Letting Caleb vent was easy, and the guards we both had up seemed to have temporarily dropped since our honest conversation in my office. When he’d asked if I was free Saturday night and I wasn’t, I disliked the idea of him being alone in Boston and had impulsively asked him to come with us to the bar.
He had easily accepted the invitation, surprising me somewhat. But actually being in a “normal, datelike” situation with him was a little more awkward than I’d been expecting. It was perhaps hanging out around my friend that made me feel like we’d crossed a line into territory we weren’t supposed to.
“Have I mentioned how sexy you look in those jeans?” Caleb said, still looking around the bar and not at me.
My belly fluttered at the compliment. Taking Harper’s advice, I had gone out that week and purchased a pair of dark blue skinny jeans. I’d paired them with a tight-fit plain black T-shirt and a cropped leather jacket. Unable to completely abandon me, I was also wearing platform red stilettos, put my usual waves through my hair with my straight iron, and gone to town on my makeup with dramatic smoky eyes.
“Thank you.” I smiled. “They’re new. Harper made me buy them.”
“Then I’ll thank Harper.” He shot me a quizzical look. “You don’t wear jeans usually?”
“Not in years.”
“Shame.” His gaze smoldered. “Your ass and legs look fantastic in them.”
My lips twitched as smug pleasure moved through me. “I’m going to wear them more. But not because you think I look good in them. But because I think I look good in them.” And I did. Walking out of the apartment tonight, I’d felt free in a way I hadn’t in a long time. For so long I’d been confined by the rules I’d set myself in the hopes of not becoming like my parents. But over time the rules had become pedantic and bordering on ridiculous. I just hadn’t realized how much until recently. Maybe it was the trip back to Arcadia, seeing my parents, and realizing I could never be like them no matter what. Or perhaps it was Gem’s death—a cold reminder that some moments in life can suddenly be lost to us forever. And maybe that was the real reason I was letting go of some of my control to have an affair with this gorgeous, sexy Scotsman who made me question what irresponsibility really meant. Because being with him didn’t feel irresponsible. It felt like an adventure.
Whatever this change was that had come over me, I liked it. I liked striding out of my apartment in jeans and high heels, feeling young and stripped free of my skirt suits and silk blouses that suddenly felt like armor I’d created for myself.
I’d liked the look on Caleb’s face when he saw me walk toward him and his borrowed Maserati. And I liked even more the whoop of delight Harper let out when we met her outside of the bar and she saw how I was dressed.
Maybe it sounded silly. After all, it was just clothes, right? But not to me. The jeans symbolized the last few weeks of me pecking at the lock on my cage until it finally sprang open, letting me fly free. Did that sound melodramatic? Over the top?
Good … because that was how powerful the feeling was.
Caleb’s sharp gaze roamed my face. “How long do we need tae be here?”
I shook my head, laughter in my eyes. “Feeling impatient?”
“Ava, I can’t imagine a day ever coming when I stop being impatient for you.”
Pleasure fizzled in my chest. “Back at you. However, I promised Harper we’d stay for the whole set and have a drink with Vince. His band is only playing four songs before the next band comes on. And thankfully, he’s first up.”
He nodded and looked away, his gaze roaming the place as he drank his beer. I allowed myself to study him. Tonight he wore what he was wearing when we first met—a henley that showed off his muscled physique, dark jeans, and biker boots. He’d pushed back the sleeves of his shirt, showing off his tattooed arm. Caleb fit in perfectly here. When we approached the venue, Harper not only whooped in delight at my outfit, but had stared a little wide-eyed and flushed at Caleb. She’d given me a secret look that said, Whoa, mama.
Even in my casual outfit I stood out in the crowd. I could do jeans, but I couldn’t do biker chick, or rock chick. Or punk rock chick even. Harper was dressed in a tight black skirt, her long legs bare, loosely laced scuffed biker boots, and a slouchy, thin purple sweater covered in sequins that caught the light when she moved. It fell off one shoulder, baring her delicate collarbone. Her platinum hair was styled in a spiky quiff and she had all of her earrings and jewelry on tonight. With such classically pretty features, she was like a glam-punk princess. I noted guys—even those with girls—watching her as she smiled and chatted with the bartender, who was clearly flirting with her.
“You two dinnae make sense on paper,” Caleb suddenly said, and I jerked my gaze from Harper to see him staring at my best friend. “But you’re obviously close.”
“She’s my family.”
“Because neither of you have a good one?” he asked. I was taken aback by his curiosity.
I nodded, but was unable to give him any more than a confirmation. Not because I didn’t trust him with the information, but because I felt like if I started to confide in him, it would make my feelings for him deepen.
A small frown appeared between his brows but he didn’t push the subject. Thankfully, activity on the stage and the murmurings of the crowd distracted us. People surged in front of us toward the stage as the band appeared, but Caleb and I stayed where we were. Harper approached as Vince sauntered onto stage. I could just make him out over the heads of the people in front of us.
Harper handed me my beer, her eyes toward her boyfriend. “Do you want to get closer?” I asked.
“No, we’re cool here. You know I don’t like feeling cramped in.”
I nodded, watching her as she stared at Vince, something like pride filling her expression as he pulled on his guitar. Vince McFarlane, a sexy Irish-American boy with an even sexier Southie accent, had risen from the depressing pits of foster care after being orphaned at twelve years old. Harper admired his ambition and talent, and I felt pleased for her that she’d finally found a guy who didn’t seem to begrudge her her own ambition.
“Hey—” The mic crackled as Vince’s gravelly voice echoed around us. “Thanks for coming tonight. If you don’t already know, we’re called State of Play.” Then he strummed his guitar and the lights went down as his band began to play. I quite liked Vince’s music. It was more indie rock, their sound reminding me a little of Kings of Leon. Vince had the same kind of coarse sexy vocals as Caleb Followill, and it was easy to see how Harper had fallen under his spell the night they’d met. She’d been at a bar in Cambridge with some fellow music-lover friends when she saw Vince’s band play for the first time. She told me it had been instalust like she’d never felt before. He saw her in the crowd, they’d had some seriously hot eye contact, and when he’d finished his set he’d pushed through the crowd and walked right up to her and asked her if he could buy her a drink.
The rest was history.
I was delighted for my friend, but I was also a little jealous that she was brave enough to throw herself into a relationship. Harper had gone through worse than I could imagine and yet she was less restrained by her past than I was.
I envied her courage.
“They’re good,” Caleb said loudly, not hiding his surprise.
“Yeah, they are.” Harper grinned. “My guy is going places!”
“How long have they been at this?” Caleb asked her, shouting over the music to be heard.
“About a year!” she yelled back. “Vince has been in a couple of bands, but these guys really gel together. Vince is the songwriter. Considering his age, the music blows me away.”
“His age?”
“Yeah, he’s younger than me. He’s only twenty-two.”