"After All" is a sequel to "Love For Sale". Both stories are purely works of fiction and no disrespect is intended to the actual persons or their families.

Thursday, June 26, 2014

Ch 13 ~ Run It Off


“Oh Goddd...”

Rachel’s mouth tasted like the bottom of a mold-infested apple basket. Her limbs felt like they were weighted down with the heft of eighty-two five pound weights and her head....?  She tentatively touched the place where her hair ached the most.  Her head felt like a balloon that had been jammed with half-set Jello which was threatening to firm up and crack her skull like an overripe watermelon on the sidewalk.

Overripe apple is probably more appropriate.  With nasty caramel slopped over it.

Her stomach rolled a little. 

There were only two things she could be certain of in her current state of hung-over-ed-ness.  One, There would never be any occasion on which she’d go near a vile caramel apple martini again. 

She shuddered, turning the Jello into lethally sharp daggers behind her eyebrows.  Rachel squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to think of the repulsive concoction that was responsible for the bed spinning beneath her.

The second firm thought in her mind was that this quest for ‘fun’ wasn’t working out the way she had imagined it. 

Even waking up with the beaches of Miami just outside her hotel balcony didn’t compensate for the way she felt right now.  In fact, the thought of the waves rolling in and out added a heavy dose of motion sickness to her current post-inebriation suffering. 

The only single positive ray in the painfully glaring Florida sunshine was that she didn’t have morning meetings.  That meant she could safely cover her eyes, burrow down in the comfy bed to seek solace from the throbbing that drilled straight through from her forehead to the back of her skull. 

If she was perfectly still and took only slight, shallow breaths...  she had a modicum of reassurance that she wasn’t going to die.  In fact, if she could just focus on the darkness and breathing it was almost tolerable enough to maybe go back to sleep...

The harsh vibration of her phone against the wooden nightstand jerked her body from the recuperative world of ‘tolerable’ and flung it head-first into ‘hangover hell’.

Jesus!  Or as the local Latinos would say... Hay-Zeus.

She had no idea where that thought came from, but it gave her a moment of amusement in the agony.  It also prevented her from cursing like a sailor at whoever was on the other end of the phone that she couldn’t ignore.

Damn business trips and ethical obligation to be available for actual work.

Groping blindly in a valiant attempt not to move her head, it took about five pats of her hand to find the demonic little device whose vibrations were rattling her eyeballs.  She clutched it in her palm, putting it directly over her face and squeaking  one eye open to see what the blindingly bright screen had to say. 

Jon? What the hell?  What’s wrong?

It seemed that one part of her brain was working just fine – the part that could do math on the fly even in a semi-comatose state.  Like everybody else, she had that weird ability to calculate the number of times she could hit the snooze button before really having to get up and hit the shower before she knew her name in the mornings.  She knew it was that part, because she automatically calculated the time difference between Miami and the West Coast, coming up with six a.m. Pacific Time. 

He’d had a show last night, so he should’ve been sound asleep.  Something was wrong.

When she pushed up elbow, separating her head from the pillow, she no longer cared what was wrong on the West Coast.  She flopped back down on the pillow, far more concerned with the ferocious Jello spears that were determined to split her skull open in forty-eleven different spots.

More by feel than sight, she swiped her finger over the phone screen and brought it to her ear.  “H’lo?” she croaked.

“Hey.  Did I wake you?”

Unfortunately, no, but could you not scream at me?  Yikes!

She draped her forearm over her eyes and endeavored to carry on a quietly coherent conversation.  “No, I’m awake.  Why’re you up so early?”

“Kids.  You know how it is.  They don’t really care what time zone you’re in if they wanna talk.  Romeo called before he left for school and I haven’t been able to go back to sleep.”

She was relieved that nothing was wrong, naturally, but that still didn’t explain why he was calling.  Short and to the point would be much appreciated, but she still managed to play nice. 

“I remember the urgency of little ones, so yeah… I get it.  Any particular reason you called?”

“Do I need one?” he teased.

“No.  I’m just checking.”  Rachel did her best to muffle the sickening groan that escaped as she shifted positions.

“You don’t sound like you feel well.  You okay?”

“No.”  She fluffed and stacked the pillows so she was in a semi-upright position and began rubbing the back of her neck.  “I have a wicked hangover.”

 “You’re boozin’ it up on a business trip?  That doesn’t sound like you.”

“Not really,” she denied, wincing at both the pain in her head and his incredulity.  No, it didn’t sound like her at all.  “James and I went out on the town a bit last night and I had a little too much to drink.  This morning, I’m paying for it.”

His disapproval was more and more evident as the silence grew longer.  The only thing she didn’t know was exactly what he disapproved of – the drinking or her drinking companion.

Great.  Because I don’t already have a big enough headache.

“Is he… there?  Now?  I mean… is he with you right now?”

Her eyes flew open and a jolt of terror shot through Rachel that corresponded with the jolt of pain in her head as she whipped it to the left.  What had happened with James?  She had a cloudy, vague recollection of kissing him.  Maybe.  Or was that just a long-ago memory? 

Scanning the other half of the king-sized bed, she found it mussed, with the pillow dented, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.  She’d become a restless sleeper since leaving Jon.  It was as if she was searching for him even in her sleep, rolling to the other side of the bed and onto the pillow. 

No matter how adamantly she commanded her pained brain to cough up the details of how her evening had ended, she couldn’t come up with the answer. 

“RACH!”

Ah, this she could remember.  Jon’s impatience, personified by his barking when the answers he wanted weren’t forthcoming.  In her current state of misery, she didn’t find the personality trait particularly endearing.

Her head thunked lightly back against the wall and she scrunched her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose and wishing for a magical hangover cure. 

“What?!  Geez!  Give a girl a break, will ya?  I’m dyin’ here.”

“Are you alone or is he still there?” he asked a second time, this inquiry coming in at a much more civilized and palatable volume. 

Thank you Hay Zeus.

“Of course he’s not still here.”

The ensuing silence only served to provide an opportunity for those few words to echo back in her head, much as they must be echoing in his.  Chances were good that he was making a whole bunch of conclusions in the midst of that echoing, too.

 It was crazy, really.

Here they were… two people, alone in hotel rooms on separate sides of the country, trying to figure out if there might still be something left between them and he wondered if she had another man in her bed while talking to him.  And while she had given him the “correct” answer, it was only marginally correct.

“Not still.  Never.  He hasn’t been here at all.” She pinched the bridge of her nose harder and sighed, her heart knowing what her mind wouldn’t cop to.  James hadn’t been in her bed.  More than likely.  She just couldn’t imagine that she’d do that...  “Crap.  I don’t wanna start my day this way, Jon.”

“Sorry,” he grumbled contritely.  “I… I just got a visual of you drinking with him and, well... I don’t really know what’s going on with you and him…..”

Now not only did she feel physically bad, she had a guilt-dipped cherry on top of her hangover sundae.  Jon, who did everything with conviction, actually sounded unsure of himself.  Rachel hated that – hated being responsible for it.

“I don’t really wanna get into it.  Can we just skip this part of the conversation and I’ll ask how your show was last night?”

