Available Now! A Songwriter’s Death is an interracial Rockstar Romance with flare. Here’s Chapter 2, Michael’s POV.

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After I got kicked out of The Queen, it was a full week before I could get back to the club. But I came alone, figuring it would be easier for them to let me in if I wasn’t stuntin’ with an entourage.

However, the word must have gotten out about the songbird, DJ T-Nah, because the place was crowded. I should have known that the doughboy wasn’t going to remember me in a sea of new faces. There wasn’t a single table available, but I didn’t need one. I simply stood among the crowd that surrounded the dance floor.

If my schedule allowed, I might come here on a Sunday to check out her scratchin’ skills. Malik, my right-hand man, would be mad if he heard that I went back to the club without him. Especially, when I had absolutely no chill when it came to adding my rap skills to the performance. But I had no plans on doing something like that tonight.

With a full hour before showtime, I approached the bar and ordered my drink. A little disappointed when I didn’t see her sitting at the end of the bar. But it was the bartender who snagged my attention.

“I know who you’re looking for and she’ll be starting the show promptly. Trust me.”

I smirked and walked back towards the dance floor drink in hand. Disappointed when I don’t see her face until she is stepping onto the stage. Barely able to see here through the crowd that moved in. It didn’t matter. All I needed was a tiny circle of space in which to see her.

She was like this rare shooting star. A septum ring hanging from her small defined nose. But it was the things that I couldn’t see that drew me in. Like noticing that she always closed her eyes when she sang a slower song. As if she were afraid to let anyone see the color of her heart. Lucky for her the first set was mostly fast songs. Allowing me to catch a glimpse of her eyes. The color of Amber.

He waited until her set was finished to try to talk to her. A small crowd complimenting her as she made her way to the bar.

The stool next to her was empty. Which I suspect is on purpose by the way the bartender is shooing men away like a fly swatter. A full drink on the bar in front of her, which she was only taking sips from. Her hands nervously shaking as she observed her manicure.

“Anyone with eyes can see that I don’t need a drink.”

“Girl, you work here. Buy me a drink.”

She looked up from whatever she was reading. Looking around as if I appeared out of the fog. Her tongue running across her nude lipstick as if I were the best thing to ever walk into the club. She laughed. “Okay, what’chu want?”

Her normal speaking voice, an earthy sound. Naturally airy and soft with that warm and smoky feeling. Any sound from those kissable lips sent a surge of lust to my anaconda. I gestured towards her cup and sat in the empty stool next to her. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

She straightened, picking up her glass. “This drink ain’t for little girls and boys.”

My gaze roams the length of her before snapping back to her face.

She took a longer sip of her drink, then nodded to the bartender.

“If you want to know what its like picture licking morning dew off the perfect chest of a Caribbean goddess. And the bartender, Trinidad, is the only one who knows how to make it to perfection.”

She laughed to herself, pushing whatever she was reading to the side.

I hit the bar with my hand. “Why haven’t I had that in my life sooner? Hit me.” I dug out my wallet and threw some cash on the table.

When I look up, her nose is wrinkled in the most adorable way. “I thought I was paying for that drink?”

I bit back a smirk. “If I hate it you will.”

She shook her head. “This was a one time offer. And I don’t give out coupons. If you’ve never tasted it, there’s no way to explain it to you.” She shook her head. “Mint juleps are like the only thing I’ll drink. I had it for the first time in high school and puked in my parents closet all over my dad’s shoes. I had to stay home the next day from school. And once I recovered, I got the ass-whoopin’ of my life.”

Laughing, I grabbed the offered drink from the bartender. “And you still drinking it after that?”

“Yup. My granny used to drink it every Saturday after visiting grandpa at the cemetery. Just one glass and a prayer in his memory. When I drink it she’s still with me.”

Smiling now, I leaned in, one arm on the bar holding the glass. “To a drink and a prayer.”

She picked up her glass and leaned forward. Her eyes darting to my lips as our glasses clinked. “To a drink and a prayer.”

“So what are you praying for?”

“That someone in the industry notices my talent. And everyone that I choose to surround myself with leaves the bullshit at the door and completely rides for me. Straight to the top.”

Nodding my head, I consider her prayer, her shaky hands calling to mind. “Are you sure that’s what destiny has in store for you?”

She smacked her lips. “Don’t hide from your talent. Its what my momma always used to say. So imma be about my grind until the whole world sees it. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t taken a sip of that drink yet.”

“I drank it when we did the whole toast and cheers.”

“Oh, really, if you had actually drunk that you wouldn’t have been able to hide it. So now I know you just a boy. And I may need to save this drink for a man.”

I cupped my fist over my mouth. “Ohhhh, so now you coming for my manhood. Maybe you should be asking me my name first. It’s Michael by the way.”

She pursed her lips. I could write a rap about those lips. Biting her bottom lip hesitantly, she said, “I’m Tina.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Tina. I couldn’t help, but notice what a nice voice you had. Despite all the attitude you throwing me.”

She gasped. “I’m not throwing nothing.”

Nodding, I held her gaze. “Its cool ma, because I’m catching.”

She looked a bit intrigued, mumbling, “Whatever.”

“You ever tried Hennessy, a real drink.”

She shook her head, twirling her half-empty glass on the bar top with precision. “I don’t need any poor substitutes for the greatest drink ever But…” she shrugged her shoulder, “Maybe I’ll try it one day.”

My shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. “You’re just different than I ever expected you to be. Yeah, you got that innocent and adorable edge, but there’s more there than that.”

Her eyes widen at that, surprised by my comments.

I always found that when you wanted something it was better to be direct than miss your opportunity. And I wasn’t trying to hide that I was really digging her. This was the most fun I’d had talking to any girl in a long minute. Then again, I didn’t need a conversation with the girls that sometimes graced my bed.

Hesitation seemed to be the order of the day with this one before she settles on a neutral stare. “Thanks.”

“No compliment, just stating facts,” I said it firmly, and reached for my drink, hoping that would give me time to collect my thoughts and not scare her off.

She was adorable. Pint-size at 5’5, with a love for Mint Juleps, cool nose jewelry, and an intriguing hesitation when she’s considering everything including compliments. But it was her lips and eyes that drew me in.

Before I could think of any more to say about her lips or hips, she said, “Well, I do have a show to put on. So…” Grabbing the paper she had set aside earlier.

A spike of panic shot through me. I was running out of time. I wanted to talk to her more. And if she goes on stage without giving me her number, then it was a strong possibility that this would just fade from her memory. I knew with almost certainty that somebody else would be waiting in the wings to shoot there shot. Then I wouldn’t be able to get near her, even if I wanted too. It should be a crime never to see that smile or stare into those eyes again.

But I needed to play it cool.

Desperation was not a good look on any man. I shot her a smile and grabbed my drink. “Oh wait, I never tried your drink.”

Her eyes flew back to mine, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She folded her arms across her chest, assessing me with curious eyes. “So what are you waiting for?”

I took a bigger sip then I probably should have. Choking as the drink, burned my throat, but the taste was equally as horrible. “It tastes like soap.”

Her eyes widened, surprised and interested. “Really? I’ve literally, like, never heard that before.”

“How can you stand it?”

She hopped down from the stool but leaned against the bar. Her eyes, roaming over my face. “I guess I just got a stomach for it.”

Setting the glass down cautiously as if it were a snake. “Who are your musical inspirations?”

Her lips quirk into a small smile, her eyes still studying my face. “I could probably go on and on about that, but I don’t have the time.”

She gives an apologetic look to the DJ on stage and starts in on her feelings about Neosoul. Rattling off the names of Anita Baker, Sade, and Jill Scott. And a few other names that were foreign to me. She’s singing more hip-hop and pop, mostly because it pays the bills. She prefers that too not singing at all.

“But if you just asking what speaks to my soul?” she gushed, causing me to shift in my seat at her moaning. Trying to slow the blood rush to my southern region. “The first time I heard Hopeless by Dionne Faris, I just knew she wrote that for me. Lying in bed with that song on repeat in a musical coma.”

“I’m not sure if I heard that one.”

She reached for a napkin and scribbled the name of the artist and song. As well as a few others I should check out. “Here. Youtube is your friend with most of these.”

My fingers brushed against hers and lingered there as I grabbed the napkin. A magnetic pull, drowning out everything else except each other.

She shook it off faster than I did.

“Why don’t I hear singing? Don’t get Divalicious on me, here,” A man with a beer gut, wearing a dirty, grease-stained t-shirt said.

“I’m going.” Meeting my eyes again, she offered me a quick smile. “Sorry, back to business.”

I stand too, not really sure of what to do with myself. “Okay, but you gotta give me your number too. That way I can tell you if your musical taste is just as bad as you’re taste in alcohol.”

She laughed. “You think you so slick.” She took the pen and wrote her number down on the back side of it.

As she’s handing it back to me, a voice interrupts us.

“Lookie here, If it ain’t baby-faced Tina. Couldn’t wait for me to step out of the limelight. So that you could step right in.”

I stifled a groan at the girl who was wearing a skimpy red dress, so tight it didn’t even look like she could breathe. She wasn’t familiar to me, but it was obvious that she knew Tina. And from the alcohol on her breath, she was ready for a fight. But all she was doing was blocking my flow.

Practically invisible now, grease stain man approached Tina his thick eyebrows knitted together. “Oh hey, Ness. Nice of you to show up. Goodbye.”

I looked between Ness and Tina and leaned over to whisper to Tina. “Do I want to know what’s going on here?”

Tina shook her head. “It’s not that exciting.”

“You may be the owner of this establishment, Kip. But don’t think I haven’t peeped your game. Giving a DJ my spot.”

“No, you forgot that I own this spot,” Kip said with a dismissive tone. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be taking vacations whenever you damn well please. I’m not on your schedule Ness. You’re on mine, and now you’re not. You not bringing in the crowds the way you used too anyway.”

“She never did,” Tina remarked to me, with a shake of her head.

“Lil girl,” Ness said, charging at Tina with her red talons ready. Her hair matted on one side as if she had just rolled out of bed. I quickly stepped in front of her. But Kip whistled for security, and it was over before it started.

And it was obvious at least to me who the true queen of The Queen was. She sang with a depth of emotion that not every singer had. Even the famous ones.

Neosoul, R&B, Hip Hop, and Pop. . . Was there anything that she couldn’t sing? As I tried not to notice the fluid movement of her body as she danced. An intriguing mix of innocence and confidence.

She really was too beautiful and talented to be playing in a small nightclub in Chicago.

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Want to find out what happens? It’s easy – you just have to pick up a copy of A Songwriter’s Death.