"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, April 30, 2015

Ch 71 ~ Dirty Pool


Jon was frustrated in every sense of the word. 

Not only was he sexually frustrated, he was emotionally frustrated with the stubborn woman responsible for his sexual frustration.  If she would just give up and admit he was...  Well, more stubborn than she was, they would both be rolling around and suffering from some kind of orgasmic bliss in that motherfucking bed by now.

But noooooo....  Rachel had spent the last three – count ‘em... three! – hours prancing herself through each room of the massive house and making a point of floating by him so closely that her scent filled his nostrils to the exclusion of everything else. 

And that was the least of it.

First she’d bent over in front of him under the guise of checking the contents of the bottom kitchen cabinet, when she really just wanted to wiggle her high-and-tight ass in his face.  Then, while he was standing in the doorway “inspecting” the squeaky door hinge and making the most of his shirtlessness by subtly flexing his muscles, she simply brushed by with her breasts tantalizingly brushing his tricep – with their rigid nipples.

They were both clearly aroused, yet neither one of them budged an inch on their dogged stance to outlast the other. 

God forbid she actually be submissive for once in her life.

Submissive was not Rachel’s forte, and she made that known when she strolled outside where he lay by the pool – once again flexing his now sweaty chest - and dived into the pool.  That was all well and good, but the little minx mercilessly flaunted that near-perfect body of hers by not bothering with a swimsuit.  When she pulled herself from the pool with pornographic droplets of water trekking over the flesh that he wanted to brand with his own, the air hit her nipples and beaded them as hard and tight as he’d ever seen them.

Jon was proud of the fact that he didn’t throw her onto the nearest lounge chair and pound into her with the ruthless fury that he managed to contain. 

Barely.

He also barely managed to contain his raging hard-on by crossing his legs so that his trunks tented up in the front. 

The way he saw it, Rachel had no intention of crying uncle anytime soon, so that left him with two choices.  One, he could give up and drop to his knees, begging for mercy, a blow job and an orgasm from the woman who was seductively dabbing at her damp skin while keeping tabs on him from beneath her eyelashes.  Two, he could play dirty.

Anyone who had ever met Jon wouldn’t have to think twice about what his choice was going to be, and he wasn’t going to hesitate in summoning necessary reinforcements.

Tequila might be too late to make her clothes fall off, but it’s still her kryptonite.

“It’s awful hot out this evening.  I’m getting a little thirsty.  How ‘bout you?”

“Mm.”  She slid him a look that was as sultry as the July air.  “What did you have in mind?”

“Only one thing that’s going to quench a mouth as dry as the Sonoran Desert.”  He grinned at her, feeling quite smug.  “Margaritas, of course.”

She tossed her towel onto one of the chaises and sauntered provocatively toward him, one condescending eyebrow forming a perfect arch two inches above the other.  He swore she gave a little extra wiggle to her ass when she perched on the edge of his lounge chair, bumping her naked hip against his thigh to scoot him aside and make room for herself.

“I can hardly believe my ears,” she drawled, the natural heaviness of her breasts swaying in a move that was effective as a red flag before a bull.  His eyes were momentarily riveted to the droplet that still clung to her right nipple, finally giving up its fight and falling free at the same moment her flow of sultry disbelief resumed.  “My self-proclaimed wino is forgoing his perfectly fermented Santa Margherita for a plain old tequila margarita?”  

She is the devil with a pussy, and damned if I don’t love it.

But Jon had become a millionaire because he had a steadfast vision for the future and, if he kept his eye on the prize, his future held sexual exploits that would rival no others.  He would not be swayed by a beautiful set of swaying tits.

He slowly cocked his head and swept an open palm over that pushy thigh, his thumb just barely dusting the crease where it met her torso and rapidly retreating.  “Guess I’m feelin’ like wine may be a little too… civilized tonight.  Tequila’s got more of a raunchy little edge to it.  That appeals to me, how ‘bout you?”

Rachel’s nostrils flared and her pupils dilated in the dimness of the poolside lights, proving that he’d just about reached his goal.  He’d bet if he slipped that same thumb into the slit sitting prettily between her thighs, that he’d find it hot, wet and ready to beg. 

Jon, however, wouldn’t get the chance to test his theory, because she tipped her chin defiantly and picked up his still-wandering hand.  Separating the thumb from the rest of his fingers, she popped it in her mouth and swirled her tongue around it before sucking it so hard that he was amazed he still had a fingernail attached.  It slid from her wet lips with a loud ‘pop’, and she dropped his hand nonchalantly onto his stomach. 

“Honey, if you wanted raunchy, you could’ve had that hours ago.  But now,” she yawned, those damn breasts hiking up and daring him to touch them as she stretched her arms above her head. “Now I’m feeling a little sleepy.  I think I’ll just head up to that big, fluffy bed you bought me and snuggle in for the night.  Did you put my vibrator in the nightstand for me?”

You little cocktease…

If it wasn’t so painful, this whole thing would be the funniest thing he could recall in recent history.  Hell, if it was happening to Sambora, Jon would get a million laughs from now until the day he died.

But it wasn’t happening to Sambora, it was happening to him, and he had to keep the upper hand here.  If he conceded that she was just about to kill him, then…  Well, then he’d be conceding defeat. 

No, and HELL no! 

She was every bit as horny as he was and, if he pushed the matter, he could have her coming unglued on this damn chaise inside of two minutes.  No doubt about it. 

Pushing the matter didn’t suit his purposes though.  So he played along.

“Sorry, babe.  The bedroom wiring won’t handle the voltage of the plug on your vibrator.  Contractor said he could be here sometime next week to look at it, but you’re outta luck until then. A cocktail in bed sounds good, though. I’ll fix a drink and meet you up there.”

Rachel didn’t say a word before she spun on her heel and headed into the house, but Jon saw her jaw drop for a split second before she got control over it. 

He grinned into the dusk. 

It wasn’t the same satisfaction as an orgasm, but it would do. 