“Rachel, c’mon, babe… I’m trying not to blow a gasket here.”  He took a very audible deep breath as his voice tried to creep up a few decibels and reigned himself in.  “You’re in Florida with your ex-boyfriend, who wants to be your next husband while I’m stuck on the other side of the country.  Here I am tryin’ to persuade you into seeing me again, but I don’t really know if there’s some other guy on the scene or if he’s just fantasizing about you.  Throw me a bone, will ya?”

He had a valid point, but her mental faculties weren’t alert enough to appreciate it.  She didn’t want to argue or be a bitch; she just wanted her headache to go away.

“I’m not trying to be evasive, Jon, it’s just that I’m just barely functioning .  And, as you pointed out, you’re in Arizona and I’m in Florida.  It’s not exactly a prime opportunity for us to reconnect and work out our mountain of problems.”

“I’m doin’ the best I can – from California, by the way – when it sucks here without you.”

“Yes, well, I appreciate that, but I need to figure out a way to get rid of this screaming headache so I can conduct my business this afternoon.  That’s about all of the mental taxation I can handle right now.”

His soft chuckle should’ve pissed her off, but it sounded so much like the gentle laughter she’d heard when he shared her bed, that she couldn’t stop the fond smile from creeping onto her pained face.  There were things about him that drove her crazy, but there were also so many things she’d missed about him.  That laugh was one of them. 

“Tell ya what.  I’ll give you the guaranteed hangover-get-ridder if  you’ll meet me in LA this weekend for some uninterrupted ‘us’ time.  And trust me, honey…. I know how to get rid of a hangover.  Deal?”

Someone was taking pity on her.  Someone up there was having mercy on her overindulgent aftermath.  It was the only viable explanation, because this was a side of Jon that didn’t exist.  The Jon she knew wouldn’t have let go of the James subject until he had the answers he wanted or they had a knock-down-drag-out fight.  But this man...  he was willing to let it go until there was a better opportunity. 

Maybe things can be different this time...

That glimmer of hope made her remorseful when she was forced to decline his offer. 

“It’s unreal how much I want that hangover remedy, but I’m sorry.  I can’t meet you in LA.  I won’t get home until Friday night and my niece’s bridal shower is on Saturday.  She and Robin would tar and feather me if I miss it.”

There was the briefest of silences, leaving Rachel to wonder if he was going to have a fit because she couldn’t scratch all her plans to run to wherever he was.  That would be the old Jon she knew.  Was there a chance of ‘new Jon’ being a real person instead of a one-time anomaly?

She held her breath and waited.

“But if you didn’t have other obligations...  Would you come to LA?”

The pressure between her eyes actually eased just a fraction.

Well, well.  Hello New Jon.  I’m Rachel, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.

“Does your sharing the secret hangover cure rest on my answer?” 

“It might,” he laughed.

The sound of Jon’s morning voice and unguarded laughter was a warm balm to her healing heart.  Things between them might still be up in the air, but just talking to him this morning...  It felt right.  It gave her hope that what could’ve been might actually come to be. 

Someday.

In fact, Rachel was growing more and more disappointed that she couldn’t spend the weekend with him.

“I would….consider it.  How’s that?”

“Huh.  You’d consider coming to see me?  Well...  I’d call that progress.  In fact, I’ll take it and make you a very generous compromising offer.  You can have my super Secret Squirrel hangover antidote if... Wait for it...  I know you’re dying here...”

Despite herself, she laughed.  “Dammit, Bongiovi, stop being a drama queen!”

“Ha!  Got your attention though, don’t I?” he chortled back at her before his voice went soft.  “And that’s all I really want.”

Rachel’s muzzy mind was having trouble comprehending that this was the man who had caused her such misery and grief.  If he’d only been this man in New Jersey...

Then you still wouldn’t have dealt with shit you needed to deal with.  You can’t change the past.  Move on. 

She hadn’t even formed an appropriate response before he cleared his throat and moved on without it. 

“You can have the cure if you have dinner with me tonight.”

That jarred her out of her stupor.

“Huh?  Dinner with you?  Tonight?  What, are you planning on hopping a plane to Florida?”

“I wish.”  The two simple words rang with utter sincerity, applying a bit more of that healing balm.  “I was thinking more along the lines of Skype and room service.  At least we can see each other while we talk.  How’s about it?  Is it a date?”

At the moment, the thought of curling up in her pajamas and having a club sandwich from the room service menu sounded heavenly, but it wasn’t the pajamas or the sandwich that was appealing.  It was the idea of having time set aside at the end of her day to be spent with Jon.  Just this crazy casual ‘date’ reminded her how the long days had been so much easier when she knew her nights would be spent with him.  Rachel suddenly missed their relaxing, intimate evenings with a fierceness that she was unwilling to admit.

“You know...” she lightly pretended to consider the offer.  “I would agree to dinner with the devil himself if he’d rid me of this damned headache, so yeah… It’s a date.  Now give it up, Secret Squirrel.  What’s the magic remedy?”

“There are very few people that I’ve given this information to.  Not that I don’t trust you, but I need to know you’re going to guard it with your life.  Scout’s honor and all that shit?”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, yes!  Just tell me, already.”

“Okay, okay!”  His voice dropped to a whisper, as though to prevent anyone from overhearing his privileged bit of wisdom.  “The only thing that’s gonna help is to run.  Just run it off, baby.  ”

Oh you have GOT to be KIDDING me....

“That’s IT?  You lousy sonofabitch!   THAT’S your secret cure to a hangover?  RUN?”

“Trust me on this Rach,” he laughed so evilly that it could have been from the devil himself. “This is the voice of experience talkin’.  There’s nothing to do but hit the beach and sweat it allllllll out.  I promise you’ll thank me later.”

Two hours later, Jon reached for his phone when the text alert sound woke up from his reclaimed sleep.  There were only a handful of numbers set to always ring through, so if his phone was chiming, he needed to take it. 

A slow, shit-eating grin slid across his stubbled face and into the cheek that was resting on the mattress. 

This was so worth being woken up for. 

The picture message that roused him was a pair of feminine tennis shoe-clad feet standing on wet sand with the surf washing up against the soles.  Even better than that, the photo was accompanied by a brief text that made him laugh like he hadn’t in months. 

08:07 RACH:  I hate you.

















Monday, June 23, 2014

Ch 12 ~ Dancing In The Dark



“Let’s go dancing,” Rachel beseeched, tucking the receipt for her meal in her small handbag. 

Dinner with James had been a pleasant enough event, even if she’d had to practically rip the check from his hand in order to pay for her dinner.  Despite his agreeability to taking her someplace hip and vibrant, it had been difficult to convince him that he wasn’t taking her out to the fabulous Cuban place with an atmosphere as hot and spicy as the menu.  The winning argument had been that it was a business trip and was going on an expense report, anyway, so who paid was of no consequence.

“Dancing?”  James’s handsome face screwed into mask of skepticism as he pushed his own wallet into the back pocket of his pants.

