“I mean, perfect. You’re smart, driven, you sing, and last night . . .” a grin overcame him, “last night was amazing.” He looked up at me, his eyes still dancing with excitement.
“I’ve never felt anything like that before, Bo.”
Suddenly my room felt like it’d been transported south of the Equator. My palms began to sweat and I felt like my shirt was made of wool. I wanted him even more than I did last night.
Bo leaned forward, kissing me deeply with little regard for morning breath. Thankfully I’d at least sipped my coffee, but I realized I didn’t notice at all - I just loved his taste. He pressed me back into the bed with kisses so soft it was as if he worried I would crack beneath his weight. So, naturally, the phone rang.
“Ugh, it’s probably Monica,” I said as I absentmindedly reached for my phone. I let out a grumble when I saw the number.
“What?” Bo laughed.
“It’s her.” I rolled my eyes. “We didn’t talk about my plans for last night. This is as long as she could contain herself.”
Bo’s smile faded, but I waved it off.
“Hey Mon, what’s up,” I answered, maybe a little to blasé.
“What’s up? Do you mean after the Spencer revelation yesterday you two didn’t get together last night?” She sounded annoyed, and I pictured her arms folded with a tapping foot.
“Monica. It’s fine. Look, we’ll talk about it when I get to work, okay?” She’ll see right through it.
“November Blue Harris, is Bo Cavanaugh in your apartment right now?” A fifteen-year-old girl took over her voice.
“Yes.”
“Did he just get there or did he stay all night?”
I paused, not wanting to let Bo know that I was going to tell Monica about last night. Monica didn’t miss a beat.
“Ember, did he stay last night?”
“Yes.”
“Shit! Ember!” She exclaimed excitement and panic in one breath. “Can you be to work by 7:30 so we can talk about this before Carrie gets there?”
“Sure, Mon. See you soon.” I hung up as Monica grumbled something unintelligible and I looked at Bo. He seemed frozen in the same position he was when I answered the phone.
“Does she know I stayed last night?” There was no inflection in his tone.
“She’s a smart girl. She’s also my best friend and won’t say anything. I know we’ve only known each other a couple of days but you have to trust me on that.”
Bo’s sigh of relief took his shoulders down with it, “I just don’t want to ruin anything for anyone.” It was hard for me to determine if he was speaking about our jobs or us.
“It’ll be fine. I do, however, have to get to work early. Crap, we’re supposed to set up a meeting. What are your other commitments this week?” Discussing business in the bedroom only served to highlight the issues present.
“Today is the local high school, tomorrow I’m free after ten.” He rested his head against my headboard.
“So how about we do a lunch meeting tomorrow, in our office? Just text me later to confirm that’s OK.”
“Sure thing. David Bryson will be there too.”
A devious smile erased all concern from his face. He took our coffee mugs and placed them on the bedside stand.
“Hey, I need that!” I joked.
The scorching heat from his lips melted me into my bed. He pulled away as quickly as he came in, and swiftly dressed.
“And I needed that,” he teased. “Talk to you later.”
He kissed me on the head before moving out of my bedroom.
“Hey!” I called out. “Don’t go trying to stalk me on Facebook or anything, I don’t have an account!”
“Hey!” He called back, out of sight, “Neither do I. Looks like we’re both out of luck!”
I hurried to my bedroom window when I heard the door shut. Bo reached the sidewalk, paused in front of my car a moment, and glanced up to my window. I waved and he grinned before getting in his car and driving away.
***
Monica and I got to work at the same time. She was already shaking her head at me as she put her car in to park.
“Morning, Mon,” I said coolly as possible.
“Don’t ‘morning Mon’ me, smartass, get inside so we can talk!” The grin didn’t leave her face; even when we got into my office and shut the door.
“What do you want me to tell you? That just because we happened to have a meeting with Bo yesterday I would break whatever plans we had this week? Yesterday’s meeting was informational, set up before we met him, and he wasn’t even supposed to be here.” Why am I speaking so fast?
“Ember, relax. I just want to know how he is in bed.” She arched her eyebrow as she sipped coffee.
