Ten Days of Perfect (3 page)

“Ladies and
gentlemen
,” Josh cleared his throat into the mic and emphasized “gentlemen”
in an effort to encourage his
species to rise above and act as such, “Finnegan’s is excited to introduce the talented
sped
Bo Cavanaugh!” Josh clapped, and we all
followed.

“Wow, he’s hot,” Sara whisper
ed to us as Bo walked on stage.

He was wearing dark, worn jeans and a thin, loose fitting long-sleeved shirt that looked blue under the lights of the stage. His guit
ar was slung over his shoulder.

“Yea, I saw the CD at the door, now
shush.”
I was always interested in the musical talent that Finnegan’s was able to wrangle in, and I wanted to see if this guy had chops
.

Bo adjusted the microphone, and pushed his sleeves to his elbows as he took a seat on the stool. His dark hair and pale complexion suited the stage. It appeared to be
just Bo
and his guitar and I loved that.

“Thank you all for having
me. Enjoy,” Bo’s voice was the perfect kind of husky that made my heart skip a beat; m
y heart hadn’t skipped
in a long time. H
e took a deep breath and began.

His strumming took more of my heartbeats with him; he was playing one of my favorite songs. I stared at his beautiful silhouette as he began “All Over Now” by Eric Hutchinson. It’s a fairly upbeat tune that requires strumming and tapping the
guitar;
the acous
tic version is absolute heaven.

He sang with such fluidity and passion you’d have thought he wrote the song himself
and, knowing
most of the people in this bar, they probably thought he
did.
Without removing my eyes from the stage, I backed up to the table that held his CDs. I flipped it over to check out his play list and nearly fainted.  While he had some original tracks on there, the list of covers was stunning; Eric Hutchinson, Gregory Alan Isakov, Mumford and Sons,
and Indigo Girls. Indigo Girls!

I walked back to my friends and mouthed a grateful, “Thank you,” to Josh for this breath of fresh air. Josh beamed a proud smile like a little boy. He
knew he had
nailed it.

Inexplicably, Bo’s eyes caught mine as my jaw hung open and I looked between the CD and him. He half-smiled, seemingly acknowledging my reaction, as he finished his first song. My cheeks felt flushed.

The clapping began as I stood wide-eyed like I’d never heard music before in my life. I joined in before anyone noticed. For the rest of his set he held me captive through the covers I recognized on his CD, as well as some songs he identified as his own. It was heaven; the few times
we
made eye contact, his gaze ignited something in me, and heat sp
read
through my body. The way his mouth turned up in a grin was nearly enough to send me running for the fire exit. I sang loudly along to all of t
he songs, and Monica joined in.

“Thank you all for letting me share
some
music with you tonight,” Bo said, shifting on

his stool. “It’s my understanding that you
all enjoy
a little live karaoke? I had a request placed at the beginning of the night, so I suppose I ought to honor that. C
ould Monica and . . .
Ember join me?”

Josh wrapped his arms around Monica and me, giving a slight squeeze before saying, “You’re welcome.” 

You’re welcome indeed. When Bo started the intro, I thought I’d crossed
into
a different dimension. He began The Wailin’ Jennys song, “Heaven When We’re Home.” Monica and I squealed like the college girls we were when we saw them perform this song on campus
during our junior, post boyfriends, year
. The Wailin’ Jennys were one thing Monica and I had always agreed on and no one at Finnegan’s ha
d
ever
played them.

Nervousness took over as I got up on stage
; I had never felt nervous on stage before but
I froze under Bo’s striking masculinity. While his shoulders didn’t overpower his guitar, I flippantly thought about them overpowering me. He stopped playing to shake our hands.

“Bo Cavanaugh.” He stuck out his hand.

“Monica, nice to meet you
.
I can’t believe you know this song!” I was glad she spoke first because my eyes were the only thing working in that moment.
He is really something to look at.

“You must be Ember? I like it.” He gave my hand a gentle squeeze.

The second our hands touched I felt
it
run up my arm, through my veins
,
and land square in my gut. A ribbon of instant desire tightened around my insides at the sight of his half smile
just a few short inches
from my face.  I managed a small grin in return, and let my eyes linger on his as our hands parted.

“Yea
,
Thank you. I’m thrilled you know this song.” I silently thanked my voice for making a gracious return.

“Are you kidding? Judging by the crowd here tonight I’m thrilled
you
know the song,” he chuckled.

Bo started strumming the intro again, and I swear I could feel his soul through the music. Thankfully, Monica broke my uneasy stare at this beautiful guitar-playing god by tossing me the microphone. Bo cocked his head to the side, indicating he wanted us to sit on the stools on eith
er side of him, so we obliged.

Bo sang the first verse with us and the crowd went wild.
Josh, Sarah, and Callie were beaming, air toasting
us
with their drinks as we sang,

“Don’t know what time it is, I’ve been up for way too long

And I’m too tired to sleep

I call my mother on the phone, she wasn’t home,

And now I’m wondering the street

I’ve been a fool, I’ve been cruel to myself

I’ve been hanging onto nothing

When nothing could be worse than hanging on

And something tells me there must be something better than all this . . .”