“Yes, dancing!”  Maybe it was the sangria she used to extinguish the food’s fire or maybe it was the influence of her new shoes.  In either case her toes were ready to tap and her heels felt as though they had snakeskin wings on them.  She smoothed the black sheath dress down over her hips and patted her hair to make sure it was still up in its clip, marveling at how one simple pair of shoes made her business attire feel like club-wear.  “You used to be fun, James.  Don’t get old on me now!”

“Old?” he scoffed, holding the restaurant door open wide for Rachel to rumba through.  “I’ll never be too old to keep up with you, lovely lady.”

“Put your dancing shoes where your mouth is, then, buddy.”  She automatically accepted his offered elbow, slipping her hand into the crook of it as she scanned the neon-lit street for the perfect dance spot.   Tiny bars were interspersed with restaurants along the sidewalks, all with their alcoholic beverages and establishment names in varying shades of 1980’s fluorescent pink, green and yellow. 

“How long has it been since you’ve been dancing, Rachel?”

“Too long.  Oooh!  I think I’ve seen this one in a movie!  Let’s go in here.”  She tugged a semi-willing James into the doorway of a club whose walls were thumping with music. 

“On one condition.”  He had to be low and speak in her ear to be heard.

Rachel was so fascinated with the spectrum of color bouncing from the ceiling that she barely paid him attention.  “What?”

The white sofas, curtains, columns and floor reflected the color two-fold, making the club a prismatic haven for dancers.  The only thing more colorful than the moving lights was the array of young women’s clubbing apparel.  Short skirts, long dresses, flouncy blouses, bejeweled jeans and tanks ran from Rachel’s classic black all the way to the luminescent neon shades that had adorned the street outside.  Paired with the loud and lively beat of the music, the sensory overload was...  mesmerizing.

“You have to let me buy you a drink.”

The music taking roost in her soul and the atmosphere seeping into her blood, she laughed back over her shoulder at him.  “Play your cards right and I’ll let you buy me two.”

James was the perfect person to drag along on this quest of hers, Rachel thought.  He was someone she could safely let her hair down with and not have to worry that he’d run off to his ex-wife or that they’d have some big fight which resulted in loud voices and hurtful words.  It was just two people out to have a good time.  She adored that about him.

Her perfect person guided her to the nearest of the bars and spoke to the bartender.  The decibel level was such that Rachel had no idea what he’d ordered until he proudly presented her with the prettiest palm tree etched martini glass.  Assuming that the contents matched the glass style, it was a martini, but she didn’t typically drink martinis so she didn’t know what kind and the concoction’s color was virtually indistinguishable in this lighting.

“What is it?”

“A caramel apple martini,” he proclaimed, beaming.  She noticed that he was drinking his usual gin and tonic.  “Remember when we used to go to the local carnivals?  You loved the caramel apples.”

It had been so many years ago when they dated that she’d almost forgotten about the carnivals that they’d frequented.  He was right, though.  She had loved the caramel apples, so she would give his very thoughtful selection a try. 

Her hips swayed to the beat of a lively Latin tune as her lips touched the rim to find the martini sweet, caramel-y and delicious.  One of those fruity drinks that contained more syrup than liquor, it was the perfect after-dinner/pre-dancing dessert.

“Yum!”  She slid the drink onto the bar, ready to get out on the dance floor.  “Let’s dance, James!”

“Not yet.”  He picked up her drink and steered her toward two bar stools that had just freed up.  “I need more alcohol before I can keep up with that guy.”

She looked in the direction he was pointing and saw a young man spin his partner out, whirl her back in, slide her between his legs and return her to her feet.  It was so fluid that you’d swear it was a single motion. 

Giggling, she settled agreeably on the stool and took another sugary swallow.  “I don’t think there’s enough alcohol in this entire building for me to keep up with that, but I’m going to give it a shot!”

With a dip of his head, he ordered them both a second drink. 

“What’s got you feeling adventurous tonight, if I might be so bold as to ask?”

Adventurous was a good word, Rachel thought.  It had been too long since she’d felt good enough to step outside of her comfort zone for something new and exciting.  That, however, wasn’t something she could effectively explain, nor did she want to dampen her evening trying. 

She spun her bar stool toward him with a grin, kicking one leg over the other and gingerly tapping his shin with the toe of her sandal.  “New shoes.  Don’t they just look like they belong on a dance floor?  How can I deny them the life they’ve been made for?  I mean, really.  It would be a crime against fashion.”

“Well, God forbid we commit a crime against fashion,” he appeased her, pushing another caramel apple martini in her direction.  “But let’s get a little more liquid courage down us first, shall we?”

He lifted his glass in a toast, compelling her to do the same.  “To being law-abiding fashion citizens.”

“Hear, hear!”

“And Rachel...”  Long fingers curled around her wrist and blue eyes that were several shades paler than Jon’s riveted on hers.  “It’s good to see you happy.”

And she knew that he meant it.  James had been a true lifesaver since her less-than-glorious return to the west coast and subsequent plunge into depression.  The night she had refused his dinner invitation because she simply couldn’t face the thought of eating, he’d brought her favorite won ton soup over, anyway.  When he got a look at her red-rimmed and hollow eyes, he’d made arrangements for a psychiatrist buddy of his to see her the very same night.  By morning, she had been admitted into the finest treatment center in the San Francisco area.  

Of course, as with many things California, the term ‘treatment center’ was subject to interpretation.  This particular facility had, in reality, been little more than a high-end spa where massage, yoga, meditation and an assortment of body wraps were said to relieve the body of toxins. 

Despite the spa-like atmosphere, there had been respected professionals there to assist her in dealing with her issues.  ‘Prolonged Complicated Grief’ had been the official diagnosis, said to occur when normal grief and loss processes appear to become 'stuck' and the symptoms continue unresolved for months and/or years.

In essence, Rachel had never worked through her grief from the loss of her family and the situation with Jon had piled itself on top of that, making the load more than her mind and body could continue to bear. It had taken her three weeks to get back to a functional level again and, even then she wasn’t as functional as she needed to be.

Enter James.  Again.

Two days after her release, she was on a plane bound for Hawaii with James by her side, under the pretense of ‘helping’ her get the setup of regional offices underway.  Really, though, he’d done the bulk of the work to ensure Rachel plenty of time to continue her recovery.  He’d even gone so far as to arrange sessions with a Hawaiian holistic healer during her time there.    

Rachel didn’t know what she would’ve done without him. 

“It’s good to be happy, James.  Very good.”

The clink of glasses was lost in the din of the crowd, but it didn’t diminish the sentiment or the sweetness of their connection.  Letting the moment complete itself without additional words, they both silently imbibed their drinks until a slower number found its way over the sound system.

“Now this is something I can handle.”  James’s smile accentuated his attractive features, reminding her why she’d been drawn to him in the first place. 

At one time, there had been a fierce sexual chemistry that simmered between the two of them and, more often than not, it had boiled over and scalded them both with its heat.  James had been her first lover and he had shown infinite patience in sharing his vast experience.  He had taught Rachel everything she knew and accepted about sex at the time and there had been nothing she wouldn’t do for or with him. 

“Dance with me, Rachel.”

She slipped her hand into his outstretched one with a nod and followed him out onto the dance floor.  This was what life was supposed to be about.  Sexy shoes, good food, better drinks, and spending the evening in the company of someone she could relax with. 

