Ten Days of Perfect (November Blue #1)

Bo reached for my arm again, but I yanked it away - instantly hoping Adrian didn’t notice the awkward exchange. I stumbled back to the dance floor with six shots in my system.

The heady combination of liquor and men blended my brain in to a vortex of bad decisions. I grinded with faceless strangers like I was back in the AXP house in college; it felt so good to scatter my sexuality on the dance floor and watch men clamor to scoop it up. Sooner than I’d hoped, my rapid alcohol consumption caught up with me and I stopped dancing. When the floor kept moving, I knew it was time to go.

“You OK?” Monica slurred in to my direction.

“No, and neither are you. Let’s get out of here.”

We stagger-danced our way to the door and poured ourselves out onto the sidewalk, bracing ourselves briefly against the brick exterior wall. My head was spinning wildly.

One . . .two . . .three . . . Adrian, Josh, and Bo followed behind us almost immediately, taking stock of the situation with their eyes.

“You ladies need to get home,” Adrian asserted as he dug in his pocket for his keys.

“Come on, Mon,” Josh encouraged as he reached for her, causing her to flinch backward.

“Don’t you touch her,” I snarled, slapping his hand away. “You lost your right to do that days ago Josh.” Monica gave me an appreciative smile as Josh stood there looking helpless. He ran his hand through his hair.

“What the fuck, Ember? What do you want me to do, leave her here on the sidewalk?” His voice was slightly louder than I cared for.

“What I want you to do, Josh, is leave us alone and go work on finding your thousand lifetimes somewhere else. I promise you it’s not on this sidewalk.” My resentment bored through his eyes. Josh and Bo exchanged an uncomfortable glance that, thankfully, escaped Adrian.

Josh swallowed hard, turned on his heels, and walked away with his head down. For a split second I felt bad for him, until I saw the tears streaming down Monica’s face.

“Thank you,” she managed, “If you weren’t here I probably would have let the asshole take me home and made a fool out of myself trying to get him in to bed.”

As I made a move to walk toward her, dizziness overhauled my brain. I swayed too far to one side and fell toward the sidewalk.

“Shit, November!” Bo’s voice cut through the haze just before his hand grabbed my forearm, yanking me upward and into his chest. “Dammit,” he exhaled into my hair. “Are you OK?”

“Yea. Sorry.” I left my forehead on his chest while I grappled for some sort of equilibrium.

“Nice save, man.” Adrian’s voice confused me at first, as if I was having a dream, forgetting he was in my real life again. “I’ll get her home.”

“It’s OK, Adrian, Bo can drive me.” Regret slapped my drunken mouth.

“Ember, don’t be crazy, you know I’d never let you leave with a guy you barely know. I’ll take you and Monica home. Catch up with you tomorrow, Cavanaugh.” Adrian looked at me like I was crazy before wrapping his arm tightly around my waist, guiding my arm around his broad shoulders. Monica fell into his other arm.

Adrian’s words twisted Bo’s face in angst. What was he to do? He couldn’t chase after me without revealing everything to Adrian, causing a host of problems for everyone involved. No, he had to stand on the sidewalk and watch as I stumbled to the parking lot in the arms of Adrian Turner.

I chanced a glance backward before getting into Adrian’s car; Bo pressed his forehead on the brick building and thumped his hand listlessly against it once, before turning and walking back into the bar. If my ears weren’t ringing I’m sure I would have heard a testosterone-filled growl.

I started pointing the way to my apartment when Monica insisted we drop her at her place. She said the heated exchange between Josh and I sobered her up quicker than she would have liked. I shrugged and guided Adrian. As Adrian walked Monica up her stairs, I pulled out my phone. My drunken ambivalence to Adrian’s personal escort was boiling into anger as I thought about Bo walking back into the bar. Thumbing for his number, I wondered if he went back in to the bar to get drunk. Maybe he went home with someone. I hit send.

“November,” Bo answered in a tone so clipped I couldn’t tell yet if he was drunk. Or with anyone.

“Bowan.” Brazen. That’s what I was going for.

“November, where are you? Are you OK?” Anxiety and concern absorbed his voice.

“You, Spencer Bowan Cavanaugh, know precisely where I am. I am in the front seat of a very nice BMW that, incidentally, belongs to one Adrian Turner.” I paused for a minute.

“You. You just stood there . . .” While I knew it wasn’t fair to accuse him of abandoning me, I was livid at his assumption that I had things to work out with Adrian.

“Are you going back to your apartment?” He was nearly yelling out in frustration. Or concern. Or both.

“Adrian’s going to take me wherever he’s going to take me, Bo. Thanks to you.”