It
only
took until the end of the first line for our voices to harmonize. I’d never heard a guy sing this
song before, let alone with two women,
but it was hot. His low register pulled the soul of the song from deep within my body and cast its spell over the crowd.
Everyone was staring, like they were all wondering if we’
d cooked this up ahead of time.

Electricity amplified on the side of my body closest to Bo, and I liked it. I held the microphone in my right hand, causing my elbow to brush against his left arm as we both moved to the music. Each note he strummed found its way into my body,
leaving it thirsting for more.
He let Monica and I carry the next two verses as he guided his skilled hands
across the neck of the guitar.

The fourth verse of the song is my absolute tattoo-worthy favorite. I was so lost in the music and watching Bo’s hands that I got carried away. I stood up from the stool, placed the microphone in the holder, and really went for it. Monica stopped singing and Bo grinned behind his microphone.

“There’s no such thing as perfect

And if there is we’ll find it when we’re good and dead

Trust me I’ve been looking

But tonight I think I’ll go and take a bath instead . . .”

The guitar stopped as I sang the word “instead,” and I turned as I held the note. Bo tilted his chin toward me to tell me to keep singing, only this time he stood up, put his hands on the microphone and joined in- a cappella.
As his lips brushed the microphone, he plac
ed his index finger under my chin, lifting my gaze to his. His dark eyes held a stare that ripped through me; a stare that said something I couldn’t read, but begged me to learn its language. We were singing this incredible song to each other, for the crowd, as if we’d written it ourselves. My soul wept with excitement and pleaded
for more. If there was such a thing as song sex, I
reached
my climax as we sang,

“And then maybe I’ll walk a while

And feel the earth beneath me

They say if you stop looking

It doesn’t matter if you find it

And who’s to say that
even
if I did

It’s what I’m really looking for . . .”

I thought for sure I was sweating through everything I wore, but that was just my soul panting in the background. Keeping in time with the music, he sat back down and continued playing into the next verse, amidst hoots and claps from the people in the bar
.
The three of us finished the song together and when the final note was plucked, Finnegan’s erupted like a stadium full of crazed Sox fans.

I was breathless and invigorated; my insides screamed in delight and made note to do that again very soon. Monica lunged in front of Bo and gave me the tightest hug.

“That was
so
beautiful
. . .
and hot!” She half-whispered in my ear.
Did she see the song sex, or was that in my head?

I turned to Bo
and smiled. “Thanks for letting us share that with you. It’s kind of our song.”

“Ladies, the pleasure
was
all mine. That was excellent.” Bo grabbed each of our hands, gave Monica a kiss on the cheek, and followed up with a kiss on mine.

“Really beautiful,” he reinforced how fantastic I sounded with one more soft kiss on my cheek before he dropped my hand. I cocked an eyebrow, let a grin reach my eye
s, and headed back to my friends,
who were anxiously waiting with shots in hand at the bar.

“Chicas!” Callie squealed as she handed Monica and I our shots
. We clinked our glasses
together
and downed the shots.

“Guys, that was unbelievable!” Sarah jumped up and down as if she’d just seen The Wailin’ Jennys perfor
m.

“I thought you guys would like it,” Josh shrugged coyly. I could tell he was just as thrilled as the rest of them
,
and us.

“Josh, give us a warning before you bring the Indie Rock God in here next time, eh?” I smiled, still dazed.

Monica gushed about what a rush that whole scene had been
.
I smiled and nodded, but I found my eyes drifting toward the stage as Bo Cavanaugh finished his closing number. He met my eyes and smiled as he slipped off the stag
e
and out of sight.

Still on a high from my now-favorite singing performance at
Finnegan’s
,
I floated out to the deck by myself
,
beer in hand. I sank into the chair, taking a long sip of my beer, and sighed out to the ocean.
I am definitely attracted to Bo.
I shook my head at the thought.  I hadn’t felt that instantly attracted to anyone since Adrian, and we were both lucky to come out of that relationship with any hope stitched to our hearts. I briefly considered accepting an invitation to another heart battle if it meant spending a few minutes with Bo Cavanaugh.

I greedily took another serving of salty air into my lungs, but something was different. I peered over my shoulder, and there he was.

“Ember, right?” Bo motioned to the empty wooden Adirondack chair next to me with his pint. “Can I sit?”

“Of course
.
” I straightened myself and turned toward his chair. The chatter
of the
jukebox purred from inside Finnegan’s. I caught Monica’s eye near the door and she shot a thumbs-up
.
I gave her a quick nod, acknowledging her encouragement.

“Ember,” he contin
ued, “is an interesting name.”

I took the bait.

“It’s November, like the month, November Blue, actually. I know, I know. My parents,” I looked up at the sky with my hands raised, “hippies.”

He chuckled as he settled into his chair, “No, that’s great, I like it.” He paused to take a sip of his beer. “You were
really great up there tonight.”

He raised his glass and I accepted his toast. I kept my glass up against his a second longer than was standard, but he didn’t pull his away first either. The wind carried his cologne through my senses. He smelled like sandalwood and sex
-
why hadn’t I noticed that on stage?
Also, points for him that he didn’t want to base an hours-long conversation on the origins of my name.