That incident so many years ago pretty much summed up their dynamic. It was actually Dorian who’d strongly urged Brian to get the hell out of Phoenix when he found out how he’d lost it with Larry that night. In fact, Dorian was the only one who knew what happened. Brian hadn’t seen Larry again, but figured if he did, the asshole would know better than to approach him a second time.
“She’s working hard,” Dorian commented, almost to himself.
Brian took another sip of his drink and shifted his weight, his eyes roaming across the room to the two chicks who were still actively vying for their attention. Brian watched as Dorian nodded at Fake Kerry Washington, smiling the way he’d seen him do a million times, working her over before he’d even opened his mouth. It usually always worked and this time was no exception. The girl smiled back and Dorian beckoned her over to where the three of them were standing. Of course, her curvy, curly-haired friend followed.
Brian shot Dorian a glance and Dorian grinned as the two girls made their way across the room. Brian sighed, already bored with them, and sipped his drink again, letting his eyes scan the space. The fact that they could be beckoned over immediately turned him off, not that he was ever interested in the first place. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out and read the text, grateful for the distraction.
“If I was your girlfriend, would you run to me if somebody hurt you, even if the somebody was me?”
He grinned as he read the lyrics to Prince’s “If I Was Your Girlfriend” and looked toward the DJ booth, his grin automatically turning to a full-fledged smile as he took in the real reason he’d wanted to leave Phoenix, the reason he was in Miami, the reason he had any reasons at all—Destiny.
He felt the familiar tightening in his chest as he looked at her, only this time it wasn’t caused by longing. She was his now…finally. And he wasn’t letting her go.
He let his eyes trail over her slowly. She had on skintight jeans that were fashionably tattered, a pair of pink Converses and a red and pink tank top with Bob Marley’s face imprinted on it. The tank top showed the fullness of her breasts and his eyes lingered there for a second. She had the kind of body most women would kill for (or in Miami, pay for). Her hair was swept up into a neat bun, elongating the feminine curve of her neck, though there were a few pieces escaping it, falling softly onto the top of her shoulders. She was, without a doubt, gorgeous. If she were about six inches taller than her five-foot-three frame, she could’ve easily entertained a career as a model instead of a music writer.
“There’s Destiny, I’ll be back,” he threw over his shoulder to Dorian and Nathan, nodding his head politely at the girl who had just spent the past fifteen minutes checking him out as he passed by her. His absence evened it up for Nathan anyway.
He made his way across the room, coming to stand behind Destiny. She still hadn’t noticed him. He put a hand on her waist and leaned in close.
“We agreed no more Prince,” he said low in her ear, referencing the song lyrics she’d just texted.
She jumped at the contact, whipping around to face him, her face breaking into a smile at the sight of him. It was a game they’d been playing for years: texting each other lyrics, trying to stump each other about who’d made the song.
“Especially weird Prince,” he teased her, “where he’s singing about not knowing if he’s a woman or not.”
“You said no more Prince—I never agreed to such craziness,” she corrected, eyeing him. “And stop calling Prince weird.”
“I will, when he stops being weird.”
She rolled her eyes at his playful grin.
“Just so you know, if I ever I left you for anybody, it would definitely be for him.”
He fixed a look on her. “You’d seriously leave me for a dude that doesn’t know if he’s a woman or not?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head at her in mock disappointment as she laughed. He let his gaze roam over her again. Even though he’d known her for more than half of his life—she was Dorian’s first cousin and she’d become part of the package when they’d befriended each other—he never tired of looking at her.
Her dusky caramel complexion was smooth and flawless, except for the tiny mole that dotted the space between her neck and collarbone. And that wasn’t even a flaw; it was a temptation because it made her Destiny. Her dark brown eyes were almond-shaped and expressive, reflecting whatever emotion happened to be swimming in her at the time. Over the years it’d become a hobby for him to decipher her exact emotion, just from staring into her eyes. And her lips—damn, her lips. They were full and lush, soft and inviting. His vice. The bottom one poked out just a little more than the top, as if begging to be kissed first, and he acquiesced more often than not.