Ten Days of Perfect (5 page)

“Wha
t?”
Monica squealed.

“It was just amazing, Monica. I haven’t felt that way
ever
. When I pulled his lips to mine
. . .
”

Monica cut me off, “You initiated it? That’s so aggressive, Ember!” Her pitch was window shattering.

“And
that’s
so fifties, Monica. Anyway, we were alive in it, like we’d done it a million times before. Don’t worry, I’m the one that pulled away first; wanted to leave a little appetite for tonight. I didn’t even give him my phone number.” I was proud that my parents taught me to love passionately, with responsibility.

“Well, at least we know he won’t stalk you on F
acebook,” Monica said snidely.

“Fucking
Facebook
,” I snarled cynically and hung up the phone.

After our college graduation, Adrian updated me on Facebook about life at Harvard a few times in private messages, and wanted to know if we could “catch up” on the Cape sometime (he was less than 2 hours away). I found my mind wandering to a place that had us being a hot little power couple, he as an attorney for those less fortunate, and myself managing his office and all. Adrian and I always made sense “on paper” in that way; our brains, our looks, and our determination. I quickly pushed those daydreams aside and told him that I thought it best that we got on with our live
s and I deactivated my account.

Maybe it broke his heart; I didn’t ask and he didn’t tell. I do know that we would have hurt each other in the end because, judging by all of his cute little
Facebook
albums, he was after girls that were pretty enough to make an impression, but dumb enough not to challenge him.
Screw that.

I spent all day
cleaning and organizing my kitchen in an effort to pass the time until I would get to see Bo again.
Of
course,
it wasn’t just the singing I was looking forward to, but I needed to keep my good-girl side appeased. I
arrived at
Finnegan’s
by
8:00 - an hour earlier than usual - hoping to catch him before he went on stage.

“You’re early
.
” Jo
sh grinned from behind the bar.

“Yea, thought I’d try to get a beer and a good seat if it’s supposed
to be busier than last night.”

Josh shook his head as he dried
glasses; he knew I was lying.

“Shut up, Josh. Is Monica here yet?” I laughed. I was speaking to Josh, but looking for Bo
.

“Hey, I didn’t say anything,” Josh put up his hands in defense, “it was just awesome seeing you up there last night, that’s all. Monica should be here in a few.”

“It felt so good being up
there. I want to do it again.”

“You should think about singing here regularly.” Josh slid my pint across the bar.

“You’re kidding,” I panned as I welcomed the cold brew into my mouth.

“I’m not shitting you,
Em. You’ve got something special goin’ on.”
Josh playfully smacked my arm with the bar towel.

“Where the hell is your girlfriend, anyway?” I teased.

Almost on cue, Monica glided next to me and lifted herself up on the bar. She gave Josh the kind of kiss one gives
to
someone they’d been separated from for months. Once again (and this was a pattern a girl could get used to), I felt and smelled
Bo
before I saw him.

“Hey guys!” Bo Cavanaugh looked every bit
as
striking as he had the night before on stage, and in my dreams. The dark jeans from last night returned, but tonight he was wearing a fitted black sleeveless shirt in response to the heat. His shoulders sat with such prominence, it was like they were guarding the rest of his body. His taught masculinity made my mouth run dry.

“Hey, Bro.  Here’s a pint on the house.” Josh was certainly a class-act. He knew he wanted Bo to play here regularly, and what better way is there to butter a guy up
than with some hometown brew?

“
Thanks, Bro, I appreciate it.
Ember, you wanna sing something with me tonight?” Bo touched the small of my back, but it rather lacked that little something extra that I was hoping for. He seemed a little casual after last night’s kiss. I wondered if I offered too much, too soon.

Hell no! That was hot.

“Sure.  Did you have something in mind?” I smiled and cocked an eyebrow as I turned to face him. I ignored Josh’s snickering.

“I’ll surprise you
.  J
ust come up when I give you the nod.” He mimicked his nod and I giggled. Giggled.
God help me.

The four of us spent the next hour sipping a beer, or two, and talked about music. I raved about Ani Difranco, Goo Goo Dolls, Patty Griffin, and the list went on. I had certainly found my musical soul mate - one who rivaled my parents even - and I could have lived on that conversation alone. Well, I could have lived on a music conversation alone, had I not kissed him. No, now that I knew what his mouth was capable of away fr
om a microphone, I needed more.

“K, I’m headed up,” Bo said a second after Josh tapped the mic. “See you in a few,” he whispered in my ear so closely that I
thought
it was meant to be a kiss, as wel
l;
his electricity overrode my system once again.  As he walked away, I saw what appeared to be the top of a tattoo at the base of his neck, and made a mental note to check that out later.

Bo started his set with some of his original work, which blew me away; Monica kept elbowing me during his songs to raise her eyebrows and widen her eyes. Josh had a proud smile on his face, shaking his head back and forth like he couldn’t believe we hadn’t heard of him until now. My i
nsides sashayed with each note.

My soul has always felt music deeper than my ears could ever hear it; I was involuntarily swaying to his beats.
Occasionally
, he’d glance up at me during his songs
; it felt
like musical foreplay.
I always returned his smile, sometimes while casually
biting my lower lip. Two could play at this game. Then he nodded in my direct
ion, which lead me up on stage.

“Those of you who were here last night were treated
to the voice of this talented woman
, November Harris.” His hand embraced my knee as he spoke, which sent me i
nto
the stratosphere.
I need to get ahold of mysel
f.

