Just Friends (12 page)

“Honey, you’re going to have to beat them off
with a stick tonight.”

Alannah preened under the encouraging words,
particularly since Trenton hadn’t offered a word of praise about
her appearance.

“So,” Terri said, taking a deep breath and
looking around. “Who do I have to blow to get a drink around
here?”

Alannah laughed. Her friend’s irreverent
sense of humor and I-don’t-care attitude were refreshing. “I don’t
think that will be necessary.” She waved over the waitress.

The club continued to fill up, and before
long, the waitress came back and mentioned a light-skinned man at
the bar wanted to buy Terri a drink.

Terri followed the line of the server’s
pointing finger. “Cu-ute. And he’s tall. I like my men tall.” She
arched a brow at Alannah. “He’s got a friend.”

Alannah noticed the friend, too, but he was
preoccupied with the performance on the stage, while Terri’s
potential stared right at them.

Terri sent a finger wave over to the guy and
leaned toward the waitress. “Tell him I would love a drink, but
he’ll have to get one for my friend, too.”

Alannah’s eyes widened. “No, don’t do
that.”

Terri waved her off and placed an order.

“And you?” the waitress asked Alannah.

“Nothing for me, thanks.”

“Get her a strawberry daiquiri.”

“Terri.”

“Thank you.” Terri waved away the waitress
and leaned toward Alannah. “Stop worrying. It’s no big deal.”

“He offered
you
a drink, not me.”

“Same difference. You’re sitting with me, so
you reap the benefits.”

Although Alannah appreciated the move, she
cringed inwardly at having to coerce someone into buying her a
drink.

The night couldn’t possibly get any
worse.

Trenton leaned back against the
bar, beer bottle in hand. His Kappa Alpha Sigma brother and owner
of The Underground, Devin, stood beside him. When Devin had
explained the concept of the club, Trenton had fronted a huge chunk
of the money needed to open the place, all of which had already
been repaid with interest.

On stage, the lead singer of a four-member
band sang “Don’t Leave Me” by Backstreet, which had been preceded
by “On Bended Knee” by Boyz II Men.

Devin stroked his goatee. “Begging asses. No
woman will ever have my nose that wide open to have me begging like
that.”

“I hear you.” Trenton took a swig of beer.
“Keith Sweat was the worst, wasn’t he?”

“He was bad, but the whole idea of begging a
woman started with The Temptations—talking about ain’t too proud to
beg.” Devin shook his head in disgust. “Ain’t a woman alive could
make me beg, that’s for sure.”

He raised his bottle and Trenton touched his
against it.

“Amen.”

They stood in silence, listening to the
musicians on stage. As the emcee asked the audience to give a round
of applause to the departing act, three of Trenton’s Kappa Alpha
brothers walked up with another man he didn’t recognize.

He and his fraternity brothers greeted each
other with the customary handshake. Then Julian, dark-skinned and
with a low-cut fade, placed a hand on the fourth person with them,
a stocky, brown-skinned guy with a circle beard. “This is a buddy
of mine, Steve. He’s visiting from Las Vegas.”

“Welcome,” Trenton said. He and Devin
introduced themselves. “I was in Vegas not too long ago.”

“I know,” Steve said. A one-sided grin
transformed his face into a knowing smirk. “Heard all about it. The
honey you were with was real nice-looking, man. Real nice.”

Trenton chuckled. Not one to kiss and tell,
he kept his response brief. “She’s a lot of fun.” Beth had very
much appreciated the trip and shown him multiple times over the
weekend exactly how much.

Steve used his chin to point across the club.
“The one in the red mini—that you, too, bruh?”

Trenton’s eyes went in the direction he’d
indicated, straight to the table where Alannah and Terri sat
huddled together in conversation. His relaxed pose tightened a
smidgen, and after a slight hesitation, he answered. “Yeah, that’s
me.”

Steve bit his lip. “Damn.”

Bristling and shoulders tight, Trenton paid
closer attention to this newcomer.

Devin patted Steve on the back and laughed
out loud. “Trenton gets all the fine honeys. That’s why his line
name is Loverman.” He and a couple of the other guys broke into a
few bars of Shabba Ranks’ “Mr. Loverman.”