There was a peace with James that felt good.  He knew where she came from and what she was about, and still accepted her.  Not just accepted her, but wanted her.  In fact, he wanted all the same things she did, Rachel thought as his hands slid lower down her back.  He might have been a womanizing jerk when they were younger, but age and maturity had mellowed him into a responsible man who was ready for a family.

Her arms slid comfortably around his neck and his hands settled over her hips as the music wrapped around their swaying bodies. 

When she looked into his eyes she didn’t melt like she did with Jon, but she didn’t fight with him the way she did Jon, either.  And when James’ mouth dipped to hers she felt…. something.  

His lips skating across hers reminded Rachel of the passion they used to share.  His imploring tongue possessed a hauntingly familiar taste  – it held the flavor of youth, simplicity and young love.   Things she could never recover, but...  They had something together once.  Maybe they could find it again.  Or something that was a grownup version of it. 

She would like that – a lot.  It would make things so much simpler all the way around if she could fall in love with James again.

You don’t have to fall in love right now.  Enjoy yourself without any pressure.

And enjoy she did.  James, the dance floor and a parade of martinis volleyed for her undivided attention until the wee hours of the morning.  It wouldn’t be a night she would soon forget...










Thursday, June 19, 2014

Ch 11 ~ If The Shoe Fits


Rachel’s simple black sheath dress soaked up the heat of Miami sun as she strolled merrily out of Dylan’s Candy Bar.  When their afternoon meeting had wrapped up, she and James had gone in separate directions before agreeing to rendezvous for dinner.  He headed off to the local cigar shop and she wandered over to investigate the shops near the hotel. 

In all honesty, she’d seen the Dylan’s sign from her room’s window and couldn’t shake the craving for their chocolate dipped Oreo cookies.  She had developed a taste for the confection several years ago, but managed to steer clear of them since they tended to cling to her waist.  However, the little box of treats she now carried in the bright-colored candy bag would serve as a lovely late-night indulgence, she thought.

Her open-toed pumps strolled the promenade of the Lincoln Road Mall with a sturdy tap of their heels as she glanced in the window of one shop after the other.  She adored her pumps – and her dress.  Their classic timelessness suited Rachel to a tee and she had worn both on the streets of Los Angeles and San Francisco with confidence in her fashion choices.

However, the further she walked in the trendy Miami shopping mecca, the more matronly she felt.

Miami was home to the young and beautiful of the world, she thought.  Young and hip women breezed by in their bright colors and sky-high stilettos, shopping bags from the trendiest shops on the stretch dangling from their wrists. 

Those women, the shop window displays, the warm sun, neon lights and palm trees made Rachel itch for something a little more... fun than her classically tailored elegance.  She was in Miami, for crying out loud.  South Beach itself had a world famous night life, full of sexy women salsa dancing all over sexy men.  No wonder she itched. 

Her restlessness was probably more than fashion, she thought.  Even without the salsa music blaring, there was a sexy man on her mind. 

Jon’s persuasive attempts to convince her to cancel her trip had been unsuccessful.  Business was business and Rachel had to fly out with James whether Jon liked it or not.  He was unhappy about it, but he had been temporarily pacified with her promise to speak to him from Miami. 

She wasn’t sure if reconnecting with Jon was the smartest decision she’d ever made, but she couldn’t seem to resist him.  He seemed so determined and earnest in his desire to reunite with her, that she was unable – unwilling, to be more exact – to deny his wishes.  Even if it didn’t work out and he hadn’t changed, Rachel was committed to at least a friendly chat or two.

A smile curved her mouth as she recalled their parting at her front door yesterday afternoon.

Jon had hiked his bag up on his shoulder and stuck out his hand very formally.  “Thank you for your hospitality, Ms. Braden.  It’s been a pleasure seeing you and I look forward to speaking to you soon.”

She had stared at his hand like it was a slime-covered iguana and lifted her eyes to his.  “Seriously?”

“Hey, I warned ya, baby.”  He lifted one shoulder in an unapologetic shrug.  “Next kiss is on you.  If you want one, feel free to lay it on me, but if not...  This is what ya get.”

His eyes had sparkled with mischief as he solemnly pumped her hand three times.  The forced formality had made her feel like a charity official.  At the last minute, he softened the formality by touching one finger to his eyebrow in a miniature salute and winking one blue eye before turning to saunter off toward his hired car. 

Don’t get your hopes up, Rachel.  Just because he’s “courting” you again doesn’t mean that this will end any better than it did the first –

Her self-admonishment went incomplete when a window display ripped an involuntary gasp from her throat.  Rachel’s fingers covered her mouth in embarrassment as her eyes riveted on the sexiest shoes she had ever seen – in her entire life.   Black, tan and pale green snakeskin on the tiniest of strappy sandals was the most gorgeous thing she had ever seen and she made a beeline for the shop’s entrance. 

She didn’t care how much they cost; she was going to have those shoes.  They simply screamed “fun”.

Rachel strutted out of the boutique feeling much more a part of the Miami crowd than she had before she went in.  The dent to her credit card was substantial, but it didn’t matter.  It was only money and the pleasure she got walking out of the store in those shoes was worth every penny. 

Now she just needed to convince James that their dinner plans should be executed somewhere young, hip, vibrant and loud – the kind of place she could dance her feet off in her sexy new shoes. 

She had just sashayed into the hotel lobby when Jon’s name flashed on the screen of her vibrating phone, and Rachel couldn’t help but be pleased.  It was the first time he had called since they left her house the day before, and she was surprised he’d waited this long.  Okay… maybe she was a little disappointed he had waited this long, but the timing worked out great.  Her fancy new footwear was giving her an ego boost that had been missing as of late, and she was confident that could handle him and whatever he threw her way today. 

“Good day, Mr. Bongiovi!” she answered the call with a sassy lilt while stepping her snakeskin shod feet into the elevator. 

“Hey, baby.  How’s Miami?”

“Humid.”  The response was meant to be a complaint of sorts, but she couldn’t manage to sound displeased about it.

“Ah.  Hot and sticky and you’re happy about it.  I kinda like that.”

“Jeez.  You’ve always had a one track mind.”

“Yanno...  it’s not long ago that I would’ve agreed with that, but not so much anymore  I think you bring the worst out in me.  So… what’re you doin’?”

Jon not perpetually dirty minded and horny?  That might take some getting used to.  In fact, she was having a hard time wrapping her head around that.

“I’ve been shopping.” 

“You hate to shop.  What’s up with that?”

“I just bought the sexiest shoes I’ve ever owned,” she giggled, wiggling her toes as she walked the short corridor toward her rom.  “I paid a thousand prices for them, and I don’t even care.  I feel like a Victoria’s Secret model strutting the South Beach runway.” 

“So you’re hot, sticky and feeling sexy, huh?  Just my luck to be on the opposite coast.”

She tossed her  things on the desk and perched on the edge of the bed, swinging her foot.  “Mm.  Where exactly are you, anyway?”