The crowd clapped. Even if they weren’t there last night, most of them had likely heard me sing at least once before. Mon
ica hollered and Josh whistled.

“Thank you,
Bo, but
, the pleasure was all mine. How talented is he?” I asked the crowd as I clapped in to the air. They followed graciously.

I whipped my head toward him and narrowed my eyes at his guitar while he plucked the intro
to the song he wanted me to sing
. My heart plummeted head-first into the wicked sea of my stomach.

“Shit, what are you doing?!” I whisper-yelled in his ea
r as I covered the
microphone, “ I
haven’t sung An
i Difranco anywhere in public!”

He smiled his hot half-smile and continued the intro to “Both Hands”, leaving me panicked at the thought of the unique register I’d need to reach to pull it off. What the hell was he doing?! He started the intro again since I missed my cue. His knee knocked into mine and he mouthed, “Go.” I cleared my throat and begged
for
feeling to return to my face.

As I finished the first verse I reveled in
how great it felt
.
I wondered how he knew
that I would
recognize
that song
.
I guess I did mention that I liked Ani . . .
He was song-flirting with me all over again. I rolled with it and had to refrain from jumping him right there
on the stage when his voice joined mine. He brought a husky rock undertone to the harmony that s
hook my insides.

When we finished, I exhaled with such force that it felt like I’d been holding my breath the entire song.

“Meet me outside when you finish your set,” I breathed
into
his ear as the crowd applauded. And, just so he was sure, I grazed my lips across his earlobe before I headed back to the bar. I heard his breath hitch just before he cleared his throat, and a seductive smile of satisfaction concealed itself behind his microphone.

Bo finished the rest of his set with a shade of crimson on his cheeks that suited
me
just fine.

“That boy has it bad for you, Ember.  What’d you do to him last night?” Josh elbowed  my side.

“Josh!” Monica slapped his arm.

“You’d like to know, wouldn’t you Josh. I’m heading outside. Bo’s gonna meet me out there when he’s done- don’t hassle him, Josh.” I grabbed two pints
and, with a wink, I headed out to sit in a chair facing the door. I wanted to see him first this time.

The familiar applause that comes at the end of the set erupted, and within two minutes Bo was walking through the door and straight toward me with a mile-wide grin. I stood up and handed him his beer.

“Walk with me.” I stepped through the dry grass on to the sandy beach that hugged the ocean.

“Can you take your beer out here?” Bo
asked, faking concern for the law.

“We’re just going right here, Officer.” I plunked down in the sand and kicked off my sandals, digging my toes into the cool earth. This effort, I’d hoped, would keep me somewhat grounded from his electrical output.

Bo sat next to me and spilled a bit of his beer when I playfully punched him in the shoulder.

“What kind of a dick move was that? Pulling out an Ani Difranco song, assuming I’d know it?” I tried to sound playful as I relived the initial terror of hearing him strum the song that, up until then, I’d only su
ng in the shower or when drunk.

“Hey,” he said as he rocked his shoulder in to mine, “that was crazy good. I’ve never sung
that song live before either.”

Bo’s shoulder paused on mine as he placed his elbows on bent knees, dangling his pint from his long fingers. He slipped off his black Sperry’s and dragged his toes through the sand.
Even his feet are sexy.

“Still, you’re
an asshole. I nearly fainted!”

My scalp tingled as he brushed my hair aside, dancing his fingers across the back of my neck. His hands were tight, like guitar strings, and just as delicate. Despite the callused fingertips that come from years of plucking, their graze was soft and inviting.

“Forgive me,” he chuckled as he pressed his thick, soft lips on the spot where my neck meets my shoulders.

“K,” I sighed as I turned my lips to his.

He grabbed my chin and turned my face away as he worked his lips from the base of my neck to my ear. Nothing inside me had recovered from the night before, but I was nearly panting for more. I felt utterly helpless as his lips gra
ze
d my ear a second time. All I could do was kiss
the top of his head, which caused him to right himself and look me straight in the eyes. I leaned forward and pressed my lips into his sharp jaw line. His breath stopped for a moment as I pulled my lips away and returned them to his neck.
Our pint glasses hit the sand
, and he placed both hands behind my head. Once again, his eyes held mine captive.

“I don’t usually do this,” he said more to himself than me, “you’re j
ust so beautiful, so talented…”

I silenced him with a crushing kiss and we had to steady ourselves.

“Neither do I.” My body shook as my free hand rode up the outside of his thigh.

He exhaled sharply as he slowly brought his free hand to the base of my shirt; disregarding the soft cotton in favor of my skin. I pulled it in tighter, making my desire clear. The tip of my fingernail drew a line of goose bumps on the skin just inside his belt line.

“Ahh,” he sighed as he lunged forward and laid me down in the sand, cradling my head in one hand.

Our lips found their homes in each other, and we picked up where we left off the night before. If square had a taste, it was his jaw. If clouds had a touch, they were his lips. Every pore on my body drank him in with such eagerness that I could hear their cries of gratitude. My body had wandered the desert
for too long; Bo was my oasis.

His full weight wasn’t on me, as his legs were still on the ground to my side, but it was enough for me to crave more. I released my hands from his waistband and surged them through the back of
his thick, loose hair. I forced our lips tighter together
. A faint groan of relief escaped my throat as we worked our tongues together in familiar rhythm. I wanted all of him, badly, but it couldn’t happen here. Not in the sand behind Finnegan’s.