For the moment.  



Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Ch 70 ~ Bed, Better, Best


Rachel came to an abrupt stop in the doorway of the master suite, the unexpectedness of her action causing Jon to bump into her.

Oh my word.

She released Jon’s hand as he chuckled quietly, taking one slow step and then another into the room.  From the moment they had stumbled across the bed in that Paris antique shop, she’d known it was destined to become a playground for building memories in their new house, but she hadn’t realized exactly how perfect it was going to look occupying the biggest wall in the bedroom. 

The Old World style fit perfectly with the hardwood floors and the other décor in the house, and pleased Rachel with its understated opulence.  Elaborate and luxurious, but still timeless and classic, just the way she adored.

I almost hate to mess it up by having sex in it.

She felt Jon step in closer behind her and snake his hand up the outside of her thigh, obviously sharing no such qualms.  He was as ready and raring to go as she had been before her attention was captivated by furnishings. 

“Which piece of furniture do you want to consummate first, my love?” he purred in her ear.  “Bed?  Chair?  Maybe the table…?  Your call, but I seem to recall that bed is the perfect height to bend you over.  Pick your poison and we’ll make a little whoopee.”

“Yeah, you’re right, but do you think the lamp shades on each side of the bed should match?” she quizzed, chewing on the tip of a fingernail.  “And that rug…  Something about that feels off.”

A huff of hot air blew over her neck, wordlessly relaying the message that he didn’t currently give a fat rat’s ass about lampshades and rugs.

“I’ll throw out the damn rug if it will help you decide on a spot for me to nail your ass.  You know… the ass that’s supposedly as high and firm as it was when you were twenty?” 

“Really?  You want to get rid of the rug?  I was thinking maybe just re-positioning it a little.”

“Jesus,” he grumbled, defeated.  “I see we aren’t going to be making anything in here but interior decorating decisions.”

“Mm.  Just give me a minute to decide what’s off here and I’m all yours, baby.”

With a sigh, he settled his arms around her waist and burrowed his chin into the crook of her shoulder.  “I wondered why you didn’t want a professional decorator in the first place.  You want me to call Colette to come in and help you tweak things?  Then can we have sex?”

“I was never opposed to a professional decorator, I just don’t care all that much for Colette’s way of doing things,” Rachel corrected. 

The rug needed moved to the foot of the bed, and she wanted two new matching lampshades – for starters.  Once that was done, she’d see how it struck her.  Mental tasklist complete, she turned in Jon’s arms to snuggle into the muscularity of his chest. 

What’s a bed for, if not hot tawdry ‘welcome home’ nakedness?

“Whaddaya mean?  Colette did my house here, the SoHo place, and even did some work on the Hamptons house.”

Why was it now that she was thinking like a man, he wanted to think like a woman?  Or at the very least a gay man? 

She focused her interest on the sexy stubble growing over the chiseled angle of his jawline. 
“I know she did, but I wanted a different look.”  That stubble was deliciously lethal against the softer parts of her and, oh, how she loved that. 

Yes.  That bed’s definitely right for deliciously lethal.

Jon pulled back from Rachel’s wandering hands and looked her square in the eye, one eyebrow quirked up.  “I thought you just wanted to do this all yourself, and you’re telling me you didn’t want to use Colette, specifically?”

Rachel managed to get the hem of his shirt between her fingers and lifted one edge to allow the other hand to roam freely along the vee of his waist, remembering how sexy he looked sprawled out beneath her while she tortured all the secret parts of him that no photographer had ever captured.

He reminds me of Lucky Charms cereal.  Only, instead of ‘magically delicious’, he’s ‘carnally delicious’.

“Mm,” she responded absently, amused with her own private joke.  “Colette and your ex-wife created a nightmare of epic proportions in the décor of High Point.”

“What the fuck?”  He drew back with a scowl.  “I’ll have you know all that cost a small fortune.  Some of those pieces are hundreds of years old!” 

Rachel was too distracted by the soft fur of his rock hard abs to notice Jon’s disapproval of her take on the design of his Navesink River home.  “Yeah, I know.  But it’s atrocious, Jon – hideous in fact – and the SoHo place is every bit as bad.  It’s as stark and cold as a… gynecologist’s exam room, only darker.  It’s absolutely criminal to take a prime piece of New York City property and treat it that way.”

“She matched the furnishings to the style of the homes, Rach.  And besides, I have excellent taste.”

“You keep on telling yourself that, baby,” she snorted while lowering the zipper of his shorts and reaching in to find him not nearly as hard as she would have liked.  “You wanna keep talking about your inner gay-boy decorating prowess or do you wanna get naked and sweaty with me?”

Jon leaned back even further and looked down his nose and propped that quirky eyebrow up even higher on his forehead.  “Seriously?  You just insulted me, my homes and my masculinity, and now you expect me to service you like a stud?  I…”  He shook his head slowly, screwing his face into a mask of contrived regret.  “Dunno if I can do that, baby.”

As if you’re really insulted.

Rachel couldn’t have stopped the rolling of her eyes if she tried, but given that her mouth was buried in the fur of his chest, Jon couldn’t have seen it, anyway. “Oh. Please.   You know as well as I do that you want me so badly that you can practically taste my nipple, so spare us both the little moral dance and just do what you’ve been itching to do since I stepped off that plane.”

“Nah,” he replied, feigning disinterest.  He planted his hands on her hips and purposely took a full step backward as he pushed her in the opposite direction, “You’ve gone and hurt my feelings, so I’m gonna need you to show a little remorse before I’ll feel right about satisfying your needs.”

Rachel snorted out loud.  If she put her mind to it, she could have him on his knees in front of her with his hand wrapped around his dick while he begged for mercy.  Did he really think he could play that little game and win? 

She decided it was worth putting off her pleasure to show him just how wrong he was.

Her hand dropped his quickly stiffening dick like a hot potato and Rachel shrugged carelessly.  “If that’s the way you feel about it, I understand, but it’s not really my place to apologize for the train wreck of fabric and color Colette created.”

