“Why?” Cursing the late summer sunset, I attempt to cover my red cheeks by looking out the window.
“You love Coldplay. I don’t want tonight to be ruined for you. We don’t have to sit next to each other.” He glances my way as I mentally scan the group. Crap.
“Like that wouldn’t be obvious.” I chuckle. “Two couples book-ended by us.”
“Are Regan and Rae a couple?” Bo turns to me in complete seriousness.
“Take it easy, you know what I mean.” I wave my hand.
A few minutes later, I realize neither one of us has turned the music back up. Bo sees me eye the dials and reaches for the volume. I block him with my hand, and a zap of static electricity causes both of us to chuckle uneasily. I clear my throat.
“Listen. I need to tell you something.” Just say it. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.” I take a deep breath, swallow a three-ton boulder, and continue, “I just, um, it was a lot all at once. You, me, the music, the perfection of it all. I felt like someone shot me from a catapult, and I was flying through the air with flailing arms and legs.”
“Were you looking for an out?” Bo doesn’t remove his eyes from the road. His jaw punches the skin on his cheek.
“What?”
“Were you looking for an out? Did what happened at McCarthy’s give you the excuse to run from our intensity that you were looking for?”
I stare at Bo, waiting for him to exhale, to tell me he was kidding, that he understands why I ran. Do you understand why you ran? He doesn’t say a word. We pull into the parking lot of the concert hall with the heavy, unanswered question leaving me to wonder if my fight-or-flight mechanism is faulty. Bo puts the car in park and gets out without a word, slamming the door behind him. When I walk up to the group, it seems Bo’s face has spoken for both of us. No one says anything, except Monica; but she at least waits until she can pull me aside.
“What the hell happened in the car?” She whispers with all the concern she’s been lacking over the past few weeks.
“I was honest. I told him I knew he didn’t mean to hurt me; that everything with us moved really fast. He asked if I used Bill and Tristan as an excuse to bail.” I hand my ticket to the person at the gate.
“Christ, what’d you tell him?”
“I didn’t answer.”
Monica stops in her tracks, shakes her head, and links arms with Josh. As promised, when we reach our seats, Bo and I take the last two. I opt for the very end, so I don’t have to deal with people I know on both sides of me.
* * *
Coldplay has me completely hypnotized. My eyes haven’t moved from the stage throughout the entire concert. My mind, body, and soul are more than thankful for the musical reprieve, prompting a momentary cease-fire between them. I peek at my cell phone and realize they probably only have two songs left in their set, when they start playing “Trouble.”
I listened to this song on repeat, all girl-like, for a week after Bo and I broke up. I don’t know if I pretended it was for me or him; either way, the notes lean me back in my seat and sink my shoulders. I cast my gaze to the floor as the opening line suggests I may have “lost my head.” Or was it Bo who lost his? Bo shifts in his seat and his arm presses into my shoulder; he doesn’t move it. Biting my lip, I glance up at him, only to find him staring at me with a furrowed brow.
“Come with me.” He nods his head and crosses in front of me, exiting to the aisle.
Rae is sitting in the seat next to his and shrugs before mouthinggo. I oblige. When I get into the mezzanine, Bo is a good distance ahead of me.
“Hey wait up!” I shout, slowing his pace. “What the hell?” I ask as I shoulder up next to him.
“I want to show you something. I know you’re slammed with more meetings tomorrow and we won’t have time . . .”
“You’re taking me out of a Coldplay concert to show me something?” I stop and put my hands on my hips.
“Stop standing there and follow me.” He rakes his hand through his hair, as he always does when he’s nervous, and opens the door for me.
Silence mocks us on the walk to the car and on the drive to wherever we’re going, despite the dings of incoming text messages sounding through both of our phones. Within a few minutes, we’re parked in front of the DROP community center, still under construction for the studio they’re putting in.
“I want you to be the first to see the studio. It’ll be finished tomorrow.” While he should be smiling, he’s not. He exits the car and waits for me at the center’s door.
