”

Brian nodded. “Sorry. I want to continue this discussion, but they need me back on stage. Why don’t you meet me in VIP when I’m done? It’s a little less crowded. Plus it’s away from the speakers, so you can hear yourself think.”

As if to prove his point, a waitress caring a large tray full of empty cups bumped into his elbow. He managed to hold his beer without spilling a drop. “Tell security the Bass Man sent you. You’ll get in with no problem.”

“The Bass Man?”

“Yeah, I play bass guitar. You’d be surprised how many women try to get in there.” He nodded to the roped off corner of the room with oversized plush sofas under focused track lights. A few women were already lounging in the area. A man the size of Chewbacca and thankfully, a lot less hairy and dressed in black, stood, his arms crossed while wearing dark shades. He mean mugged the crowd, discouraging them from walking his way. My eyes must have bulged, because Brian chuckled. His laugh was as deep as his voice.

“He won’t bite,” he said with a wickedly charming grin. “’Til then, Ebony.” He toasted me with his bottle, drained the remnants of his beer before disappearing into the crowd, and then reappeared on the stage. 

“Who was he?” Yasmine sat on the barstool Brian had left empty.

Well, well, my roommates found their way back. “As if you didn’t know.”

“Uh, no,” Kaitlyn replied in her country twang.

I eyed them suspiciously. “A guy from the band.”

“Really?” Kaitlyn stood on tiptoes to peer over the crowd. “He’s hot.”

That seemed to be the consensus.

“Did you get his number?” Yasmine asked when she finished her own study of his anatomy.

“No, but I did get invited to VIP.”

Two sets of eyebrows rose.

“So, are you going?” Yasmine studied me, no doubt wondering if tonight’s mission had been a success.

I stared at the stage as the music began to play, watching Brian in action. He looked in my direction and smiled.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Chapter 2

I loved to work, but after spending the weekend playing late night gigs with my band, sleeping in on Monday would have been my preference, except my bills made it impossible.

Besides, laziness of any kind was not in my nature.

My cousin, Dylan, waved for my attention. “Hey, Brian, we’re done over here. Is there anything else?”

I cut off the weed whacker to appraise Dylan and Peter’s work, inhaling the smell of freshly cut grass. They did a good job clearing the yard of all the clippings. The decision to hire my young cousins for the summer paid off. Letting them handle the grunt work left me to handle the finer details, like trimming the edges of my clients’ professionally landscaped flowerbeds.

Sweat dripped from my brow, stinging my eyes. “No, we’re done. Take the bags to the curb.”

Dylan nodded before passing the message to his brother.

I removed the weed whacker’s carrying strap from around my neck, placed it in the bed of the truck, and then reached into the semi-melted ice in the cooler to retrieve a bottle of Gatorade. The liquid saturated my parched mouth. The bottle was empty in seconds.

“Heads up.” I tossed them both a bottle.

They murmured their thanks before leaning against the tailgate.

“Man, it’s hot,” Peter said. “How many yards have we done today?”

Dylan laughed. “This is the fifth one, bro.”

Peter turned to me for confirmation. I nodded and threw my empty bottle into the truck bed, adding to last week’s collection of bottles to be recycled.

“Man, how did I forget that?” Peter mumbled.

“Because your mind is still stuck three jobs ago,” Dylan replied.

Peter continued to have a look of awe on his face. I chuckled. If he got this flustered at the sight of three grown women lounging topless poolside, he was going to be dumbstruck when attending his first frat party in college.

I remembered my time spent in college. Somehow, I managed to discover my independence without screwing up too much along the way. Hot women always found their way into my dorm room once they learned I was in a band. A year after joining
Diverse Nation
, I got over the hype and focused on my craft instead. Being a member taught me discipline and kept me grounded with my eyes on the prize when it came to my career.

Music was my life. Cutting grass made it possible to pay the bills until my career took off.

I walked the yard one last time surveying our work. The hedges trimmed, grass cut evenly, and clippings set curbside. Mrs. Dillard would be pleased.

“Finish loading up,” I instructed, while walking up the long stone path that lead to a partially covered overhang, and rang the doorbell. The narrow strip of shade didn’t do much to ward off the sun’s oppressive heat. My attention went to the flowerbed kept near the front door. There were a few weeds growing among her flowers.

I smiled down at the older woman as the door opened. She was in her late sixties and believed in looking her best at all times. Mrs. Dillard lived next door to my parents. She’d been my first paying customer. She’d advertised my services at the monthly homeowner’s association meetings until nearly every neighbor became my customer. As a thank you, I offered her a lifetime of free yard maintenance. She refused, insisting she pay a discounted rate instead.

“Mrs. Dillard, you look young as ever.” I flashed the smile that used to earn me milk and cookies.

She laughed. “Brian, you are such a flirt. If I were thirty years younger…”

I shook my head. “Yeah, but then Mr. Dillard wouldn’t want me to come back around.”

“True, oh, well.” She stepped out onto her porch to survey the yard. “A great job as always, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Unable to resist, I asked, “When are you going to let me weed your garden? It would be free of charge.”

“Never. I love to have my hands in the dirt. You handle the rest of the yard. I’ll handle my weeds.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I accepted the check. “Thank you. We’ll see you in two weeks.”

Sweaty bare feet hanging out the passenger side window greeted me when I reached the truck.

“Peter, I am not going to be held responsible by Aunt Gina if your foot gets cut by road debris.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, sliding his feet back inside. “It’s hot as h-e-double-hockey sticks out here. My feet were on fire in those boots.”