Page 7 of Broken Chords
Chapter Four
Scale:a series of eight pitches using eight consecutive letter names extending from a given pitch to its octave, ascending or descending. The series usually consists of whole steps and half steps, and it is the location of the half steps within the scale structure that determines the type of scale (major, minor, etc.).
Charlie
When Damian’s hand makes contact with my back this time, I don’t flinch. I feel like such an idiot that I flinched the first time, but he caught me off guard. Casual touching hasn’t ever been a big part of my life. Even when I was paraded in front of the paparazzi with my latest “boyfriend,” I’d always stiffened when they’d touched me. At least at first.
Most of those guys only wanted one of two things from me: career advancement or easy pussy. Sometimes both. The ones who were with me to boost their own careers were usually respectful. They were happy to be seen with me, and while hand-holding, kissing, and general couple-type touching was expected in public, most knew the drill. Once I made it clear that we were only a couple for public consumption, they kept their distance in private.
Some of them, like Jonathan, became friends. Though, really, now that I think about it, he’s the only one who’s stayed a friend. Most of the others were friendly at the time, though. There were a few pouters who were upset they weren’t getting the full girlfriend experience, but that was their problem, not mine.
But when my publicist paired me with someone who was designed to increase my star power … well, those guys came with … expectations. I tried talking to my mom about it once, but she brushed me off like I was making a big deal out of nothing. After that I just did my best to give them enough to placate them, but no more than I had to. I got really good at hand jobs and blow jobs. The quicker, the better in my opinion. Not everyone was satisfied with that. Nick, for example, could only be put off that way so many times before he wanted more.
Looking up at Damian, I study his profile to banish those memories. That’s not my life right now. This date is the real thing with this cute guy who seems a little unsure of himself. But that just adds to his adorableness. His black-rimmed glasses make him seem older or wiser, and I like that he wears his hair long, pulled back in a ponytail to keep it neat. It’s thick and shiny, and I know people who’d pay big money to have hair half as gorgeous as his. He’s wearing a plain black T-shirt and dark wash skinny jeans that accentuate his slim build. I know some women like men who are all built and muscle bound. While that can be nice to look at, too many of those guys are the pushy kind in my experience.
A pretty teenager in a maroon polo shirt and black pants looks up from the counter at the back of the room as we enter. Her large dark eyes light up when she sees Damian. “Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while.” She tucks a little folder into the apron tied around her waist as she walks toward us.
Glancing at Damian, I see him smile back at her, meeting her halfway down the row of booths and giving her a big hug, and I wonder who she is. He comes here a lot, so they’re obviously friendly. “I’ve been busy. But a … friend and I were wanting to have dinner.”
The pretty girl peers around Damian, her gaze sweeping over me in quick assessment before looking back at Damian. “And you brought her here?” Then she switches to Spanish, and I don’t know what she’s saying, but from her tone of voice, she’s scolding him.
For bringing me here? I’m so lost right now.
Damian glances at me with a sheepish look, but shrugs as he steps back, responding in Spanish. Then he switches to English. “This is Charlie. She’s a pianist. Charlie, this is my cousin Martina.”
Ah, okay. Their dynamic makes more sense now.
Martina offers her hand, her expression open and friendly, though her gaze is still assessing. Apparently I’m being subjected to some unknown test. I offer her my best magazine photo smile and shake her hand.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she says and waves at the empty tables next to her. “You two sit anywhere that’s open. I’ll go tell my dad you’re here. He’ll want to see you.”
With that, she turns and walks away with quick, confident strides, her long black braid swinging behind her.
Damian directs me to a table, again with his hand touching lightly on the small of my back. He touched me last night, too. Just a little touch. He appears to be more of a touching guy than I’m used to. But he’s so nonthreatening with it that, other than that initial surprise reaction, it doesn’t bother me. In fact, I kinda like it.
We sit, picking up the large laminated menus from the table. Before I have time to do much more than scan the front side, a short man with dark hair bustles up to our table with his arms spread wide, his neat white button-down shirt snug across the expanse of his belly. “Damián!” His pronunciation is a little different, with the stress on the last syllable. “I didn’t expect to see you today. How are you?”
Damian stands and gives the man, who I can only assume is his uncle Marco, a hug, complete with firm slaps on the back. “You know I like to drop in and surprise you.”
Marco wags a finger at Damian before glancing at me. “And who is this lovely young lady?”
“This is Charlie,” Damian supplies.
Marco holds out a hand in my direction, and when I place my hand in his, he covers it with his other hand. “So nice to meet you. Any friend of Damián’s is welcome here.” His voice is as warm as the hands cupping mine, and his dark eyes twinkle with humor.
“Nice to meet you, too.”
Still holding my hand, he says something in Spanish to Damian, who once again looks sheepish. My eyes dart back and forth between the two, trying to catch what’s going on here.
But then Marco says, “Ah! Where are my manners? I’m sorry. I was telling Damián that he needs to be sure to bring you around more often.” With that, he gives my hand a squeeze and lets it go before clapping his hands together. “Now. Have you decided what you would like to eat?”
I shake my head, charmed. “Not yet. We just sat down.”
With a nod, he takes a step back. “I’ll send Martina out in a few minutes. The tacos are the best in town and our enchiladas are delicious. The sauce is an old family recipe.” He gives me a wink, which is remarkably not creepy, and turns away, stopping to check on the other customers scattered around us on his way to the back again.
Damian clears his throat. “So that’s my uncle.”
I chuckle at his understatement, hoping to put him at ease again. “I gathered. He seems nice. Like he really cares about you.”