Bo unlocks the door and flicks on the lights. My eyes widen in praise as I take in my surroundings.
“Oh my God, Bo, this is gorgeous!” My loud whisper bounces off the walls, and all the tension I’ve been holding onto melts into a smile.
The center has undergone a major upgrade in the wake of putting in the studio. It’s modern: computers line one wall, large work tables are pressed up against another, and plenty of tables and couches are scattered around for reading and hanging out. I look back at Bo, who has clearly let go of his tension as well. His face is proud, as it should be.
“You like it?” He holds out his hands, showcasing his dream. I’ve missed the playful smile dancing across his face.
“Are you shitting me? This is amazing!” I head toward the studio addition, and he follows.
“Watch your step here—they’ve got to fix them tomorrow.” Bo holds out his hand and leads me down the narrow stairs.
I can feel his eyes measure each careful step I take without looking up. If I look at him in this studio, his studio, his dream...I don’t think my heart could take it. I spot a gorgeous piano in the corner of the room with what looks to be a Shure Series chrome microphone hanging from the ceiling above it.
“Is that mic hooked up?” I ask without releasing his hand.
What’s happening?
“Yeah, why? You want to try it out?” I think he squeezes my hand, but I can’t be sure—I lost all sense of rational feeling the second he grabbed it.
“Y- yeah.” I have to swallow feeling back into my throat as I tug my hand away and head for the piano.
Bo walks to the control room and plays around with a few switches as I squirm on the hard lacquered bench.
“Don’t stand in there the whole time. It makes me feel weird.” I giggle. “Plus, I need you to hit a “C” for me before I try this out; I have no idea which keys are which.”
His heavy sigh fills the two-way speaker from the control room. Bo walks almost robotically toward me and dings the middle “C” on the piano. I hum in an attempt to tune. He strikes the key one more time. My heart is racing, but I’ve wanted to sing into one of these mics forever—they’re simply stunning and make me feel glamorous. I fly through the song Rolodex in my brain until I settle on the only option, the most beautiful song I’ve ever sung before—“San Diego” by The San Diego Six, my parents’ band.
“The San Diego sun setting in your eyes
The taste of salt and sweet summertime”
Even though my parents only sang with Six until I was about eight, they sang this song to each other often. It’s upbeat and sweet. It sounds like sunshine. My mom always started the song, and I’d blush through the second half of the first verse.
“Days were short, but the nights were long
Crashing through waves wrapped up in your arms”
I start to hum the musical interlude when I feel Bo sit next to me. In an instant, the piano sings the part my father wrote for guitar in this song. Holy shit. This song is on the album Bo has in his studio. My mouth runs dry, and for a second, I forget the words to the next verse as my heart takes over all noise in my head. I clear my throat to reach for my dad’s part in the song, but Bo beats me to it,
“Oh sweet mama don’t make me go
Take my hand, mmm don’t say no
Dancin’ through San Diego with you
That’s where I want to go
Mmm I say dancin’ through San D
iego with you
That’s where I want to go”
My cheeks burn as I turn to watch Bo sing the chorus of my parents’ song without any help from me. I’ve been rendered speechless. His fingers skate across the keys, and his eyes are closed so tightly his lashes have disappeared. All levity has left me as I lean forward to stand and walk away from the piano. Bo stops playing when he feels me shift.
“Ember, stop.” He grabs my wrist and pulls my arm toward him. I meet his eyes and see them catch fire as they look me over. Goosebumps form on my skin under his watchfulness.
Neither one of us says anything for what feels like a Thousand. Damn. Lifetimes. I wriggle my wrist out of his grip and slide off the piano bench. Bo drives his fist across the keys and the raucous clamor of notes makes me jump.
“Damn it, Ember, what the hell?” He leaps to face me and we’re standing toe-to-toe, my chin lifted to meet his eyes.