“Nice segue, doll…” he observed wryly, knowing that she had purposely chosen to ignore his suggestiveness.  She wasn’t ready for that yet.  “Phoenix.  I’m in Phoenix.  I’m just getting ready to do sound check and thought I’d see what you’re up to.   Sounds like you’re having a lot more fun than I am at the moment.”  He offered an audible sigh that easily crossed the miles with its force.  “I hate this part of my job.” 

“What?  Sound check?”

“Nah.  The waiting around and  getting from one place to the next.  Fly in today, fly back out hours later.  At least I’ll be in LA for a couple nights after this.  Sleeping in the same bed more than one night is my personal version of heaven these days.”

Jon.  Bed.  Rachel shook her head, banishing that image from her mind.  She wiggled her toes again, admiring how cute they were adorned with snakeskin.

“I’m sure you’ll have a great time once you hit the stage.  Break an arm...leg…whatever it is you’re supposed to break.”  Not cute toes.  Sexy.  Sexy enough to add on a saucy, “And play something for me, mmk?”

She could hear his grin even over the phone.  “Yeah, I’ll do that.   Any requests?”

“I get to pick?  Okay, hmm...  Lemme see...  I’m feeling…. Elvis!   ‘Burning Love’ or something like that.  OOH!” Her lighthearted mood got an extra jolt of ‘light’ at the thought of Jon a la Elvis in Aloha From Hawaii.  “Do you throw scarves at the women in the audience like Elvis did?”

He snorted.  Actually snorted out loud.  In her ear. 

“No, Rachel.  There are no scarves, sorry to disappoint you.”

“Well, you should,” she teased, her face splitting with an accompanying grin at the mental picture.  “I bet people would pay extra for a scarf if you’d wipe the sweat off your forehead with it.  Don’t you remember how crazy the women got when Elvis did that?  I’m tellin’ ya, Bongiovi, there’s a money makin’ idea right there.”

“Lawd, woman…  Schlepping sweaty scarves?  Those shoes have really done a number on you!  I can’t wait to see ‘em.”

It was easy talking to him.  It always had been, even right from the start.  That, at least, hadn’t changed between them.  Call her certifiably crazy or call it new shoe nirvana, but the thought of getting involved with him again suddenly wasn’t such the bad idea it had been yesterday. 

No.  You’re happy and feeling good about yourself.  Don’t commit to something just because you caught a good shopping buzz.  Stick with the silly Elvis conversation...

“Tell ya what.”  Her smile stretched a little further as she threw out a challenge that would never be met.  “You get those scarves for your show and I’ll wear my shoes to see you perform.  Deal?”

“Damn, woman, I had no idea you had a scarf fetish!  I’m not sure how I feel about that, but if it gets me a peek at those sexy shoes, then I’m gonna have to give this some serious thought.  In the meantime, consider it a deal, Rach.”

Thursday, June 5, 2014

Ch 9 ~ And The Horse You Rode In On


A stunned Jon had been able to do nothing beyond stare after her pajama-striped back when Rachel blew out of the family room.  While she still looked like the same Rachel, there was something very different about her than when she left New Jersey.  For that matter, there was something different about her than when she first arrived in New Jersey.

The Rachel that Jon met the very first time on the road was guarded.  After finding out her story, he’d found it completely understandable that she kept some protective walls around her.  But this Rachel...  Well, San Quentin had nothing on her.  She was locked tightly behind a concrete barricade covered in barbed wire that was stained with the blood of those who had dared try and enter. 

There had been brief moments where he’d seen a fleeting glimpse of the woman he’d loved, but for the most part...  He’d just been discussing love with a familiar stranger.

But that glimpse was all I needed to know you’re still in there, baby.  I’m gonna cut away that fuckin’ barbed wire and beat that wall down into a pile of rubble.

Because, the same Rachel or different, just being with her brought home the fact that he wanted her back in his life.  No matter what. 

With that in mind, he grabbed his bag from the hall and moseyed up the stairs with a half-cocked smile.  He just had to figure out what was his biggest and best sledgehammer to take care of the job. 

Might as well take a shower and shave in the meantime.

He had just slid the zipper closed on his jeans when the doorbell chimed.  It rang a second time as he was pushing through the neck hole on his black Henley shirt.  Poking his head into the hall, he saw that the door to the master bedroom was still closed. 

Rachel must still be in the shower.  Perfect. 

With no immediate plans to vacate her house, Jon directed his bare feet to pad down the staircase toward the front door.  He would be happy to let Rachel’s unwelcome – unwelcome from his perspective, anyway – guest know that she wasn’t going to be available for visitors today.   It was his plan to fully occupy her time.

Greeting smile in place, he swung open the door only to have his smile turn brittle.

Son. Of. A. Bitch. Mercedes Man.

It was James...  Monroe, Madison...?  Michaels, that was it.  James Michaels.

Rachel’s boss, first love and first lover was, in Jon’s opinion, a girlfriend luring sonofabitch. 

The generally sleazy – again, in Jon’s opinion – banking exec had made an unfavorable impression when he came sniffing around Rachel’s skirt tails when she first moved to Jersey.  James had instantly annoyed Jon with his pompous attitude and the shiny black car that had earned him the nickname “Mercedes Man” long before Rachel told him the man’s real name. 

It didn’t matter that he knew nothing about the guy beyond his profession.  James was lower than pond scum for enticing Rachel into accepting the Hawaii job.  If James had stayed out of it, Rachel would still be in New Jersey, as far as Jon was concerned.

You wouldn’t even know her if the guy hadn’t arranged for her to live next door to you in Jersey.

Also irrelevant.  Jon flat out couldn’t stand the guy.  His flirty manner with Rachel had been completely unacceptable and even had led to one of the couples’ ugly arguments.  If he was sniffing around again....

“Jon. Bon. Jovi.”  The pompous, nasally intonation of his name interrupted Jon’s silent threats.  “At least this explains Rachel’s ‘mental health’ day.”   

The classy lines of the dark-haired man’s expensively cut suit didn’t do a thing to offset the sarcastic greeting.  It didn’t lend any class to his entrance either, and he stepped through the open door, bumping shoulders with Jon as he brushed past and headed straight for the kitchen as if he owed the place. 

Despite the snub, Jon kept his cool and quietly closed the door before joining James.  Leaning one hip against the cabinet, he crossed his arms in a way that he knew made his biceps appear bigger and regarded the other man through deceptively casual eyes.

“James, right?  What brings you by?”

A paper bag that Jon hadn’t noticed in James’s hand before came to rest upon the countertop with a soft crinkle.  The smug bastard shot Jon with a look of superiority as he unfolded the top of it.

“I came to see the lady of the manor, of course.”

I hate this fucker.  “Lady of the manor”, you pompous prick?

Jon ran his hands through his still-wet hair with a satisfied smile.  “She’s still in the shower… anything I can help you with?” 

Was it little of him to intentionally give the impression that he’d been in the shower with her?  Probably, but he couldn’t help himself.  Rachel was still his, dammit!

But, damn the luck, from the disbelieving twitch of his Satanically dark eyebrow, Mercedes Man wasn’t buying it.

“No, thanks, Sport.”  The bastard’s smug grin grated on Jon’s nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard.  “I’ll wait and talk to her myself.”