“Oh you little, minx,” he growled.  “I am sooo going to make you pay for that.”

“Ya think?” Rachel lifted her chin with a challenge lighting her eyes, secretly elated by this little battle of sexual wills.  The release would be all the sweeter once she had shown Mr. Rockstar who held the sexual power in this house.  “I’m more inclined to believe you’ll be on your knees, begging for me within the hour.”

Jon dropped his head back and barked out a laugh that resonated from deep within from the core of his soul, shaking her confidence just the tiniest bit when reminding her, “You know what a disciplined man I am, honey – an absolute rock when it comes to resisting the temptations of beautiful women.”

“Oh yeah?” her ego bludgeoned that sliver of trepidation his self-assurance had summoned.  “You actually resist?”

“More than you can possibly imagine,” he informed her, crossing his arms smugly.  “And that means the only one of us down on their knees is gonna be you – showing me just how sorry you are by paying me a little lip service.  And Rach…?  It will happen in well under an hour.”   

Oh, he’s feeling exceptionally cocky…

She crossed her arms in a mimicking pose, giving him an arrogant grin. “I can so hold out longer than you, Bongiovi.”

Jon offered one slight shrug of a careless shoulder and stripped his shirt off, flinging it onto the bed before turning to leave the room and prophesying calmly, “Guess we’ll see.”


Thursday, April 23, 2015

Ch 69 ~ Home Sweet Home


“You hungry, babe?” Jon asked over the roar of the car’s engine and the wind that was wreaking havoc on her ponytail. 

She blinked behind her over-sized sunglasses and turned to him with a smile.  Honestly, between the anticipation of seeing him, the apprehension over resolving the James drama, mentally arranging the
Europe-purchased furniture in the new house and a rampant case of horny, food hadn’t crossed her mind. 

“No,” she answered at the same moment her stomach growled and made her laugh.  “Well, damn.  My stomach seems to have different ideas.  I might actually have to eat before collecting the reward you promised me.”

A flash of pearly white teeth glinted through the wolfish grin he slanted her way.  “Smart stomach.  It knows as well as I do that we aren’t gonna leave that big-ass bed of ours until it's been good and defiled.  No matter how long it takes.”

She giggled, knowing that they possessed enough talent to ‘good and defile’ the monstrous beauty in five minutes flat, but she wasn’t opposed to repeating the process.  Ten or twelve times.   Or more, if necessary.  Her knees got a little shaky just remembering the day they bought it.

“Is the bed as sexy as I remember it being?”

“The bed… sexy?  Fuck me,” he snorted, blatantly offended.  “You’re supposed to think I’m sexy, not a piece of furniture.”

“Oh honey…”  She slipped a hand over the center console, dragging her French manicured nails through the masculine hair dusting his knee, all the way up to and under the hem of his shorts.  She was rewarded with a guttural growl and a shiver.  “You’re what makes that bed sexy.  Your hot, hard body sprawled across it – and me sprawled across you – is all I’ve thought of since we got it.  It might not be a four-poster bed, but I’m sure there’ll be something in it that’s hard as a post.”

With that little observation, she clamped a hand over his now twitching crotch, making him jump. 

“I think we’re going to have to stop talking about the bed,” she purred delightedly, “Or we won’t be going anyplace but home.”

He cleared his throat and adjusted his position in the seat, grinning at her unrepentantly.  “I don’t mind a little foreplay, but we’re definitely stopping to eat first.  I gotta do some hydrating and carb-loading for the sex marathon we’re gonna have.  I suggest you do the same, because you’re gonna be losing a lot of fluid.”  He clamped his own  hand over her crotch, much as hers was attached to his.  “A lot.”

She had just been trumped by the master.  And she liked it. 

“I…  I’m not responding to that, or we’ll crash your precious Chevelle,” she decreed, pushing his hand away as his belly laugh filled the air.  “Moving on to more neutral furniture…  I can’t wait to see those living room pieces we bought in London.  The armoires just screamed for a place on each side of the fireplace and the coffee table was a great find.  I hope they look as good in reality as they did in my mind.”

“Baby, there’s no neutral furniture, because I’m gonna fuck you on every single one of them,” he informed her a smug grin.  He showed zero remorse at dragging their conversation back to sex.

Somebody’s mind was happily entrenched between the sheets, with no desire to leave. 

Okay, if that’s how he wanted it.  That was fine.  If he wanted to toy with her, stoking the passion that sizzled in the open air, she’d be happy to throw another ‘log’ on the fire.

She reached for the waistband of his shorts with her own devilish smile.  “It hardly seems fair to christen the new furniture when your car hasn’t been given the same consideration.  You just sit still and let me take care of this.  Keep your eyes on the road though.  You don’t want to get us in an accident.”

“Ho, ho, ho, huh-uh!  You win!”  He batted her away, jerking the wheel to bring it back into the correct lane.  “I’m all for a good road blow, but not in the Chevelle.  If it was any car but this one, I’d forsake it, but not my baby.”

Rachel happily slumped back into her own seat, bearing a triumphant grin.  “I love winning, and I’ll take an extra orgasm as my prize, please.”

“You’re a cheeky broad, you know that?”

“Mm.”  She was because he made her that way.  The comfort they had together was like nothing else in this world.  She loved him, he loved her and they could and would work through anything together.  It was a very liberating feeling to know she didn’t ever have to censor herself with him.  “You like me that way.”

Eventually, they got around to the business of food and decided on burgers and beer at Dublin House, which they quickly inhaled before eagerly making their way to house they’d both begun to think of as “home”.  

And the bed within.

Passing through the front gates, however, had Rachel’s heart swelling to the point where it overshadowed her libido.  Adoration and appreciation for the man who had made all of this possible consumed her every time they drove through those gates, it seemed, and allowed her to love him for the first time all over again. 

