“Bo Folan,” I bark. “Stop singing right now and get off the stage. You do not have permission to be here.” I step in close, crowding him as much as I am able. “I haven’t had dinner. I haven’t had wine. And a racoon broke into my house today. My ‘give a fuck’ well is depleted and you are officiallypissing me off.”
Bo stopped singing at the beginning of my tirade and now he frowns, the expression creasing deep lines into his cheeks. “Are you mad at me?”
“Yes!” That came out louder than I meant.
“Oh. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad.” He drops the mic, which lets out a reverberating thunk and a loud crackle of feedback throughout the bar. “We can go.”
“Really?” I blink, surprise draining away my annoyance. “You’ll come with me?”
“Yeah.” Then Bo is the one tugging me offstage, his big feet stumbling on the steps. “Let’s get drinks. I didn’t think I liked alcohol. But Griffith made it taste good.”
“Sounds like Griffith made some bad decisions tonight too,” I grumble, glaring at the smirking bartender.
“More drinks,” Bo demands, dropping cash on the bar top. “Mor wants wine.”
Not happening. I scoop the bills up and stuff them back into his pocket. I don’t know where he got that money, but I’m betting it’s all he has.
“They aren’t serving any more alcohol tonight,” I inform him before Griffith can even think of mixing up another cocktail. “Come on, Bo. I want to go home. I’m hungry.”
“You are? Me too. Let’s find food together.”
He’s still got ahold of my hand. He drags me behind him—doing it relatively easily, I hate to add—and we burst out into the cool fall night. Leaves swirl around our ankles, and a sliver of the moon hovers high above us.
Bo stops suddenly, staring fixedly at the orb, his mouth slightly slack. The focus reminds me of how Jack sometimes stares at the moon. Of course, he never lets his mouth go loose like Bo’s, as if asking for bugs to fly in. Still, I have to wonder if the type of mythics that make up Bo’s monster might include a touch of wolf.
He shakes his head, then gives me an entirely too endearing grin. “Food?”
“Yeah, Bo.” I nudge him toward the passenger side of my truck. “Let’s find you some food.”
14
Bo
The light creepsunderneath my eyelids and threatens to split my brain in two. I bite back a groan as I throw an arm over my face, trying to hide in the shadows. My body is experiencing a strange mixture of sensations. Many parts of me ache and hurt and cling to a queasiness I beg the gods to ease away. But I also notice how there is a luxuriously soft surface beneath me and an intoxicating scent teasing my nose.
The scent is earthy yet floral, like a rose garden.
If only I could enjoy it without also feeling a sticky film on my tongue and a turmoil in my stomach.
What hell did I go through last night to come out feeling like this?
And as if the question was all that was needed, memories begin coming back to me.
Local Brew.
The first sip of a delicious, fruity drink.
The many more sips of many more delicious, fruity drinks.
A fuzzy sensation of no longer needing to impress anyone.
The need to be loud and have every eye in the vicinity on me.
The need to be seen and acknowledged.
The need to sing.
The need to sing terribly.
