Reckless Abandon (November Blue, #2)

by Andrea Randall

  She turns white and crimson at the same time. “OK. Goodnight.” She leaves quickly.

  “You are such an asshole.” Monica slaps the back of my head.

  “Oh, am I? We need to see some girl using Zoe’s belly button as a shot glass?”

  We burst into a laughter that’s eluded us over the last couple of weeks. Monica’s seemed a little distant since I started back at work. Things with her and Josh are going well and I want her to talk about it, but she seems hesitant to brag about her bliss. Also, while she’s not thrilled with Adrian’s reappearance in my life, she’s upset that I won’t talk about him with her just the same. It’s made things a little tense, and I don’t really see the tension dying down any time soon since we’re going to be in Concord for the rest of the week.

  Within an hour after leaving work, I’m at Finnegan’s for our weekly rehearsal. I’m the last one here since, apparently, I’m the only one with a day job.

  “What took you so long?” C.J. grumbles behind his set.

  “Some of us work, Ceej.” I toss my backpack on the closest table and hop up on stage. “You’ll have to forgive him,” I turn to Regan while pointing to C.J., “he’s an asshole. But I guess you knew that since you’re his cousin and all.” Regan hoots as C.J. flips me off and sticks out his tongue, exposing his tongue ring.

  “C.J., it’s not 1999, lose the barbell.” He flips me off again.

  Regan draws his bow slowly across his fiddle once before speaking. “OK, Ember, the guys and I were talking about bringing some Irish rock into the mix. Are you OK with that?” I lose myself in the movements of his lips with his muffled accent. “Hello?” He snaps me out of it.

  “Hm? Sorry. That sounds great, I guess, but I don’t really have a rock kind of voice ...”

  “Oh, I think you’ll do just fine.” He ignores my concern and resumes stroking the strings with his bow.

  “What’s the difference between a fiddle and a violin?” I ask, studying the instrument that looks like a violin to me.

  Regan stops and considers his fiddle, twisting it in the space between us. “Fiddle’s just a nickname.” He winks and places his chin back on his “nickname.” He’s intriguing. He’s cool, confident, but seems safe. I need to figure him out.

  As he vacillates between fast and slow rhythms, I find myself watching his hands and swaying along with him. I’m transported back to my childhood, once again watching my dad play for my mom while I peeked from my bedroom. Monica sneaks up behind me and hooks her arm through mine, swaying in time.

  “He’s a goddamn dream, isn’t he?” Monica bats her eyelashes.

  “I’ll say. What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to watch this fiddle-playing god.”

  Regan chuckles but keeps playing, as Monica gushes.

  “Jesus, Mon, Josh is right there!” I point to Josh, who sits and shakes his head.

  “Not for me, smartass, for you.”

  What?

  “What?” I unlink my arm from hers.

  Monica places her hands on her hips. “Come on. You’re a free woman. You’ve taken the dive back on stage here, you’re having fun—you’re over it. Let’s move on.”

  Monica is clearly trying to divert my attention from Adrian, and that irritates me, but I don’t want to get into it.

  “I met Regan nine seconds ago. Plus, he might have a girlfriend ...”

  “I don’t.” Regan stops playing and turns to face us with a crooked grin.

  Whispering fail.

  “All right, lovers, can we play now?” C.J. thumps the bass drum, and we fall into place as I kick Monica off stage.

  Thankfully, I don’t embarrass easily, or rehearsal would be a total waste of time. Regan’s taste is even folksier than Josh’s, and I fall into an easy rhythm with him. He plays songs that are familiar and beautiful, and Josh and C.J. are able to catch on quickly. When he’s not playing, Regan sings with a tone that has me envisioning a gorgeous emerald mountain. I realize that while the stage at Finnegan’s will always be backlit by Bo Cavanaugh, I’m more than capable of crafting new memories here. I want to.

  Josh sets his guitar on its stand as we finish. “Great job, guys. Let’s definitely do those last two songs next week.”