“Monica!”
“A hot man like that does not find himself at your apartment in the morning without having been there the night before. And, to the best of my knowledge, you don’t make a habit of platonic sleep overs with the opposite sex.” She could have been on CNN with the seriousness she used to deliver that line.
I caved. “It was intense. We had this rhythm - it wasn’t awkward. I felt him on a different level I’ve ever felt anything, or anyone. He took his time, touched and kissed what seemed like every single part of my body, didn’t rush. His eyes were on me the whole time, Mon . . . like he was at a museum, looking at art - or something. He was slow and sweet - holy shit. And this morning he brought me coffee in bed for Christ’s sake!”
“Miss November, I do believe you’re blushing,” She exaggerated a southern drawl as she fanned herself.
“Seriously, seeing him in here yesterday only made me more attracted to him. Do we have everything in common? Jesus, I don’t know what to do. By the way we’re doing a lunch meeting tomorrow to further discuss the collaboration.” I flopped down in my chair and sighed.
“Em . . .” Monica sat down across from me.
“I know. This could be a real nightmare.”
Monica and I majored in Public Relations; sex “scandals” are both the easiest thing to avoid and the most damaging for an agency.
“We’ll figure it out Ember. Just be cautious until all the cards are on the table and we know what we’re dealing with.” She seemed relaxed, which helped.
During the rest of the morning I researched what I could on DROP. I already knew their major benefactor, but it was clear that they needed internet assistance. I emailed their grant writer, William Holder, to get a read on him. William offered that he and “Spencer” had known each other since high school and he had a lot of emotional stake in the success of DROP. I seriously hoped Bo didn’t share personal things with Will, at least about us.
Monica was able to connect with Tristan MacMillian, DROP’s community educator, and start a rapport with him as well. The four of us agreed that we would need to meet sometime soon to see if we felt comfortable on a personnel level. Our boss was pleased.
“Ladies, you continue to amaze me,” Carrie congratulated us in her office Tuesday
afternoon. “Your professionalism is stupendous, especially considering that you two are
friends; it doesn’t always work out this well. I’ve spoken with David Bryson, and he said he
would coordinate a time for the DROP team to come down and meet us. I suggested that we’d
like a trip to New Hampshire, as well. We could see their community center, and you two could
meet with William and Tristan. I’ll be out of town for the rest of the week for that conference in
D.C., but we can talk about this more when I get back.”
I looked forward to seeing where Bo grew up, and it made me realize how far into him
I’d fallen. Shit. Ethically, I needed to rein things in with Bo. Spiritually, I couldn’t force myself to do it. Realistically, I shouldn’t be excited to see the hometown of someone I was “just” having fun with, and might be working with in a professional capacity. Double shit.
We thanked Carrie, w
ished her well on her trip, and headed home for the day. I went to Monica’s house for dinner. Josh was waiting for us; he’d spent most of the day hanging out and preparing dinner, since he didn’t work on Tuesdays. As I headed up her stairs my phone dinged with a text message.
Bo: Hey, sorry I didn’t text all day-crazy busy. R we all still meeting 4 lunch tomorrow?
I was both relieved and bummed by his casual sounding message.
Me: It’s ok- busy 4 me too. Boss will be out of town for the rest of the week. Tomorrow’s still good- come by office at noon. At Mon’s for dinner. Text you when I get home.
As soon as I hit send, I wondered if I should have asked him to come to dinner - what with the amazing sex we had and all. But, I needed a minute to clear my head and talk with Monica, outside of the office, about the possible ramifications of all of this, work and soul.
“Ember! Good to see you - get your nose out of your damn phone!” Josh hugged me with the sincerity of a big brother.
“Shut up Josh, I text maybe once a day.”
“Was that lover boy?” Josh elbowed me and I glowered at him just before Monica piped in.
“Shut it, Josh.” She sounded as tense as I felt.
“What the hell?” Josh looked at both of us.
“Ugh. It’s nothing, really,” I lied.