It was a simply fabulous piece of real estate, but that didn’t impress her much.  She viewed, bought and sold far grander and majestic homes on a regular basis and, yet, she wouldn’t trade a single one of them for this plot and parcel on the banks of the Navesink River.

Why?

Because Jon had bought this place for her, and kept it for her in faith that she would be back and that the two of them would be back together.  That was what made it so special.

“C’mon.  This way,” Jon insisted, guiding her toward the house’s main front door rather than the side door they typically favored.

Slightly surprised and a bit bewildered, she nonetheless followed obediently along as he guided her to the oversized door that represented the entryway into the home.  He turned the handle and, as soon as they stepped into the foyer, Rachel understood quite clearly why he’d chosen this entrance.

She’d been expecting to find furniture sitting in clusters around the house, perhaps in the correct room, but certainly no more than that.  It was to be her job to fix up the house, not Jon’s, but he hadn’t stuck to that game plan.  Instead, everything was… perfect. 

The formal living room, which had always been bare and empty, was now filled and arranged – exactly as she would have done it – with the pieces they’d purchased in Europe.   They’d specifically shopped for and chosen these items. Together, as a couple.  This was their furniture.  Their living room.

A tidal wave of sentimentality threatened to overwhelm her, and Rachel brought a hand up to cover her mouth.

It’s the first place we’ve ever had that’s just ours.

“Is it everything you wanted it to be, Rach?” he asked from behind her.

“It’s… beyond amazing.  It’s beautiful and I love it more than I ever imagined,” she responded, sitting down on one of the pale green sofas.  “The wood in this house is so gorgeous. I can’t believe how all these pieces just fit so perfectly.”

Jon sat down next to her, slid his feet out of his flip flops and plopped them on the coffee table with a satisfied grin. At this moment, it wouldn’t matter if it were zebra prints and polka dots, because it was theirs, but something else mattered.

“John Francis Bongiovi!  I know you didn’t just put your grubby feet on our new furniture,” she chastised with a wide eyed blink.

“Rachel Leanne Braden!” he mimicked without a care.  “I’ll probably put your bare ass on our new furniture before the night is over, so my feet are the least of your worries.”

She staunchly ignored the warm tingling that his ribald words incited.

“Sweetheart…”  The endearment practically dripped with saccharine sweetness.  Rachel couldn’t help it.  They weren’t going to have sex on this furniture before anyone besides them had even seen it.  That was just tacky.  “I hardly think we need to tarnish the sofas before we’ve even had a chance for a family gathering.”

Jon rubbed the scruffy jaw on his chin and dropped his arm across Rachel’s leg.  “Seems like a good time to tell you we’re getting a new member of the family.”

Rachel tucked her legs under her and tickled the top of Jon’s messy hair, glad he hadn’t pursued sex on the couch.  Because, ultimately, he probably would’ve won, and it really was tacky.  Really tacky. 

She made a mental note to get it all Scotchgarded, just in case.

New family, Rachel.  Focus. 

“Hmmmm…”  She tapped her chin thoughtfully, re-directing and trying to imagine what new family member he could possibly be referring to.  It certainly wasn’t their forthcoming child, because Rachel was absolutely, positively not pregnant.  But another kind of baby wasn’t out of the question, she supposed, and with a new house, it might even be logical.  “You got a puppy, didn’t you?”

“You want a dog?”  He seemed surprised, so Rachel was going to assume that their new family member wasn’t a little ball of canine fur.

“I do if you got me one.  Did you?”

“No.  But if you want one I’ll get you a dog, horse, ostrich…whatever.  Right now I’m referring to Dorothea.”

Dorothea? New member of the family?  What?

“Ummm…  Jon, I like Dorothea and all, but I don’t know how I feel about her living with us.”

 He threw his head back with a boisterous guffaw.  “No and hell no, but thanks for the laugh, babe.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” she returned with a smile.  “So what new family member?”

Sobering a bit, he relayed, “When I dropped the kids off this morning, Dorothea told me she and Ted are getting married.”

Okay.  This could be very bad or it could be no big deal.  I’m hoping for no big deal.

“How do you feel about that?  You can tell me if it bothers you, you know.”

“Actually, yes, I do know that.  I don’t have to worry about censoring anything for you, and I consider that one of the greatest blessings in our relationship.  I know you’d support me no matter what my feelings, and that means more than anything in the world to me.”

He turned his head and puckered his lips inviting Rachel for the kiss she never failed to return. 

“Dorothea and I made each other happy for a lot of years.  And then we didn’t.  I think that finding a great love is a pretty rare thing in life.  I’ve been lucky enough to find it twice and, apparently, so has she.  So I’m as happy for her as I hope she is for me.”

And ‘no big deal’ it is!  Thank you Hay-Zeus!

“Well.  That’s quite a grown up way of thinking, baby and I’m glad you’re approaching it with that attitude.  Ted’s a nice guy and the kids are comfortable with him, so I think it’s great.”

“Yeah.   It still bothers me that I wasn’t able to give my kids an intact family, and that now some new guy will be living with ‘em.” He shrugged. “But whaddaya gonna do?”

Okay, so maybe just a bit bigger deal than I hoped.  Let’s try and fix this…

“I understand where you’re coming from, but you might try to see that, in spite of you and their mother divorcing, you’re both setting a remarkable example for them.  Even though you no longer live together, you’re still a family who loves and respects each other.  As a mother, I’m really proud of you – of all of us – for the way we always put the kids first.”

 “Thank you, baby.” He leaned in for a gentle kiss.  “You sure you don’t want to add our kids to the list?”

“Very sure,” she chuckled.  No, that was one decision she definitely had made peace with. “I can’t imagine trying to keep up with you, all these addresses of ours, plus your spawn running all over the place.  Insanity may find me all on its own, but I’m certainly not going to chase it.”

“So no regrets then?”

Rachel laid a soft palm against his cheek and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.  “Honey, the only thing I regret is not going straight to the bedroom when we first got here.”

The dirty little growl he immediately issued never failed to make her twitch, and this time was no exception.   “You only interested in my body, Rach?”