“Me, what the hell? You, what the hell. You take me out of a concert to bring me to a studio, and then you play and sing along with me to my parents’ song?” I’m yelling and I don’t care.
“No, you, what the hell.” He points his finger in my face. “You bait Ainsley at lunch, don’t let go of my hand when we walk in here, and then you want to sing in here? We haven’t spoken more than a few words at a time to each other in the last few weeks, and you start singing in my studio like nothing’s wrong.” He lowers his hand to his hip and takes a massive breath.
“What do you mean like nothing’s wrong? What the fuck is wrong here?”
“Everything is fucking wrong here, November. I’m in love with you. I’m absolutely crazy about you, and you dance around my organization like walking away from us was the easiest thing you’ve ever done.” His face darkens under his true thoughts about my actions.
“The easiest thing I’ve ever done? I did nothing but cry and scream for a damn week after I left here. You didn’t even try to call me, Bo! You didn’t even try ...” My voice breaks into traitorous tears as I recall the heartbreak I felt when he didn’t come after me. He left me alone. Just like I asked.
“Don’t pull those tears on me now. You’ve got to be kidding me. I was on my damn knees in your ex-boyfriend’s hotel room begging you to listen to me, and you expect me to chase you after he had to drive me home? How self-righteous do you intend to be, exactly?”
His words punch holes in my heart, and, I admit, my ego. I brush past him and head for the stairs, my vision blurred with angry, defeated tears. I make it one step past Bo before he grabs my arm, spinning me to face him.
“What?” I demand, trying to regain control of my arm.
“You love me, November. I know you do. I see it on your face and feel it from you whenever we’re together. Why won’t you let yourself be happy with me? What the hell is the problem?” His nostrils flare.
“I ...”
“I can’t take this anymore,” is all he says before grabbing my face and crushing his lips into mine.
Surprise jumps from my throat as I tighten my hands around his wrists, trying to pull his hands away from my face. He only pulls harder, burying his lips deep into mine—opening my mouth is my only relief from his pressure. His tongue feverishly searches mine, desperation seeping from each taste bud.
Fresh tears signal surrender as I relax into his body and snake my hands through his hair. A flip book of every passionate moment we experienced together flickers through my brain as his hands drag down my sides. His teeth tug on my lower lip before he dives back in, making my mouth his through pleading moans. Tightening my hands through his hair, I press my hipbones into his pockets. My heart beats through my lips, and I’m forced to pull away to catch my breath.
The previously silent studio records our erratic breathing. We stare into each other, holding each other, willing each other to say something. Bo’s eyes are dark with an intensity I’ve never seen. He’s still holding my face. I grab his wrists one more time, and he lowers his hands with mine. Adrenaline gushes through me, and I’m forced with a decision I don’t take long to make. I step back and cock my head.
“I’mthe self-righteous one?” I clench my teeth in an attempt to calm my quivering chin.
“Excuse me?” Bo cocks his head back and considers my half question.
“No one has ever spoken to me that way. You’re an asshole.” I turn and place my foot on the first stair to head out of the studio.
“I won’t chase you forever, you know. I really can’t do this to myself for much longer.” He looks worn out and my chest tightens under the realization of what I’ve been putting him through, what we’ve been putting each other through.
“We can’t be friends.” I frown and head carefully up the stairs. When the studio door closes behind me, I hear him bang both fists on the piano. I reach for my cell and Monica picks up within the first ring.
“Look, we’ll talk about it later. Can you pick me up at DROP?”
Chapter Eighteen
Bo
“Dammit!” I growl as my front door slams behind me.
A few minutes after Ember left, I walked out of the center to an empty sidewalk. I called and texted to see if she was OK, but of course she didn’t respond. I finally received a text from Monica saying, “Everything’s fine.”
No, it’s not.
I know Monica’s on my side, but I also know I’m missing something. Something is holding November back from me, and it’s not just work.