  “Sounds good. Who’s playing here Saturday?” Thankful that Finnegan’s closed on Tuesdays, I walk behind the bar and pour myself a beer.

  Josh and C.J. share an uncomfortable glance before Josh shrugs. “It was supposed to be Bo ...”

  Oh.

  “What do you mean supposed to be? Did he cancel?” I walk back to Monica, who looks as confused as I do.

  Josh hops off the stage and meets Monica and me at our table. C.J. and Regan talk in hushed tones by the drum set. “We kind of didn’t know how to handle it. I texted him last week to see if he was still interested, and he said he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

  “Who’s Bo?” Regan helps himself to a beer and joins us.

  Everyone stares everywhere but at me.

  “You guys can quit it with the awkward silence.” I cast disapproving eyes to my friends, and then turn to Regan. “Bo’s an ex-boyfriend. Well, boyfriend might be a loose term since we dated for less than two weeks, but we cared a lot ...you know what, he’s an ex-boyfriend as of almost two weeks ago. That’s all.”

  I feel my throat twitch slightly, but I remind it that those yoga tears were the last. Regan’s eyes ask for more. One of his eyebrows pulls inward as he takes a breath, but he seems to decide against pressing for information. He’s not getting it tonight, anyway.

  “Well, Regan will be here, you should come watch Bo with him since Josh and I will be out of town.” Monica toasts the air, and I mentally punch her in the face.

  “Oh sure, why not?” I play along with Monica’s version of revenge. Truth is, I’m not sure if I’ll be in town Saturday or not. And, I don’t know if any amount of intended revenge could make me feel comfortable enough to watch Bo play at Finnegan’s. “I’ll see you here Saturday, Regan.”

  Before things get any weirder, I head home to pack for Concord. And Boston.

  * * *

  The last two days in Concord have gone off without a hitch. As promised by his email weeks ago, Bo is largely office and meeting bound. Monica and I have been left to work with Rae and David for a majority of the day. Our conversation at the diner isn’t choking the air between Bo and me. He’s pleasant when we see each other—perfectly business.

  Just like I wanted...

  We’ve checked out the warehouse space Bo purchased to renovate for the community center, and I’ve spent today digging through Bill Holder’s old files to try to organize his contacts and make new ones.

  Monica’s fallen as deeply in love with Rae as I have. She’s so sweet, so good, and such a breath of fresh air. It’s not awkward at all for me to be spending time with her, and I regularly check in with her to make sure she feels the same way. She asks Monica and me to lunch, and we accept.

  “This week has been really great, Rae. DROP is really on top of things; you’re thoroughly prepared for this center,” I say as we settle into our table at lunch.

  Rae starts to answer but stops mid-sentence with her eyes peering over my shoulder. “You’vegot to be kidding me,” Rae sighs. I turn to see what she’s looking at.

  Ainsley Worthington. Of course.

  “What?” Monica turns around.

  “That,” I whisper, “is Ainsley, Bo’s ex-girlfriend.” I ignore the glaring reality that I’m now a member of the same club.

  “She’s such a bitch.” Rae rolls her eyes. “She knew we’d be here. I always come here, and she knows you guys are in town. She’s trampy, but she’s not dumb.” Rae runs her finger over the silverware. “Perfect, she’s coming this way.” She throws her fork on her bread plate and sits back in her chair.

  I can smell her bubble-gum-like perfume before I turn to meet her icy gaze.

  “Rachel, hi! How’ve you been? God, I can’t believe t
hose assholes ...” Ainsley pesters Rae with her condolence speech regarding the blackmail. Rae nods and gives tight smiles throughout her rambling.

  “Well, it’s all fine now, but thanks for your concern.” Rae turns her attention back to her empty bread plate as Ainsley turns hers to me.

  “November, right? I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you and Spencer.” Her face is anything but sorry.

  When the hell did she start calling him that? Rae looks at her like she’s a complete idiot as soon as she says it.

  “No, you’re not.”Well, that came out right. Both Monica and Rae throw their napkins to their faces to cover their grins.