“Until it begins to sag.  Then I’ll see about enjoying your mind.”  Rachel teased before she stood and extended a hand to pull Jon up with her.

“My body won’t ever sag, baby,” he disputed as she did her best to drag him up the stairs. His ego was far too chatty, and she had waited too long to feel his hot, hard body naked against hers.  “But your once-tight little ass looks like it might be drooping a little.”

He did not just say that!

Rachel stopped dead in her tracks and looked over her shoulder and pinned him with a withering glare.  He was teasing, but he should know better than to even tease a woman about those kinds of things

“My ass is as high and firm as it was when I was twenty, mister.  You should probably take a look and re-evaluate your opinion if you want to get laid, don’t you think?”

He snorted, and those beautiful blue eyes twinkled like the summer sky when he countered, “I’m gonna need to do more than look, honey.  I’m thinkin’ a hands-on evaluation is in order here.”


Thursday, April 16, 2015

Ch 68 ~ The More Things Change


The tension and irritability that Rachel been harboring for the last twelve days simply melted away in his arms.  The heavy, familiar weight of them cradling her body close was… idyllic.  She’d walked away once, fearing that she’d never be here again and she would be damned if she was going to risk it again.

“I missed you,” she whispered into his shoulder.  “And I’m sorry.”

The strong sinewy ropes of flesh eased their grip so that he could draw back and peer into her eyes.  “I’m sorry, too – sorry that we let this shit go on as long as it did.”

Her ponytail bounced as she nodded and lifted her hands to frame his face, marveling that the vacation stubble he was sporting scraped her palms in a way that was both uncomfortable and reassuring.  He was here, live and in the flesh – and she was grateful.

“Something about the distance between us just made me…  I don’t know.  Revert to bitchy and argumentative Rachel, when it would’ve been easier to deal with this and let it go.”

Leaning in, Jon tickled the corner of her mouth with a butterfly kiss.  “I’m as guilty as you are.  We both went old school on this one.  Guess that means we’re still in relationship recovery, huh?”

“Yeah.”  Her eyes reconnected with his.  “We are going to recover from this, right?”

“You mean the setback or what happened when you left London?”

Rachel’s hands fell away from his face to rest upon his shoulders.  “You can’t really have one and not the other.”

“Good point.”  His chin dipped to his chest in a brief nod. Taking a step back, he laced his fingers through hers and bent to scoop up her bag with the other hand.   “Let’s find someplace to talk and we’ll figure that out.”

Verbal proof of his uncertainty caused a razor-sharp pain to pierce her sternum.    There was really a chance that this could be the end? 

No.  Hell no.  We’ve come too far to end it here.  Over…  this.

Now all she had to do was convince him of it. 


The summer trees rustled in a late afternoon breeze, much like Rachel’s hair swished in the open air of the convertible.  Both occupants were quiet as Rachel deliberated the most effective approach to resolving this situation in as short a time as possible, but the silent moments were few before he swung his classic vehicle into a large parking lot. 

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Meadowlands,” he succinctly informed her, pushing the gearshift into park and turning in his seat until he could look at her.  “I don’t want to be driving when we talk and I ain’t waitin’ an hour to get back to the house.”

“Agreed.”  She, too, turned in her seat, tucking her leg beneath her so that they could be face to face.  “I really am sorry.”

“I know that and I don’t want another apology.  One was enough.  All I want is for you to listen to me.”

Rachel nodded, tired of being bitchy and argumentative with him.  It fit their old life, but it didn’t fit them now and she hated that they’d reverted to their old ways.  Right now, she’d do whatever suited him, as long as she got a chance to say her piece, too.

“Quit your job.”

That was it?  That was what he’d been chomping at the bit to say?

“I think we’ve been through this,” she observed cautiously, hoping that there was a follow-up coming.  If not, this might not go any better than their past week.  “That’s not something I want to do.”

“Rachel, I don’t give a shit if you work.  It annoys the hell out of me that you refuse to be a kept woman, but that’s not what this is about.”

“So what is it about?”

“That cock-”  He took a deep breath, censoring himself, and shook his head once.  “James is manipulating you, Rach.  He has an authoritative position in your life and he’s using it to fuck around in our relationship.”

Rachel tipped her head to the side with a slight smile, kind of amused at this jealous side of him.  She never would’ve guessed him to be the overtly jealous type.  “Funny, I don’t remember any threesomes during our relationship.  Did you slip me a roofie?”

The dark scowl let her know that he didn’t share her point of view.  “I’m not kidding.”

Seriously?  Seriously.

“Look…”  She reached for his hand, still intent upon not allowing this to become unpleasant.  “It’s understandable that you might be a little jealous, given my history with James.”

“Your history doesn’t make me jealous, it makes you blind to his faults.  He’s playing you.  He came up with some bullshit before you left for Europe, using the work card to try and keep you in California, and when that didn’t work, he came after you with a bigger ‘crisis’.”

Rachel frowned.  “No.  Those were legitimate problems.”

“You’re telling me that nobody else in the friggin’ world could’ve cleaned up those problems but you?  I’m sorry, baby.  I know you’re good at what you do, but I call bullshit on that one.”

Jon was being silly.  James had no reason to manipulate her.  He was well aware that his position in her life didn’t involve anything more than work and friendship. 

“Honey, James knows that you and I are together.  He’s seen the ring.  Oh!”  She held up a single finger to interrupt that immediate train of thought.   “Speaking of which, I may have figured out why Richie told you James proposed to me.”

“Other than the words ‘marry me’ coming out of his mouth?” he sighed, clearly frustrated that she wasn’t having the come-to-Jesus moment he’d intended. 

Do not be a bitch.  Do not say “I guess everything Richie says is automatically gospel.”  Rather, don’t say it again.

Because she’d spewed that at him at least twice from the other side of the country.

Rachel smiled tightly.  She loved this man with every breath in her body.  She respected him.  She would make great effort to show him that.