Josh laughed dismissively, “Oh, you mean because lover boy isn’t only rocker Bo Cavanaugh, but is technically the wealthy Spencer Cavanaugh - your future boss of sorts? You’ve gotten yourself into a real cock-up, haven’t you?”
“Seriously Monica?!” My eyes widened in betrayal.
“Relax November. This is Josh, I tell him everything. Who is he going to tell? You had sex with a hot musician who happens to be seeking our mad knowledge.”
“You guys had sex!” Josh half-cheered as Monica mumbled “oops” under her breath.
“You’re oh-for-two. Got anything else you’d like to spill?” My anger hissed inside as she continued to help with dinner.
I couldn’t reconcile if my anger was from embarrassment at my sex life being in Josh’s head, or at myself for knowingly entering into a sexual relationship with a potential boss. I’d never felt so torn. My practical, realist side - the side with whom I chose to align most frequently - reminded me that the responsible thing to do would be stop seeing Bo until this collaboration deal was finalized. My free-love side told me to ride the wave with Bo; soak up his intellect, share music, share passion - have sex with the boy. I liked her more and more.
“Guys,” I broke the awkward silence, “I’m sorry for being all weird. I just feel disoriented, disjointed, all sorts of dis.” It felt weird being this vulnerable in front of Josh.
“Ember, it’s fine. I just can’t believe how shitty this is. This is the first guy I’ve seen you fall uninhibitedly for since Adrian, and this thing could get in the way.” Monica walked toward me and gave me a little squeeze.
“Hey, ladies, isn’t your boss out of town through the week and weekend?” Josh asked, and we nodded.
“Well, since she’s the one you’re worried will find out . . .” He looked at us with wide eyes and raised brows.
“What, Josh?” I asked.
“Screw it! Enjoy the week with Bo and worry about it later - or not at all. Mazel Tov!” He raised his glass to cheer.
Monica and I laughed and toasted Josh. With the clink of our glasses I willingly entered into a week of spontaneity. The rest of dinner had a much lighter mood, for the most part.
“You OK, Josh?” I sipped my wine, waiting for an answer.
“Yea. Why?” His eyes surveyed the table, but never met mine.
“You seem a little off.” I shrugged.
“Yea, babe. You OK?” Monica placed her hand on top of his.
“I just feel bad for Ember, is all.” He looked at me and continued, “This guy’s really done something to you. I don’t know, you’re happier. I’ve never heard you sing like that, either.”
“Josh, you hear me sing almost once a week.” I looked at Monica, who shifted her eyes side-to-side. She didn’t know where Josh was going with this either.
“It was different last weekend, Ember. It was all of you up there. No one else has ever brought that out of you before.” Josh bit the inside of his cheek and left the table.
“What the hell?” I whispered to Monica as Josh washed his dishes.
“He really wants you to be happy, you know. He doesn’t want this to blow up in your face. He can see how good Bo is for you.” Hopeful sadness was the show playing in Monica’s eyes tonight.
I furrowed my brow as I headed toward Josh in the kitchen.
“Hey, Josh, it’s going to be fine, OK? And, even if it’s not - I’ve got great friends to help me out.” I gave him a playful squeeze across his shoulders.
“I know, Ember. You’re tough as hell. But what’s between you and Bo is obvious. It’s gotta work out.”
I patted him firmly on the back and headed back through the living room to leave.
“He’s being weird. Tell him it’s fine, OK?” I whispered to Monica as I left her apartment.
Walking to my car, I texted Bo.
Me: You around?
Bo: Of course, why what’s up?
Me: Can I come see you?
Bo: I just left a dinner meeting, getting in my car. Can I come to your place? It’s much nicer than a crappy motel.
Me: True. Just head to my place, we’ll meet there. :)
Chapter Eight
Moonlight beamed off the hood of my car as I parked it in front of my apartment, right behind Bo. He got out when I did and we walked to the stairs. I noted his tense movements; maybe he was fighting the same moral demons I’d wrestled all day.
“Where the hell have you been?” I laughed out. “Your hair’s a mess!”
I roughed through his hair like he was a puppy before unlocking the building door.