Trenton relaxed and laughed at the friendly
ribbing. “It’s not my fault I have better lines than you
suckers.”

A chorus of oohs and ahs filled the small
group.

“You’re a lucky man,” Steve continued,
keeping his eyes on the women. “The one you took to Vegas was fine,
but this girl…she’s got that sweet look about her. Must be one of
them nice girls, a lady in the street but a freak in the sheets.”
He laughed knowingly.

Trenton frowned. Was this guy for real? “Why
you still looking at her?”

Steve turned to him and raised his eyebrows.
“What, a brother can’t look?”

“Come on, Steve,” Julian said.

An unnatural silence fell over the group. The
chatter and sounds of the thumping music receded as Trenton gave
the newcomer his undivided attention.

“You believe this fool?” he asked no one in
particular. He deposited the beer on the bar behind him with a
thunk and stood up straight, almost a full head above Steve. His
muscles quivered with tension. “Nah, a brother can’t look. I told
you that’s me right there, and you looking at her like you want to
fuck her or something. That’s disrespectful.”

“I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful, man.”
Steve laughed uneasily, his eyes traveling through the group of
friends. He sought backup, but none of them gave the encouragement
he wanted, so he found it in himself. “You should be proud you have
a woman who catches the eye of other men.”

“You need to keep your motherfucking eyes to
yourself.”

“Are you serious, man?” Steve laughed, this
time with more bravado. Again he searched the group for backing,
but their grave expressions offered none. “It’s not like I
approached her. She sitting way over there—”

“Get him the fuck out of here.” Trenton’s
fingers folded into a fist, and he dismissed the conversation by
turning his back on Steve instead of punching the idiot in the
face.

Two of his frat brothers immediately stepped
on either side of Steve. Each grabbed an arm and started escorting
him out.

As they hauled him away, Trenton heard him
holler, “This is some bullshit!”

“Fuck him,” Devin muttered, resting an elbow
on the bar. “You all right?”

Trenton flexed his fingers. Only the thought
of bad publicity and a potential lawsuit held him in check. “I’m
fine.” He reclaimed his beer and let his eyes veer to where Alannah
and Terri sat, heads still close together and whispering.

“I didn’t know he was such an asshole.”
Julian grimaced. “Everybody knows Alannah is off limits, and I told
him. Don’t know why he asked you that question in the first
place.”

Trenton slanted a look at his frat brother.
“So he just wanted to start something?”

“Pretty much.”

“No damn respect.”

“I hear you.”

****

Everyone liked hip-hop night, but they
loved
when Trenton took the stage. On the nights he
performed, The Underground skirted the boundaries of the fire code.
Watching the billionaire musician from one of America’s most
prestigious families get up on stage with his keyboardist and
drummer was a must-see.

When it was almost time for Trenton to
perform, Alannah watched Devin step up to the mic. “I know why
you’re here, but I’m not sure you’re ready for him.”

The audience went crazy, screaming and
yelling.

Devin laughed, clearly enjoying the energy in
the room. “You sure? You sure you’re ready for this?”

“We’re ready!”

“Bring him out!”

“All right then,” Devin said. “Give it up for
my boy, my frat, Mr. Loverman himself, Trenton Johnson!”

The audience went wild. Wide-eyed, Terri
turned to Alannah, surprised at the crowd’s reaction.

“Watch this,” Alannah mouthed.

The lights in the venue went down and a
hushed silence fell over the crowd. Very low, the first track came
on, supported by the soft beat of the bass drum and the
keyboardist’s fingers trailing across the keys. As the sounds of
the music grew louder, a spotlight appeared, positioned on
Trenton’s bare, tatted back. The screaming started up again and
reached an eardrum-busting level.

Alannah clapped her hands and moved to the
beat with the rest of the audience. As they danced, the music
became even louder. Beneath his cap, which he’d throw into the
audience at the end of the performance, Trenton’s head bounced in
time to the melody.