“Sport”?  Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?  You did NOT just call me “Sport”...

“Rach and I are kinda... in the middle of something, here, Jimbo.  I’m sure you understand.”  He conjured up his own smug grin.  The fucker could make whatever he wanted of it.  “But I’ll let her know you came by.  She’ll probably give you a call when she finally gets dressed.”

He didn’t make much of it, evidently, because the cocksucker snorted as he fished out two styrofoam containers from the bag he’d brought with him.  After settling the cups on the second shelf of the refrigerator, he let the door close and propped himself against it and looked arrogantly down his nose.

“I don’t know what you’re doing here, but I know you’re not here by Rachel’s invitation.”

“Oh yeah?”  Dickweed didn’t know anything other than how to goad Jon into a pissing contest.   Jon tipped his chin up in challenge, confident in his pissing abilities.  “What makes you say that?” 

“I happen to know for a fact that she wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

Jon’s jaw clicked shut so forcefully that he was certain that one of his molars cracked. 

You lying sack of flaming dog crap.  I call bullshit on that!

Jon’s disbelief was paramount to reigning in his temper and smiling casually at the intrusive turd who was lounging against Rachel’s refrigerator like he owned it. 

“Whatever you need to tell yourself is cool with me, Jimbo, but I am here, so… Why don’t you let yourself out and I’ll be sure and tell Rach you stopped by.”

“It’s James, not Jimbo.” 

James Michaels didn’t blink, flinch or even twitch.  He wasn’t the least bit intimidated by Jon, and that unnerved Jon a slight bit.  It wasn’t the other man’s physically superior size – James was probably a solid six inches taller than Jon.  Rather, it was his confidence about Rachel that rattled Jon’s cage.

“Sure, man, whatever.”

His “adversary” stepped near and leaned in, threateningly close. 

“Like I said, Jon... I don’t know what you’re doing here, and I really don't care as long as you don’t plan on sticking around.  You can’t make her happy, so man up and let her move on.”

Who did this fucknut think he was weighing in on Jon and Rachel’s relationship?  Jon clenched his fist to keep it from busting this guy in the chops.

“None of your business... James.”

“It became my business when she crashed and burned at my feet.”  James’ finger jabbed into Jon’s chest as he ground out the accusation through gritted teeth.  “It became my business when I sat in a hospital room with her for days on end while she tried to snap out of the despair YOU threw her into.”

Thanks to jackal-esque reporters, Jon Bon Jovi had mastered the appearance of outward calm early on in his career.  Not that he always opted to use the skill, but at times like these, it came in handy, because he was blown away, but he wasn’t giving James an inch of rope to hang him with. 

Jon didn’t like the vibe of this conversation to begin with, and he sure as hell didn’t like the other man being privy to information that Jon knew nothing about. 

And thinking that you’re responsible. 

“Any problems that Rachel and I have will be worked out between us.  Privately.”

“Over my damn dead body!” 

Jon lifted one shoulder carelessly.  “Your call, man.”

James took a breath and lowered his voice before continuing.  “Walk away, Jon.  For once in your spoiled, rockstar life, do the right thing.  I can give Rachel everything that she needs to be happy again.  For her sake, just walk away and let me take care of her.”

This guy had a screw loose if he thought Jon was going to take that kind of shit lying down.  No, Jon wasn’t a saint and he’d never claimed it, but he damned sure wasn’t the evil sonofabitch being painted here.  In fact...

“From what I’ve been told, the way you treated her was brutal.”  Jon’s voice was just as cold as James’s.  “In fact, as I understand it, she left you and married another guy.  I hardly think that puts you in a position to pass judgment on me or my relationship with her.”

“Your relationship with her?”  The cold, humorless laugh rattled Jon’s last nerve.  “Sport, why don’t you just trust me when I tell you that you don’t have a relationship with her.  Not anymore, anyway.”

Get out of my fucking way and I will, asswipe.

“As for me and my past mistakes?  I was a kid back then,” James continued.  “I took her for granted because I was young and dumb.  What’s your excuse?”

“I don’t owe you any explanations.”

“Fortunately I don’t need any.   You’re a grown man and you threw her away because you don’t want the same things she does.  Period.  That’s why you’ll never make her happy.  Even if she did love you once, you won’t be her last love, because when all is said and done, she’ll be MY wife and the mother of MY children.  Go back to your groupies and leave her alone.”

Jon’s mouth was open to lambast the presumptuous asshole, telling him what he could do with his pointless speculation when Rachel rounded the corner.   Drawing herself up short, she was obviously surprised to find the two men in her kitchen, but a genuine smile lit her eyes – a smile Jon had yet to be privileged enough to receive during his visit. 

“James!  Hi!  What brings you by?”

And James the Jabberwocky Jackoff placed himself between Jon and Rachel, fixing his expression into that of a man besotted and gesturing toward the refrigerator.  “Wendy said you called in sick.  I brought you some wonton soup from Tao.”

“Aww… that’s sweet!”  She perched her hand on his shoulder and lifted her lips for a quick brush against his cheek.  “Thanks.  I’m not actually sick;  I just had some things going on here.”  Rachel’s eyes darted to Jon and back to James, “More of a mental health day, really.”

“Glad to hear it!  So we’re still on for Miami tonight?”

 “Absolutely.  I’m almost finished with my packing,” Rachel replied instantly, without batting an eye.

What. The. Fuck?  MIAMI?  With JAMES???

“Great.  I thought we’d have an early dinner at Steakhouse 55 before we head to the airport.  I know it’s your favorite and it’ll be much better than airport food.  I’ll pick you up about four, okay?”

Jon thought he could actually see neon “Fuck You” signs flashing in James’s eyes as he kissed Rachel on the top of the head.  The sharp parting clap to Jon’s shoulder on his way out the door simply lit up the second part of that neon sign - “AND the horse you rode in on”.



Ch 10 ~ The Right Touch


While Rachel walked his nemesis to the door, Jon’s mind whirled like a kaleidoscope on speed. 

For the first time, he wondered exactly what had happened in the months since she’d left New Jersey.  Of course he’d thought of Rachel and speculated on she was doing – in abstract terms.  He’d never gone to the extent of imagining... hospitals.

Jimbo’s bluffing. He has to be.  Rachel’s too strong for that shit.

As much as Jon wanted to sink his teeth into that argument, he knew deep down in his heart that he couldn’t.  The guy had been waaaay too confident to be spouting out anything but the truth.  And if that was the truth, then maybe – just maybe – the cocksucker was right about Jon never being enough to make Rachel happy.

That had Jon spooked more than anything. 

His mind was still trying to absorb all that had been laid out in front of him when Rachel came back in the room.  Flustered and uncertain, instinct took over and he pounced aggressively as soon as her foot crossed the threshold. 

“You’re going to Miami with him?  Tonight?  Didn’t you just wake up with ME this morning?”

Disgust rankled in the sigh she subjected him to as she put coffee cups in the dishwasher.  He didn’t deserve any slack considering his bull-in-a-china-shop attitude, but she cut him some anyway by offering him a calmly factual response. 