He chuckled like a high school boy, grabbed my hand and kissed it with tight lips. Something was off, and I didn’t like it. Everyone is bizarre today.
“Hey,” I continued as we headed up the stairs to my apartment, “is everything ok? You’re all weird.” I dialed down the concern and took a more get over it tone so he wouldn’t think I was getting crazy.
“Sorry. Everything’s fine. Just a little tense about our meeting with you guys tomorrow.” By our meeting, he meant himself and David Bryson. He was definitely fighting the same demons.
I opened the door to my apartment and headed right for the wine rack. Sobriety had taken up enough of my time today. Bo thumped heavily on the couch.
“Do you want beer or wine?” I hollered from the kitchen.
“God. Beer please,” he exaggerated with a hint of a smile in his voice. He was staring to relax, but I could tell this would be a two-beer kind of conversation.
“You’re in luck. I’ve got a ‘Whale’s Tale Pale Ale’ from Cisco’s, the brewery on Nantucket - it’s awesome.” I handed him his beer and sat down on the couch, facing him with my knees bent toward the back of the couch. I swallowed half of my wine in one gulp.
“That bad, huh?” Bo looked into my eyes. It wasn’t just at my eyes; he really got in there and scrambled things around until I no longer knew if I was feeling him or me racing through my veins.
“Not bad. Just . . . a lot. I just want to get through this meeting with David Bryson tomorrow and have you all to myself for the rest of the week. Am I crazy? I feel a little crazy. You’re in the house of a crazy person.” I rushed to the kitchen to retrieve more beer and wine.
“You’re not crazy, Ember. Don’t you realize what you do to me? Ha! You know . . .” He smiled as I returned with our refreshed drinks, “the second we sang that verse of “Heaven When We’re Home,” it was all I could do to not hoist you over my shoulder, hightail it out of the bar, and just drive around the country singing with you.”
The thought speared me in the knees and I could no longer stand, thankfully I arrived at the couch
.
“Are you kidding? God, you’re a lot more ‘by-the-seat-of-your-pants’ than I am.” Guitar cases, hotel rooms, stages, and harmonizing with Bo filled all available space in my brain.
“Are you saying you’d object to taking that voice of yours and sharing it with all of humanity? You want to keep all of it for yourself?” He seemed comically flabbergasted.
“Well, myself and you.” We wouldn’t be talking about work anymore tonight, so I let my already weakening guard completely down.
“Ember I can’t tell you how many times over the past four years I’ve wanted to just take my guitar and go. . .” His eyes were now clouded with a different stress.
“Bo, I hate to bring this up, but the first time you came here - with Monica and Josh - you said you haven’t seen your sister in years; then two days later I find out you started a non-profit with her.” That detail nagged my brain for days.
“I was wondering when you’d call me on that. When I first met you guys it was easier, I didn’t have to get into it. I didn’t have to say that she was a recovering drug addict, and my parents died in the middle of founding an organization based on helping kids like her, and so on. She was really screwed up, Ember . . .” His eyes welled with tears as he looked to the floor.
Wordlessly, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and gave him the tightest hug I’d ever given anyone. He slumped forward and pressed his forehead to my bare shoulder. I was overtaken by his vulnerability.
The wetness I felt on my shoulder was the only indication he was crying. Crying. Girls make a production out of this; we let the whole world know with wails, throwing things, and we even stare at ourselves in the mirror while doing it. In front of me sat a gorgeous, hurt man who felt comfortable crying in front of me, and I froze.
Why does having someone cry in front of you feel more intimate and revealing than having sex with them? He sat there for just a minute, and I gave him the silence I assumed he needed. I rested my chin on the top of his head and felt him breathe deeper. I didn’t let on that I knew he was crying, because I wasn’t sure how much of the Y-chromosome he carried with him at all times; I didn’t want to embarrass him. Finally, he looked up with dry eyes and a puff-free face that eludes every woman on the planet. He looked in to my eyes, and when he opened his mouth to speak I closed it with a kiss.
Kiss Kiss Page 231
