Reckless Abandon (November Blue, #2)(30)

Oh good ...

“What’s with the up close and personal seating?” I tease as I sit next to him.

“I’ve heard this guy’s good, and I want to be able to hear him. How was your week?”

I lean back in my chair, trying my best to come up with a description of the week. I worked rather cordially with Bo, was verbally

and emotionally assaulted by Ainsley, and was asked to be Bo’s friend. However, I had an over-the-top amazing night and morning

with Adrian, and now I’m sitting next to a hot ex-Pat waiting to watch Bo play.

“Interesting.” I take a sip of my beer.

“November?” A familiar but out-of-place voice cuts through the bar chatter.

I turn around to find Rachel Cavanaugh walking toward me with a hopeful, but cautious smile. Relief bathes my nerves. I admit I was

worried Bo would try to pull a stunt to try to stay the night, but seeing his sister here means he’s playing it smart.

“Rae? I didn’t know you were coming. Awesome!” I hug her and pull out a chair. “This is Regan Kane, he’s a wicked fiddle

player. Regan, this is Bo’s sister, Rachel.”

“Please, call me Rae.” She morphs her lips into an endearing smile and shakes his hand.

“Rae, it’s a pleasure. Can I get you a beer?”

Rae drops her hand and keeps smiling. “No, thank you, I don’t drink. I’ll take some water, though.” Regan nods and heads to the

bar.

“I’m happy you’re here. Was this your idea or his? Where is he?” I scan the area behind her.

“Mine. I refuse to let him make an ass out of himself. He’s on probation since that little maneuver on your first day at DROP. He

went in the back entrance.” She rolls her eyes at what I assume is his version of what happened in the diner. “Anyway,” she

continues, “where in the hell have you been hiding that hottie?” Rae nods her head toward Regan.

“Ha! I just met him last week. He’s our drummer’s cousin.”

“Way to keep him for yourself.” Rae stares at me in mock accusation, and it causes me to blush. It’s clear she feels the same

sisterly connection between us that I instantly felt upon my first meeting with her.

“Rae, to be honest, I assumed you had a boyfriend.”

Regan returns in time to hear her response. “No, guys my age are idiots. Thanks for the water, Regan. How old are you?”

“You’re welcome, and, twenty-five.”

“Perfect.” She grins and brings the straw to her lips.

My eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously? I thought you were, like, thirty.”

Regan laughs into his beer. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re just refreshingly mature.”

Before he can respond, the bartender takes the stage and announces Bo. My fingers tingle, and I feel slightly dizzy. I notice that

Rae is staring at me and I’m thankful that Regan isn’t. I tilt my chin to the stage to somehow reassure her that everything’s

fine. Bo comes out wearing black jeans and a green t-shirt. The green t-shirt he told me reminded him of my eyes. I swallow hard as

he sits on the stool, and, without saying a word, starts strumming.

Every feeling from the first night I heard him play flies through me like a drunken seagull. I take several deep breaths as he

makes his way through his original work, praying that what I’m feeling isn’t regret. The strings, his fingers, the warm bourbon

tone kissing the microphone—they’re all lulling me into his presence, his being.

My phone vibrates against my thigh, startling me away from this apparent Bo-asis. I see that it’s Monica, so I click “ignore”

since she’s probably just calling to see if I showed, and continue staring at Bo. I’m not even hearing what he’s singing, my

brain seems to not want to let me see and hear him sing at the same time. It’s one hell of a defense mechanism. When my phone

vibrates two more times, I decide to take the call outside.

“Mon, what’s going on? Is everything OK?” The warm breeze resuscitates my logic.

“What the hell took you so long to answer?”

“I’m at Finnegan’s with Regan and actually Ra—” I’m cut off by a squeal.

“Whatever, Josh proposed!” Her voice is pure bliss.

“What? Oh my God, Monica, that’s amazing! Tell me you said yes!” The parking lot drowns under the happy tears rising past my

irises.

“Of course I said yes!”

We meet each other sniff-for-sniff in tears of happiness and congratulations.

“Details, please!” I squeak through tears.

“Well, Josh helped my dad grill our food last night and asked his permission then.”

“Asked his permission? Oh my God, how cute!”

“Right? Then the four of us went out on the boat this morning. Right in the middle of the ocean,” her voice clips for a second,

“Josh got down on one knee ...”

This is so Josh and Monica I could be sick, in the happiest way possible.

“OK,” I prompt, “what’d he say? How’d he ask?”