“We’re going to Miami for business, Jon.  And if it were more than just work, that would be none of your business.”

Maybe that’s what you think, but I guarantee that good ole Jimbo has porn music playing in his head.

Jon took a wide stance beside the dishwasher, folded his arms and gave her a look of pitying condescension. 

“Don’t be naïve, Rach.  They guy’s got more on his mind than business.  He just told me he intends for you to be his wife and the mother of his children for chrissakes!”

Glassware rattled as she slid the top rack back into the dishwasher and purposefully closed the door.  Green eyes sizzled through the curtain of her hair as she fixed him with a sideways look of annoyance.

“I am not having this conversation with you.  In fact, I think it’s probably best that you leave now.”

He shook his head resolutely, because Jon wasn’t going anywhere.  If he walked out that door now, he knew – just knew – that anything they ever had together would remain a part of history.   There wouldn’t be any future for them if he tucked-tail and ran now.

Besides, he wasn’t much the ‘tuck-tail and run’ kinda guy...

“Don’t wanna have that conversation?  Fine, but I’m not leaving.”  His lock on her eyes was pointed and direct, meant to convey that his presence here was non-negotiable.  “We can talk about something else.  Like your nervous breakdown or what-the-hell-ever it was.”

“Also not open for discussion.”

His first instinct was to loudly declare that they would discuss it and they would discuss it until he was good and damned well ready to not discuss it.  The instinct lasted long enough to witness the green sizzle of her eyes fade away to a dullness that transformed her into that woman he didn’t know – a woman that he had apparently made her. 

His heart grew uncomfortably heavy at the thought.  She’d been through hell and back before he stepped foot into her life.  Now, when he thought all he’d done was love her, it turned out he may have sent her on a similar journey.

Find out what the real story is before you castrate yourself.

“Rachel...”

Lines furrowed at the corners of her mouth, but her spine still held straight with pride as she pivoted on her heel and walked from the room. 

He sighed, his eyes falling shut for a brief self-lecture. 

Keep your shit together, Bongiovi.  Just because you’ve been an ostrich, you can’t go off half-cocked once your head gets pulled out of the sand.  Stop making this about you.  It’s about the woman you love, so act like it. 

Jon followed the faint sound of a closing desk drawer toward Rachel’s office.  When he paused in the doorway, he noted that there was a file open on the blotter before her, and she was popping the lid on her laptop.  The lines were still etched around her mouth and her eyes weren’t so much dull as shuttered.  She was keeping her emotions sequestered and ignoring his presence. 

His heavy heart picked up another five pounds. 

He couldn’t take back the past.  Whatever had happened...  happened.  All he could do was let her know he was sorry and that he was here now – to fix it.  So far words hadn’t gotten him through her barriers.  That meant it was time for a different approach. 

Without speaking, Jon slowly entered the room.  His bare feet were silent on the cool hardwood floor as he padded softly behind the desk.  She went still at his presence, as though bracing herself for a fight.

No fighting, baby.  Just...  love.

The words were only articulated in his mind, so she was clueless as to his intention.  That meant that, the instant that his fingertips pressed into the softness of her sweater, she went forcefully rigid under his touch. 

“Jon, don’t.”  The voice that had haunted his dreams night after night was rough, as though she’d just woken from a deep night’s sleep.

“Shh.”  He used the tips of his fingers to knead into the muscles that were fraught with tension.  “I need to make it better, even if it’s only for a minute.  Just let me, okay?”

Her shoulders relaxed just a fraction with her slight nod, causing Jon’s to relax as well.  Digging his fingers lightly into the column of her neck, he soothed away the knots that were intermittently dotted along its length and simply enjoyed touching her.  The smell that wasn’t a scent, but was uniquely Rachel wrapped around him like a favorite, familiar blanket as he worked his way along the curve of her right shoulder.

I need you in my life, Rachel.  When something this simple makes my day perfect, I can’t walk away a second time.  I won’t.

That meant – no matter how much he wanted to pepper her with questions until she provided answers – he was going to command some sort of inner Zen and accept her mandated silence.  It was questionable as to whether or not he possessed that Zen, but, like so many other things he had desired in life, he would will it into being.  Jon was going to simply appreciate her nearness without asking for anything else.

He had just found the curve of her left shoulder when his self-restraint was rewarded.

“I didn’t have a nervous breakdown,” she stated softly.  It was so softly, in fact, that he wasn’t even sure he’d really heard the words or willed those into being alongside the Zen.

“Oh, yeah?”  Jon determinedly kept his tone quiet and calm, so as not to scare the Zen away, even though he was subconsciously planning when to thump James-the-lying bastard’s ass.  “I’m glad to hear that.  Very glad.”

“Mmm...”  He must’ve hit a particularly good spot, because another level of tension seeped from her muscles.  “Strange as it sounds, I guess I should thank you for helping me finally hit rock bottom.  It forced me get help – something I probably should’ve done a long time ago.”   

Rock bottom.  His fingers stuttered in their ministrations while his stomach clenched almost to the point of rejecting the coffee inside it.  James had been telling the truth. 

Don’t look back.  Guilt isn’t going to help either one of you. You can’t fix the past; you can only make a better future.  

Easy to say, but the image of Rachel in so much pain was as heartbreaking as anything he’d ever known.  “Rock bottom” conjured up mental images of a woman broken and alone, huddled into a ball and sobbing.  That wasn’t his Rachel, yet he had made her some semblance of that woman.

If only he’d known. 

If only, what?  What would you have done?  You weren’t any use to yourself.  What makes you think you could’ve helped her with what she went through?

Without a doubt Jon had suffered his own devastation after she left, but instead of cleaning up his mess he made new ones.  Whereas she had chosen self-help, he’d all but wallowed in self-indulgent self-destruction.  The only help he got was extra helpings of wine, women and song. 

It’s not about you, dumbass.  Focus here.     

Besides, she had said “a long time ago” – as in before Jon.  That meant he hadn’t been the sole source of strife; he’d only compounded the problem.

Only.  Jesus, like that’s better.

“Well that explains all the psychological lingo you’ve been using since I got here,” he remarked lightly, resuming his impromptu massage.  The touch was now mainly to reassure himself that she was whole and unbroken.  That he hadn’t broken her.  “Has your ‘help’ given you any great revelations?”

Her head tipped back so that she could catch his eye with a wry grin.  “Yes, as a matter of fact and you’re going to like this.  It turns out you were right.”

 There.  There she was.  His Rachel. 

Some of the dead weight in his chest shifted and he returned her grin with a small one of his own. 

“Well, yeah!  You know how I love to be right.  Wanna feed my ego and tell me which thing I was right about?”

The grin dwindled and she righted her head, so that he was faced with the top of it again. 

“About me always running away.  I didn’t realize it at the time, but I ran away after Nick and the children died, too.  Not physically, just emotionally.”  She gestured to the laptop and file in front of her with the wave of an open hand.  “I dove into work and never really coped with their deaths.”

He squeezed her shoulders supportively.  If his being a prick had been the catalyst to her finally dealing with that loss, then he was prepared to shoulder the blame for the greater good.  Collateral damage, as it were.