“James didn’t propose to me, baby.  You did.”

“About a hundred times now.”

“Yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”  Shaking her head, she withdrew her hand from his and slid the ‘commitment’ ring free from her left hand and she angled it so that he could see the inside.  “The inscription, Jon.”

Rachel had replayed that day in the tearoom over and over in her mind, trying to figure out why Richie had come up with the madness that he’d relayed to Jon.  Finally – finally! – it had come to her on the trip out here.

“James’s grandfather was a jeweler, and James helped him in the shop during his teens.  He knows diamonds, and asked to see my ring.  That’s when he saw the inscription – and read it out loud, in English.”

Épouse Moi.

Because Jon had gotten tired of asking her to marry him, he’d had it inscribed in the ring – in French.  She knew he was aware of it, but was grateful to see a glimmer of understanding light those infamous blue eyes of his.  Grateful and relieved.

“Okay.”

She laughed lightly, innately knowing that was going to be about as good as it got.  He wasn’t going to swoon and gush with relief and love, yet she was still compelled to press for something a bit more… satisfying?

“That’s it?  Okay?”  She brushed light fingertips over his jawline and teased, “Surely you can come up with something more significant than that for my epiphany?”

His mouth twisted into a small, wry grin.  “I might not feel compelled to pop a cap in his ass the next time our paths cross.  Happy dear?”

Rachel threw back her head and laughed out loud.  “You’re pushing the Italian heritage there, aren’t you Don Corleone?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t really wanna know the answers to,” he countered with a wink.  “And, while I’m glad that there’s an explanation for the proposal thing, it doesn’t change the fact that the sonofabitch is manipulating you.”

Rachel’s smile faded a bit, and she sighed.  How, exactly, was she supposed to convince Jon that he was mistaken?  That James wouldn’t do that to her, especially to ruin the happiness she’d finally found.  The two of them may not have found their future in a committed relationship, but they were still friends who cared about one another. 

“Jon, I’m trying to see your side of things, but I just don’t think I can make myself believe that.  James and I have been through too much together.”

“And he wants to make me one more thing the two of you go through so that he can make you his wife.  You’re gonna have to trust me on this.”

She trusted Jon.  She did.  That wasn’t the point here, though, and she gently tried to make that point once again.  “Don’t you think I might know him a little better than you do, honey?”

Now it was his turn to sigh, and Jon’s chin dipped to his chest as he did so.  He, quite obviously, was also attempting to keep things even-keeled.  When he lifted his chin, he also lifted his sunglasses so that she could see his eyes in the late afternoon sunshine, and they brimmed with seriousness. 

“Yeah, I’m sure you do, but familiarity allows people to overlook a lot of shit.  Your history doesn’t give you the same objectivity about him that I have, Rach.”  He reached down, slipping his fingers under her left hand, lifting it so that the sun’s rays played brilliantly against the stones.  “This ring says you’re mine.”

“I know that.”

“Good.  Then you should also know that I will fight the goddamn devil himself to protect what and who is mine – even if you don’t think you’re in danger.”

“Jon-“

“No, Rachel.”  His fingers tightened around hers and his gaze grew more intent, developing a laser-like focus.  “What’s mine is mine, and nobody’s going to damn-well fuck with it as long as I have a breath in my body.  Do you understand me?”

Okay.  She had to be honest.  This…. Overt possessiveness of his had her heart racing just a little bit.  And her skin tingling, and her… more intimate parts sizzling.  Maybe it wasn’t politically correct in today’s society, but when a man truly acted like a man and staked his claim in no uncertain caveman-ish terms.  Well, it stirred a very primal reaction in her.

“Yes,” she breathed quietly.

“Then help me out here, and be a little aware of what the fuck is going on?  Don’t bury your head blindly in the sand.  Please?”

She swallowed slowly, suddenly hyper-aware of how the sun had colored his sculpted cheekbones and how the shadows cast by the bill of his cap made him a bit fierce.  Tantalizingly so. 

Summer looked good on her man.

The only thing that would look better on him is me.

“If we can be naked, hot and sweaty in the next five minutes, I’ll do anything you want.”

Those eyes that had been so intent lit with a different type of fire and, in turn, she went up in an internal blaze.  It had been too long since their bodies and souls had meshed.  She needed him.  She needed to be wrapped up so tightly in him, that they couldn’t decide where one of them ended and the other began.

“Beautiful woman,” he growled, stroking his thumb along the inside of her wrist.  “I want to fuck you more than I want my next breath, but I’m not kidding about this.  Promise me you’ll try and be more objective when it comes to him.”

She was about to spontaneously combust from the innocent touch of skin on skin and he was rambling on about nonsense.  “I’m tired of talking about his.”

“I don’t care.”  His fingers curled around her forearm in a possessive grip.  “Promise me, and I’ll reward you for being such a good girl.”

Holy…… Holy…… Everything that is holy!

“I promise.  Oh, God, I promise!”

Thursday, April 9, 2015

Ch 67 ~ Three Stories



California made Rachel irritable.  There was just no other way to describe it.  Everyone and everything had annoyed her from the moment she’d set foot
back in California, grumpy as a bear over the Jon/James debacle.

From the moment Jon had quietly hung up on her, frustrated rage had soared through her veins with no available outlet.  Her departing flight had left her little option but to board while she still had the opportunity, with James at her side wanting to know what the matter was.  Even as frustrated as she was, she knew that taking it out on him was not the solution, so she told him nothing and pleaded a headache before pretending to sleep.

In actuality, she silently stewed, boiled and was confused to the point of delirium for the entire length of the five hour flight.  Her arrival in San Francisco had her immediately dialing Jon’s number, but a quick calculation of time zones confirmed that he was in the middle of his show and that made her mood even fouler.

It was nearly seven in the evening in California, which was equivalent to three in the morning in London, by the time she was able to reach him.  Her relief cloaked itself in a barrage of sharp words.