All of a sudden, the hip-hop track exploded,
and he swung around with a violin positioned on his collarbone, and
dragged the bow across the strings. The crowd yelled as a unique
rendition of Fat Joe’s “Lean Back” played out before them, and as
he smoothly transitioned to “LoveHate Thing” by Wale, Trenton
became lost in the music.

He danced, taking full advantage of the
stage, lean hips swaying and muscles flexing as he moved. He winked
at women in the audience or dropped to one knee and strummed out
the notes like the lead guitarist in a rock band. Concentrating on
the chords of each song, his fingers slid along the neck of the
violin and produced a full range of vibrato movements.

Alannah could easily have been one of the
women screaming and yelling, because her mouth went dry as she
watched Trenton command the stage. Shirtless, ripped abs on display
and hard biceps flexing, he played the tunes with jab-like strokes.
Hypnotized by the sounds of the stringed instrument and his swaying
hips, Alannah trailed a finger down the side of her damp neck.

The drag and wail of the violin, the beat of
the drum, and the notes of the keyboard invited people to dance.
They danced around tables. They danced standing along the
walls.

Then Trenton stopped, dead silence. His
signature move. Bouncing, he counted, and the crowd chanted with
him, “One, two, one, two, three, four…”

He dived back in, dropped to his knees in a
back bend and slowly rose while the bow moved in a furious
back-and-forth motion, signaling the finale of the song. Alannah
and Terri jumped to their feet with the other audience members,
clapping and whooping at the top of their lungs.

“Wow,” Terri mouthed, wide-eyed.

Once the raucous cheering ended, the stage
lights dimmed and focused on Trenton. He ended the set the way he
always did, with a slowed-down rendition of Will Smith’s song to
his oldest son, “Just the Two of Us.”

No matter how many times Alannah saw him
perform the melody, she had the same reaction as if it was the
first time. Tears moistened her eyes, because she knew, better than
anyone else there, the full story of Trenton’s past, why this song
was so important to him, and why he’d learned to play the
violin.

Playing made him feel closer to his father, a
classically trained violinist who had taken leave from the Johnson
family business to pursue his passion for music. He’d toured with a
pit orchestra and carried musical theatre to audiences all over the
world.

Alannah knew the pain Trenton carried behind
the smile, understood the markings on his skin were more than art,
and his body more than a canvas. The images of a snake, of flames,
Philadelphia landmarks, musical notes, and every single
illustration etched into his flesh did double duty. They hid the
pain of a seven-year-old boy and gave him something to talk about,
instead of the scars that marred his flesh.

She could almost believe Trenton channeled
his father’s spirit while on stage. He didn’t perform because of
ego or because he needed the adoration of the crowded club. He
performed to pay homage to his hero. He performed because he loved
music, and because playing the violin made him feel close to his
father, taken from him suddenly, violently, and much too soon.

This might officially be the worst
night of her life.

When the man who had bought a drink for Terri
had come over, Alannah had taken that opportunity to thank him, but
he’d been so preoccupied with Terri he barely acknowledged her. The
two exchanged numbers, and that was the first of what turned out to
be a pattern the entire night.

Men either bought Terri a drink or came by
and whispered in her friend’s ear. Alannah declined any other
drinks after the first Terri procured for her, and lingered over
her daiquiri while her friend took advantage of her popularity to
try other options and sample appetizers on the menu.

In truth, her friend was a sight to behold,
her ability to flirt an art form. Beside her, Alannah felt like the
ugly duckling. Every now and again a man who approached Terri
smiled politely at Alannah and then looked away. It was the oddest
thing. As if they were afraid to pay her too much attention. As if
they wanted to make it abundantly clear they were interested in
Terri, not her. Obviously, she was out of her depth. As the night
wore on, the inattention crushed her spirits.

“You okay?” Terri asked. She placed a hand on
Alannah’s bare shoulder.

“I’m fine. Gonna run to the little girls’
room.” She managed a weak smile and left the table.

Inside the bathroom, she waited her turn, so
close to tears she had to gnaw on her upper lip to keep it from
trembling. When an empty stall became available, she closed herself
inside and stood there, fighting the urge to cry. But a sob broke
free and she covered her mouth, shoving back the disheartening
feelings.