Reckless Abandon (November Blue, #2)(43)

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 *.” 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