Ten Days of Perfect (November Blue #1)

“What?” 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 Facebook,” 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 lives 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.” Josh 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. Just 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 from a microphone, I needed more.