“You couldn’t be bothered to call me back after your show?  You had to wait until the middle of the damn night before you decide to answer the phone, when you know there’s a mess hanging in the air between us?  Asshole!”

His voice was quietly weary, with no interest in returning her verbal assault.  “I wasn’t ready to talk to you yet.”

“Well I was ready to talk!  You have some damn nerve dropping that kind of bomb on me when I’m not in a position to discuss it.”

“Yeah?” he sighed.  “Well maybe you should’ve ‘discussed’ it before you left.  Then the situation wouldn’t have existed.”

Rachel’s skull thunked against her headboard when she looked to the ceiling with exasperation.  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I had tea with James, okay?  I wasn't expecting it, and I wasn’t trying to hide it... the timing was just abysmal.”

The silence from the other end of the line was enough to set her on edge.

“He asked you to marry him.”

“No he didn’t!” she cried in vexation.  “We talked about work, he told me that one of the group of investors for a package we've lost a ton of money on had demanded my presence in California and that was it.  Period.”

“That’s not what Richie saw from the bar.”

Richie?   That’s who she had to thank for ten of the most nerve-wracking hours of her life?

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Rachel had immediately wanted to throttle the man for whom she’d previously had nothing more than sympathy and easy camaraderie.

“Well, God knows whatever he saw from the bar must be the gospel,” she drawled sarcastically, unable to believe this entire mess was because of what Richie Sambora had seen in the bottom of his afternoon cocktail.  “Because he’s always sober as a judge with the wisdom of Solomon when he sits at a bar.  Isn’t that right?”

“He saw what he saw.”

“Just for shits and giggles, why don’t you tell me what he saw?  Did he see me arguing with James because I wasn’t ready to leave London?  Did he see me telling James about the fabulous trip to Paris that you’d arranged?  How about when I told James I wanted to work remotely during the month of August so I can come and spend it with you?  Any of that make its way to you?”

“Rachel, I’m tired and I don’t feel like arguing.  Answer me one thing and we can talk about everything else tomorrow.”

That really didn’t work for Rachel.  She wanted the situation ironed out and the air completely clear – now – but maybe they were beyond that tonight.  Maybe they were too tired to think objectively and rationally.

“What?”

“Did you go for work, or to be with James?”

Yeah, she clearly lacked the ability to process anything in an objective manner, because that question made her want to screech at him like a banshee.

"Jon, don't be stupid."

"That's not an answer Rachel."

She inhaled deeply through her nostrils and out through her mouth.  A deep, relaxing breath to prevent her from saying the many, many things swirling around in her mind because they were all things she would regret later.

"And I'm not giving you one, because you're being ridiculous.  I'm wearing your ring.  End of discussion."

Yes, she hung up on him, but Rachel had still been proud of herself.  She did it with dignity, decorum – and without telling him he had shit for brains.

Things had been tense since then.  Yes, they’d spoken daily, but there was an underlying tension that had never been there before.  She hoped that seeing him face-to-face would finally make him understand that nothing had changed, and that they were the same couple they’d been before James showed up in London.

She hoped.

                                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jon folded his arms over his white t-shirt clad chest, feeling the short sleeves grow tight with the bulging of his arms as he leaned his ass against the Chevelle and surveyed the plane taxiing to a stop on the Teterboro airstrip.  Rachel was on that plane and, for the first time ever, he wasn’t sure how he felt about seeing her.

Things had been difficult since her unexpected departure from London at the hand of Jackass James.

At first, Jon had been hurt when Richie told him about what he’d witnessed in that tea room.  Then he’d gotten pissed.  After he talked to Rachel and heard James call her ‘sweetheart’, he’d become livid.  When Rachel refused to give him a yes or no answer about whether she’d left for work or that cocksucking bastard, Jon had resigned that he wasn’t going to fight for a woman who didn’t want him.  His male pride wouldn’t allow it.

But she kept calling.  She labeled him a stupid asshole for not listening to his heart instead of his ego.  She told him he was an inconsiderate dick with trust issues and, when he refused to be budged, she told him she absolutely wasn’t going to talk any more about it until they could do it face.

So they played nice for the remainder of the twelve days that brought them to today.  They checked in with one another every day to see how things were going, she inquired about the delivery of the London furnishings for the house, he asked – briefly – about work, and if she was going to be able to get away from the month of August as she’d hoped.

All the while his anger and resentment bubbled just below the surface.  He felt bad about it at first, thinking Rachel was right.  Had his trust issues automatically made him assume she wanted James?  Was his anger at her misplaced?  Should he be angry with himself instead?

Yesterday, he discovered the answer to that question while talking to Richie on the plane trip back to the States. 

“So what’s the deal?  Are you and your girl still on, or what?”

He’d looked up from his newspaper with a frown as the lanky man occupied the seat next to his.  “Yeah.”

“So you got all this shit worked out about whatshisface?  And his askin’ her to marry him?”

Actually, no, they had never resolved that to his satisfaction.  She swore it never happened, but Richie swore just as vehemently that it did.  He’d never had cause to doubt Richie’s word, but maybe Rachel had been right.  Maybe his perception had been clouded by booze.

“Kinda.  We’ll get the rest of it sorted when she gets to Jersey tomorrow.”

One way or the other.

“As long as whatshisface doesn’t come along and lure her away again?”

That simple question had resonated in Jon’s head with the impact of an air raid siren, rattling his subconscious until the real reason for his anger dropped right into the center of his frontal lobe.

What the hell?

He no longer felt guilty about his anger at Rachel.  He had every right to be angry at her because she had a blind, soft spot when it came to James, and she didn’t see that the manipulative bastard was playing her – most likely to get at Jon.

Upon realizing the why, he immediately picked up his phone to dial Rachel.

“Hello?”

“Hey.  I just had a revelation.  I know why I’m pissed at you, and you’re wrong.”

She sighed heavily.  “I thought we decided to wait until tomorrow?”

