Ten Days of Perfect (November Blue #1)

“No,” I paused, “I . . . have one.”

“November Blue, you own a guitar and this is the first I’m hearing about it? That’s hot. Go get the damn thing!”

Operation “Crying Distraction” complete. God, now I have to play in front of Lord Hotness of the Guitar. I walked to my room and opened the closet door. I had to reach all the way to the back for it; it was a miracle I still had it at all. I carried the worn case to the living room and set it like a live bomb on the coffee table. When I opened it, a gasp of juvenile awe filled my ears.

“This is gorgeous. How long have you had it? Can I pick it up?” Bo reached slowly toward the acoustic guitar.

“Be my guest. My parents had it when they were in high school. They gave it to me when I went to college in the hopes that I’d find someone to teach me to play, or something…”

“Why the hell don’t you ever play?”

“Don’t have to with a voice like this,” I joked, pointing to my throat and smiling.

“Lame point. K, where do you want to start?”

“The beginning?” I shrugged, all ‘damsel-in-distress.’

Bo chuckled as he helped me position the guitar on my body. It felt slightly foreign, but he didn’t. He showed me a couple of cords, laying his hands on mine, often causing me to lose focus. I had retained a fair bit of this basic information from my childhood, but I refused to tell him that; I just wanted him to keep touching me. After about a half hour of musical foreplay, he ran to his car and brought up his guitar. He’d strum something and have me follow. We laughed at my mistakes, or when he’d play something that was ridiculously expert and ask me to repeat it.

A seductive and frightening voice reappeared in the confines of my subconscious. You love him. You love him so much that you’re not even thinking about sex right now. You’re “guitar-playing, run-away-and-join-a band” in love with him.

“OK, we’re done now. My fingers hurt,” I abruptly chuckled, lifting the strap over my head and placing the guitar back in the case. The guitar, and the L-word, could stay right in that case - for now.

“Baby,” he teased as he set his guitar in its case.

“I’ll show you baby, Mr. Cavanaugh,” I said in my most seductive voice possible sliding over his lap in a straddle.

“Ms. Harris,” a laugh choked his voice, “I do believe this would be highly frowned upon.” He smoothed his hands up the sides of my torso, underneath my shirt.

Unhurriedly, I pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it by his guitar.

“I don’t care. I can’t - and won’t - say no to you until I absolutely have to.” My lips grazed his ear as I spoke.

His goosebumps answered before his voice did. “I’m glad you have that willpower, because right now I don’t know if I could ever say no to you.” He drew my shirt up my body, and it joined his on the floor.

My phone rang, interrupting us for the second time in one day, and we both let out sighs of exasperation. I checked my phone and grumbled.

“What?” Bo said.

“My parents.” I rolled my eyes. When I remembered his parents I decided to cut the attitude, hoping he didn’t notice.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Baby Blue! We’re in your neck of the woods and we’re thinking of stopping over - is that OK?” My mom’s voice sang through the phone, the octave raised Bo’s eyebrows.

“What? When?”

“We’ll we’re pulling into town now . . .”

“Mom, come on! It’s like 10:30 on a Tuesday night!” Each time they rolled into town, it was a fresh reminder that they really marched to the beat of their own bongo.

“Oh, give it a rest November Blue. We’ll be there in fifteen.” Suddenly, my mother calling me “November Blue” seemed odd, as if it belonged to Bo alone.

I pressed “end” and let out an overstated whimper into Bo’s shoulder. My hormones would never forgive me for this.

“What?” Bo asked as he gripped my waist.

“My parents are going to be here in a fifteen minutes. Now, they would be thrilled to meet you, and wouldn’t think anything weird about never hearing about you, and yadda, yadda but…” I waved my hands erratically to indicate the insanity I was feeling. For such peaceful people, they could certainly ignite something frantic in me.

“No big deal,” he chuckled, “I’m not really ‘meet-the-parents’ ready right now,” He said as he shagged his hair back and forth.

I petulantly stepped to the floor as he stood up. I tossed his shirt carelessly in his direction, admiring the view. He hugged me bare-chested before he put it on; when he pulled away I noticed a fairly large greenish bruise to the left of his navel.

“Jesus, what happened?” I asked, realizing that, by the color, it had been there for a few days. I’d been too involved in other parts of his body to notice.