  “Excuse me?” Ainsley steps back, putting her hand on her chest as if I just implied her baby was ugly or something.

  Having lost my appetite, I push my chair back and stand. “I said you’re not sorry. Why would you be sorry that I’m no longer with someone you’ve been pining after for years? The unfortunate part is—you burned that bridge with Spencer long before I came along.” Out of the corner of my eye I can see Rae’s eyes widen in excitement. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work. See you around.”

  Adrenaline pumps through me as I brush past the underweight ex-cheerleader and head outside. I pause, waiting for Rae and Monica. When they come out, sporting canyon-wide grins, Ainsley is a step behind them.

  Oh for the love of ...

  “You think you know me?” Ainsley starts in without invitation. “You don’t know anything about me, except what you may have heard from baby sister over here.” Rae simply rolls her eyes. She’s gone a few rounds with Ainsley in the past, this appears to be nothing new to her ears. “The fact is you abandoned Spencer in his time of need. I would never do anything like that. Who’s the tramp now?” As quickly as she can, Ainsley pushes past me and takes off in her car.

  Holy shit. Is she right?

  “It’s Bo, Ainsley, just Bo!” Rae hollers after her.

  “What the hell is up her ass?” Monica’s first encounter with Ainsley was a doozy.

  “Ember, don’t listen to what she said. She’s a bitch,” Rae pipes in.

  They continue to talk as we walk to the car, but their chants of reassurance and revenge are drowned out by a shrill voice condemning me of abandoning the man I thought held my future, when our short past was based on lies. I don’t know what facts Ainsley has, but it barely matters. Her opinion is likely shared by those who don’t know the story. We drive back to DROP in silence. I lock myself in the office and immerse myself in work for the afternoon.

  Chapter Ten

  A soft knock on my office door pulls me out of my two-hour long mail-merge-a-thon.

  “Ember?”

  “Yeah, Bo, come in.” I turn down Dave Matthews’ voice and sit back from my computer, still trying to drain Ainsley’s words from my brain. I motion for him to sit in the chair across from my desk.

  He sits and rubs his hands down the front of his thighs before speaking. “Rae told me you guys saw Ainsley at lunch ...”

  “It was a treat.” I roll my eyes.

  Bo leans in, placing his elbows on my desk, staring into my eyes. “Don’t listen to a thing that comes out of her mouth. She doesn’t know what happened between us. She’s just bitter because I’ve been ignoring her calls.”

  “Don’t ignore her calls on my account.” I shrug, then instantly regret the words as I see him wince slightly.

  The truth is, I don’t know how I’ll handle seeing Bo with someone else, because there will eventually be someone else. But, it can’t be Ainsley.

  Anyone but Ainsley.

  “Sorry, that came out wrong,” I backpedal, still not wanting to hurt his feelings or sound presumptuous. “I just mean ...” I don’t know what I mean.

  “I don’t want her, November ...” His eyes beckon my heart, calling to me with their Siren’s song of promises eternal.

  I stand, hoping a change in elevation will help me refocus. Crossing my arms over my stomach, I pace around the desk, leaning against it in front of him. He sits back, crossing his arms in front of him as well.

  “What she said...is that how you feel? Do you feel like I abandoned you?” I almost whisper.

  Bo’s eyes start at my knees, bare from my skirt, and swim up the length of my body before he stands, regarding me with tenderness. Our bodies are inches apart; the space between them filled with tension, anger, passion, and promises of forever. I relax my arms and place my hands on the desk behind me. My pulse drums a familiar beat, allegro in his gaze.

  His voice is husky and serious as he opens his beautiful mouth. “What I did to you, November, is inexcusable. I abandoned you by not being honest with you. Ainsley assumed I’d come running to her, and I haven’t. She feels threatened that you work here and will take every opportunity to try to mark what she thinks is her territory.”

  Bo and I ignore the boundaries I clearly set last week, as our bodies buzz inches from one another in silence. We’re in a vacuum; ignoring the past and disregarding the future. I feel his hot breath against my mouth and I close my eyes for a second, reviewing my options for action, before turning my head to the side.