Rae’s not home, so I tear downstairs to the studio, grabbing my bottle of Jack as I pass through the dining room. Damn, her kiss tasted better than ever—I couldn’t stop myself. I had to know her heart still belonged to me, and that kiss proved it still does. Shit. Whiskey burns my throat; straight from the bottle is best. I wasn’t lying. I’m not going to chase after her forever. If she wants to act like a child, she can do it somewhere else.
After an hour of the Tennessee waltz with my liver, I hear my front door open.
“Rae?” I slur up the stairs.
“Spencer?”
Ainsley.
“In the studio, Ainsley.” I set the glass bottle on the lid of my piano.
“I thought you had the concert tonight,” she chirps as she walks through the studio.
“Then why are you here?” I watch her cheeks redden under my gruff reply.
Ainsley clears her throat and licks her cherry lips before speaking. “Well, I saw Rachel and some guy at Les’s, and you weren’t with them ...” She stalks toward me with panther-like eyes.
“Yeah?” I turn on the bench and face her. “You didn’t answer my question—why are you here?” Cockiness takes over and turns up the corners of my mouth. I know exactly what she’s doing here.
In a second, I regret my baiting tone. Ainsley pushes my knees apart with her knee, sliding her slender legs between mine. Her chest is inches from my face, those perfect breasts taunting my will. Another second passes and her bubblegum-like scent greets the whiskey that’s overriding my system.
“Ainsley, stop.” I swat her hand away from my shoulder, but she only presses forward.
“Oh, come on now, Spencer, you don’t want me to stop—you never have.” She picks up both of my hands and wraps them around her waist. A tan strip of skin on her stomach grins at me when she lifts her arms back to my shoulders.
I’m supposed to hate her. She took advantage of my grief after my parents died. It’s hard to count her transgressions when her fingers tickle the back of my neck, chasing goosebumps across my chest.
“She’s got you all twisted. You think you want her, that you love her.” Ainsley throws her head back in mocking laughter. “She doesn’t know you the way I know you. We were each other’s first...” She lifts one leg at a time and squares herself on my hardening lap. Her delicate hands twist like thorny vines through my hair.
“Get off of me, Ainsley,” I grunt into her ear as she leans forward to brush her lips across my neck.
“You hide from me any chance you get
. I’m not taking no for an answer anymore. You can’t hide how you feel about me. I see the way you look at me, the way your eyes sketch me from head to toe. Forget about her, she walked away from you—twice, judging by her absence after the concert.”
She’s good.
Gripping her tiny hips, I consider my options. Jack’s betrayed me once again, and all I can feel is her ass rubbing against me. All I can smell is her want. My moment of indecision is a second too long, leaving an opening just big enough for her tiny body to slither through as her lips sear into mine. The force of her kiss sends my back into the piano keys. I ignore their warning; I’m tired of losing.
Chapter Nineteen
Ember
“What the hell happened, November?” Monica volleys her attention between the road and me as my tears streak her car window. We’ve been sitting in the DROP parking lot for over half an hour in heavy silence.
“I just want to go.” I sniff and look at her through swollen eyes.
“Where are you going? It’s Thursday.” Monica reminds me that I’ve still got work in the morning.
“I’m calling in tomorrow. I just have a zillion phone conferences—I can do that from home.” I rub my eyes and tie my distressed hair away from my neck.
“What. Happened?” Monica begs, locking her car doors to prevent my exit.
I breathe out the sordid tale in one breath, my throat cinching around the details of Bo’s anger—and his kiss. She shakes her head and rests it against the back of her seat.
“First of all...your parents’ song?”
“Not now, Monica...I’ll explain that later.” I smirk at her attention to detail.
“I’m sorry, Ember. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting. I just...don’t know why you don’t want to be with him.”
Her words pinch my heart. Bo’s kiss felt exactly like it was supposed to, exactly mine. He sweeps me off my feet with every sideways glance and simple smile. His passion for DROP is awe-inspiring. He wants me. He loves me. What the hell is my problem?
Reckless Abandon (November Blue, #2) Page 12