Ten Days of Perfect (November Blue #1)(34)

With sleep gaining its footing over my body and mind, I pressed my lips into his neck. As I pulled my lips away, I whispered softly to his sleeping body, “I love you.”





Chapter Eleven

Waves danced gloriously over my feet as I strummed my guitar at sunrise. Seagulls echoed my fret squeaks as the ocean breeze carried the melody across its white caps. The song was as familiar to my fingers as it was my ears; it was one my parents played when I was a child, and it was the only song I knew by heart.

Throughout the night, Bo’s hands slid up and down over the curves of my spine. I was momentarily jealous of his guitar as I pressed back into his tight hands. I woke early in his arms, both of us still naked from the night before. I slid out of bed and put on my cropped jeans and Princeton sweatshirt. I left a note on my pillow: Heading to the beach to catch the sunrise.

You looked peaceful-didn’t want to wake you. Be back soon.

If my mom could have seen me on that beach, I’m sure she’d call in a priestess of some sort to marry us on the spot. I’m not a ‘guitar-playing on the beach at sunrise’ kind of girl; not until Bo Cavanaugh waltzed in and made quick work of rearranging any notions I had about what I thought I wanted and needed out of this life.

When I finished the song for the third time, thoroughly satisfied that I had expressed all I needed to at that moment, I stood to head back home and get ready for work. I dusted myself off and turned around; my heart fluttered at the sight of him. Bo stood against the weathered split-rail fence that separated the beach from the parking lot, arms and ankles crossed. My pulse quickened as I neared him. His face wore a sleepy grin.

“Good morning.”

“How long have you been standing here?” I asked, my gut teetering on the razor’s edge between desire and embarrassment.

He reached behind him and handed me my case.

“Long enough to realize you’re a complete liar,” he chuckled. “You can really play, November.”

“Now you’re the liar, Bowan. Besides, that’s just a song I learned when I was basically an infant. It’s the only thing I can play.” But it did sound really damn good.

“I’ve got news for you, Beautiful. That might be the only thing you’ve memorized, but if your fingers can do that, you know how to play.” He put his hands on my shoulders to emphasize the point.

“You walked here?” I nodded to the empty parking lot. “How did you know where I was?”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d tell me you were at the beach and go to some random place where I couldn’t find you. I just came to where we went last night.” Hmm, he’s on to me.

“Well played, Cavanaugh.” I hoisted the case and headed across the parking lot.

“Please, Secret Goddess of the Guitar, let me,” Bo murmured with a slightly less-than-teasing tone as he took the guitar from me.

Bo held my hand on the ten minute walk back to my apartment. We were quiet for most of it; a peaceful quiet that was a respite for the mind and soul. I received a text from Monica saying she was walking over to pick up her car from my place. I texted her back that I wasn’t home, but told her to use her key to enter my apartment if I wasn’t back by the time she arrived.

She waited on my steps, her wicked Cheshire grin partially hidden behind her coffee cup.

“Morning, Monica.” Bo didn’t miss a beat as we approached her.

“Bo,” Monica chirped cordially.

“OK, ladies, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll call you later.” Ignoring Monica’s watchful eye, Bo cradled my neck and planted a pillow—soft kiss on my expectant lips.

Neither Monica nor I moved a muscle as we watched him drive away. I slowly turned around, well aware that my facial expression was fair game for Monica’s scrutiny.

“How ya feeling this morning, Mon?” A girl could try.

“Shut the hell up and get upstairs. Nice guitar.” Monica shook her head and gave an exaggerated eye roll as we headed upstairs.

When we entered my apartment, I set the guitar by the couch and sat down. Monica stared at me expectantly, tapping her foot. I smiled a little before speaking.

“What?” I jested.

“Screw you. Where were you? It’s not even seven-thirty!” She sat across from me on the couch, her eyes brimming with excitement.

“Playing my guitar . . . on the beach,” I said with a shrug.

Monica shook her head in an apparent mix of wonder and disbelief.

“What!” My eyes bulged.

“Damn it, November, I have known you for eight years and I have never once heard you play that guitar. I didn’t even know you still had it. Now, after another hot night with ‘Cavanaugh the Casanova’, you’re all ‘hot girl playing the guitar on the beach’?” Her glare begged me to retort.

“First of all, Monica, it wasn’t that kind of ‘hot night’.” I cocked my eyebrow mockingly. “We slept together - as in sleep. Second of all,” I exhaled dreamily, “yea, I’m all ‘hot girl playing the guitar on the beach,’ and I don’t know what to do with that.”

It was true; the first thought I had that morning had been to go play the guitar. A night sleeping in bed with Bo and I woke up with that on my mind.

“What else is going on up there?” Monica nodded to my head.