  “Bo.”

  Without further instruction, he heads for the door while I wait for feeling to return to my legs.

  I clear my throat. “You’re still playing at Finnegan’s tomorrow, right?” He stops and turns slowly toward me as I continue. “Josh said he’d text you. I appreciate your concern for me, but there’s no need to tiptoe. They love you there.”

  He hesitates with an amused expression before he answers. “I’ll play if you’re going to be there.”

  Um.

  “What?”

  He shrugs and rests against the doorframe. “I heard Monica tell Rae that she and Josh are out of town this weekend. I don’t want to drive all the way down there and not have any friends to hang out with.”

  He’s kidding. Right? I tilt my head back and furrow my brow.

  He shrugs. “Friends, right?”

  I don’t like that word coming from his mouth, directed toward me. I loved him. I wanted to be his.Just his. But friends? No, I don’t want to befriends with Bo Cavanaugh.

  I force the smallest smile I can pass off as genuine. “Friends.”

  “So you’ll be there.” His sexy authority has returned, kicking the droopy-tailed puppy to the curb.

  “Of course. See you Saturday.” I turn back to my desk as he smiles and turns for the hallway. “Oh, Bo?” I call after him.

  He leans his head back into my doorway. “Yeah?”

  “I’m not singing with you.”

  He shakes his head, chuckles, and heads down the hall. I collapse into my chair; my head is tossing in a spin cycle of the lies and mistruths I’ve spewed in the name of this weekend. I could have easily lied my way out of Finnegan’s for Saturday, but what the hell…

  * * *

  The W in Boston. This is where Adrian Turner lives, naturally. It’s a world-class hotel that also plays house to over a hundred people who demand luxury full time. As a rule, I don’t use the word swanky, but I make an exception as I stand in Boston’s theater district staring up at Adrian’s “home.” He texted me to meet him at the private entrance. He’s the kind of guy who would live in a place with a private entrance.

  I text him when I’m downstairs. The valet has taken my car god-knows-where, but it’s hard to care while looking up at this amazing building. I’m thoroughly grateful I had the good sense to pull over at the last available rest top to change into my green shift dress. Cinched with a black-patent belt and matching black heels, I feel like a knockout. I’m sure The W doesn’t have an undergarment dress code, but I slid on my red lace thong, just in case.

  “There you are, Gorgeous. You found the place OK?”

  Texts don’t do his cocoa butter voice justice. We’ve largely communicated through texts and email this week because I’ve been so busy at work. As he graces each square of the sidewalk towar
d me in his black pants and tight black t-shirt, I can’t believe this is happening.

  Adrian. Me. Here.

  I smirk. “It’s kind of hard to miss, hot shot.”

  Away from the watchful eyes of curious friends and family, his arm seizes my waist and I fall into his kiss. Its length is inversely proportional to its explosiveness—as soon as it begins, it’s over—and I’m immediately left wanting more.

  “I missed you this week.” He kisses my hand and leads me through the private entrance, down the private hallway, and into the private elevator. He doesn’t release his grip when the elevator doors close. “How was Concord?” He keeps his eyes on the floor numbers as he asks this question out of courtesy.

  I shrug and squeeze his hand. “It was good; incredibly busy and exhausting.”

  “You make exhausting look good, Blue—even in those damn heels you insist on wearing.” He chuckles as the elevator slows its race to the twentieth floor.

  “These are different heels, smartass ...” I think back to the night I sat in Adrian’s hotel room, barefoot and bleeding. He came back from the fight carrying my heels, and I could have kissed him in that moment for his thoughtfulness.

  Ding.

  Our hands have created their own humidity, but that doesn’t disrupt Adrian; he tightens his grip and leads me down the hall. As he opens the door to his corner apartment, two different views of the city flood my senses. I drop my hand from his and wander to the window that showcases Boston Harbor—breathtaking from this height. Touching my fingertips to the warm glass, I smile.

  I lean my shoulder into his as he joins me at the window. “You’ve done well for yourself, Counselor.”