“And then with... the death of our relationship, I did the same thing.”  She shrugged under his hands.  “The great revelation is that I don’t ‘do’ loss very well.” 

“Are you better now?” he quietly asked.

“It’s a process, but yeah.  You know me; whatever I’m doing I throw myself into it a hundred percent.  So, once I realized I needed help, I went balls out.  Psychiatrist, life coach, yoga, meditation… you name it, I’m doing it.”

“I’m sorry, Rach.”

She turned slightly in the chair, glancing at him from the corner of her eye as though trying to gauge the genuineness of his words.  Whatever she found must have given the proper assurance, because her right hand slid up and inside his for a warm grasp of appreciation. 

“Thank you.”

They stayed like that for a quiet moment, connected in the way that only they had.  Jon was savoring it, savoring what he had missed.  It pained him that he had to disturb the sweet harmony that had missing from his melodious life, but he had to know...

“What about James’ prediction that you’ll marry and have more kids with him?”

Please tell me that’s never gonna happen, was his silent prayer as the question left his mouth and shattered the tranquility.

Rachel’s hand slid back into her lap and her focus fell to the open file folder.  “I’m aware that’s what James would like.  We’ve talked about it, but he understands I already have so many emotional irons in the fire that I can’t go there right now.”

His prayer had gone unanswered, which was fine.  It wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last, but it obligated Jon to point out the obvious. 

“But… James?  I mean, the guy pretty much screwed you over, and now you’re thinking about marrying the jackass?”

The set of her shoulders went taut again and she turned in such a way that forced his hands from her. 

“James knew me before I was married and had kids, and before life kicked my ass.  We used to have a lot of fun together, and frankly, Jon… I need some fun again.”

Fun?  They had talked about getting married, having kids and she thought he was ‘fun’?   That represented a few too many tick marks on the Everywoman’s Bucket List of Life to suit Jon.

Each one of those tick marks made it crystal clear to him that, if there was a chance in hell of winning her back, he needed time with her.   He needed time to talk with her, reason with her, show her he was fun, for God’s sake! 

A sense of urgency overwhelmed him and Jon’s heart beat as hard as it did when he ran ten miles instead of five. 

He needed time to get back into her heart before it really was too late for them – and that time had to start now.

“Rach, I don’t have a show until tomorrow night.  Cancel your trip to Miami and stay here with me.  We… well… we need to be able to talk without watching the clock because one of us has a plane to catch.”

Her blonde hair shook with instant denial and she flipped the file folder closed.  Rolling backward in her chair, she forced him to sidestep away to avoid having his toes run over. 

“First of all, I’m going to Miami for business, not pleasure…”

It didn’t matter to Jon what was going to come out of her mouth next.  All that mattered was keeping her away from Miami, and more importantly, away from Jimbo the Mercedes Man.  With that foremost in his mind, he desperately interrupted her in mid-sentence, reaching for her hand as he did so.

“I can’t explain it, Rach, but I know if we walk away from each other right now we’ll never have another shot.  I feel it in my bones.”  His eyes locked onto hers, all but begging her to see this from his point of view.  “All I’m asking is for you to just give me this one day.  When I leave tomorrow, if you still don’t want anything to do with me, I swear to God I’ll respect that.  I’ll leave you in peace to marry James and have a houseful of kids with the guy if that’s what you really and truly want.”

Rachel swore silently and tried, albeit not very hard, to extract her hand.   When he looked at her with earnestness and candor brimming in his eyes, she was all but lost.  There was a touch of little boy lost in there that just...  did something to her. 

But she couldn’t just let him come charging back into her life, running the show and calling the shots.  That wasn’t acceptable to her new way of life.  Not really...

“Jon, my business commitments are every bit as important as yours.  You can’t show up here in the middle of the night and then expect me to bail on my meetings in Florida because you have some gut feeling.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not fair, that’s why!  It’s not fair to make me question whether or not there still might be some glimmer of hope for us.”

“But you are questioning it, aren’t you, Rach?”

His lopsided grin materialized like a ray of sunshine, beseeching her to return the smile.  Her lips twitched as she resisted.  She’d just nailed her own coffin shut, as it were.  Her choice of words left no doubt that she was wavering.  Dammit, she wanted to believe there was hope!

She closed her eyes and shook her head before feigning an annoyed glare at the man who could charm a nest of angry rattlesnakes, if he were so inclined.  “You’re absolutely relentless.”

“S’true,” he chuckled, without remorse. 

She’d missed him.  So much.  She’d grown, she’d healed – to a certain extent.  What would it hurt to spend a little time with him?  It shouldn’t take long to find out if he had changed or was going to fall back into the same old routine.  The old Jon wouldn’t have apologized.  That was something, wasn’t it?  
You’re not sleeping with him.  Be... friends. 

“Well, I can’t blow off Miami.  I have an introduction there tomorrow afternoon that’s crucial to my future business.  I’m sorry.”

His grin flattened into a frown, but he nodded.  “Okay.  I get business obligations.  Tell me when I can see you again.”

Immediate acceptance.  Another point in his favor. Maybe he has changed a little, but still...

She tipped her chin up, narrowing her eyes in rebuttal to his cocky assumption.  “What makes you so certain I’ll agree to see you again at all?”

Talk about cockiness! 

He exuded it from every pore as he leaned forward and stroked her cheek with the side of his thumb.  Heat rushed through Rachel as his lips hovered beside hers, so close, but not quite touching them.  He was so near that she felt his breath scorch her skin as he murmured, “Because you’re a brilliant woman who makes brilliant decisions.” 

“And you’re an arrogant, arrogant man.”

His chuckle was sexy beyond all belief as his thumb traced the side of her neck, across her throat and down the front of her chest.  “Not exactly a newsflash, baby, but I don’t think it applies here.  Determined is more appropriate.”

The graze of his thumbnail over her flesh sent goosepimples dancing down her spine.  His lips were tormenting her by hovering so near.  Rachel could almost taste his kiss and the image of it had her strangling like an asthmatic that couldn’t get enough air into her lungs.  He was too damnably intoxicating for her own good.

“And you know why?”

Her mind was all but fried with anticipation as he reversed direction and retraced the path up her neck.  “Why what?” she whispered absently .

“Why you’ll agree to see me again...”

Right.  He was trying to convince her to give him another chance.  Rachel closed her eyes for a long second, greedily inhaling his breath before she cleared her throat to speak.

“Why?”

“Because...”  His fingers snuck under the curtain of her hair, curling around the nape of her neck.  “Even though you won’t do it, you want to kiss me right now.   In fact, I’d wager to say you’re hoping I force a kiss on you.  But it’s not gonna happen, Rachel.” 

“It’s not?”

“No, baby.  Things are gonna be different this time.  Our next kiss is all on you.  It won’t happen until you make it happen.”

Holy mother of pearl!  I can’t decide if I want to knee him in the nuts or fuck him on the desk.

Just about the time Rachel’s eyes dilated and she swallowed hard, he pulled away, gloating at her from his superior height.  “You’ll agree to see me again because you don’t really believe I can keep my hands off you and you want to prove yourself right.”

Rachel Braden loved being right, but damned if she didn’t hate it when he was.