“I changed my mind.  Rach, you’re being blind – “

“Jon,” she interrupted loudly.  “You may have changed your mind, but I didn’t.  I can’t focus on this now, because I’m trying to wrap up everything so that I can get out of here first thing in the morning.  We’ll talk about it as soon as I get there.”

“But – ”

“Please, Jon.”

He was annoyed, but what difference was one more day going to make?  It had already been eleven, and it wasn’t like he was losing out on any extra sex.

So he waited.

And, ensconced in the humidity that mid-summer New Jersey was known for, he stood in the baking sun and waited a bit longer for the plane’s crew to open the door.  It was at least another three minutes before it cracked and the stairs were flipped out for Rachel to exit the aircraft.

Jon uncrossed his arms and flip-flopped his away across the twenty yards that separated him from the base of those stairs, squinting behind his aviator sunglasses.  He had just reached his destination when Rachel appeared at the top, her lean legs bare in a pair of khaki shorts while her top half was encased in a form-fitting black babydoll t-shirt.  A quick scan found her still wearing his ring – just like he was wearing hers – and her favorite sunglasses hid her eyes, much as his were hidden, but he saw her mouth tighten almost imperceptibly before she smiled down at him.

“Hey,” she greeted him quietly.

She was as beautiful as ever and, no matter whether he was pissed at her or not, she still stirred something deep inside him.   He had missed her – them – and he was tired of this bullshit.

“Hey,” he returned just as quietly, offering a hand to assist her onto the tarmac.  She’d no more put both sandals on the hot surface before he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck to inhale the scent that was purely Rachel.  “It’s good to see ya.”


Sunday, April 5, 2015

Ch 66 ~ Late For The Gate


“Nice of you to grace us with your presence,” Jon greeted with a mammoth dose of sarcasm when his guitarist came strolling casually into sound check.  Since he hadn’t bothered to show for about half of the London sound checks, it was almost alien to see him onstage without the audience behind him.

Not that Jon was truly bent out of shape over it.  It annoyed him, but it wasn’t a deal breaker.  Still, it would’ve been nice to have his musical memory in the form of Richie here yesterday, to help with last night’s ‘blast from the past’ set list addition.

Richie smiled carelessly, totally unconcerned that the ‘boss’ was giving him hell.  “Quit calling pointless rehearsals and I might do it more often.  You don’t need me for that shit and you know it.  ‘Garageland’ went off without a hitch last night, thanks to your trusty monitor.”

The monitor.  Yes, he relied on it pretty heavily at times, because he couldn’t remember the damn lyrics to his own songs.

“Swear to God I’m gonna have Alzheimer’s by the time I’m sixty.”

Jon had a legitimate defense that had nothing to do with his memory, per se.  It was more the fact that he’d written an unfathomable amount of lyrics throughout the years.  By the time he got rough drafts, then final drafts and then revised final drafts of those lyrics, he couldn’t remember which ones he’d decided on half the time.  His memory was fine.

Mostly.

“Don’t forget your friends and family, man,” Sambora laughingly cautioned with a salute of his cup.  “We’re the ones who will be changing your diaper when you shit your pants.”

Jon threw up an unperturbed middle finger and went back to studying the lyrics for “I Got the Girl”, one of tonight’s set list oddities.  While it saved him a hell of a lot of travel time, this playing in the same venue night after night had its ups and downs – like dredging up long-forgotten songs.

“Yanno, speaking of friends and family, where’s your girl?  She off having tea again?”

Unhappy eyes landed briefly on the other man before Jon lifted his tea mug to his lips.  “She hadda go home this morning.  Work shit.”

And Jon wasn’t the least bit happy about it.  In fact, he’d pretty much shown his ass when she told him she had to leave as soon as possible due to a work crisis that couldn’t be handled by anyone else.  Yeah, they’d worked it out so that when she left for the airport – to catch a commercial flight because she refused to use his jet when she could write a commercial flight off as a work expense – he had moved on from being a dick to being pouty. 

Jon couldn’t help it.  He just could not understand why in the world she couldn’t simply quit her job and keep him company – and grounded – while he zipped around the world on tour.  It was a completely new and foreign desire to have his woman coming to work with him every day, but he found that he’d really enjoyed their time together.  He liked ending his day in her bed and waking up to a routine made more comfortable and interesting by her and her damned tour book. 

Things had been different with Dorothea.  They’d had kids at home and traveling all the time wasn’t the way either of them had wanted to raise those kids, so his family had only made hit and miss appearances on tour.  With Rachel, however, they didn’t have kids.  It was just the two of them and they were free to do anything they wanted to do whenever they wanted, outside of his work schedule. 

And hers, apparently.

He was still annoyed that she went running when that cocksucker, James, snapped his fingers.  She didn’t need a job, and she definitely didn’t need a job working for that douchebag ex-lover of hers.  The whole thing made Jon’s skin crawl. 

Here he was, a multi-millionaire, who was ready, willing and able to support her without a second thought and she was making a mad dash back to California to save some deal on a little two-bedroom cottage.  That shit made absolutely no sense to him.

None.

Zero.

Nada.

Zilch.

“So...”  Richie put down his coffee and twirled his pinky ring around, which was a nervous habit of his.  That, in turn, made Jon nervous.  “She go home alone, then?”

Jon’s forehead furrowed unpleasantly.  He didn’t like the way that question made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.  “If I’m here, who else is she gonna go with?”

“I dunno,” Richie said casually, still spinning his ring like a screw-top bottle of wine and shrugging.  “The guy she had tea with yesterday?  That asked her to marry him?”

                                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Please call me as soon as you can.  Don’t calculate time differences, don’t try and figure out if I’m in sound check or on stage, just call.  Please.”

“Rachel, I need to talk to you.  Now.  Call me.”

“You had better fucking call me the minute you land.  Do you understand me?”

“Hasn’t that fucking plane gotten to mother fucking New York yet?  Turn your damn phone on and call me!”

Rachel’s heart raced with so much panic after listening to the fourth voicemail that she didn’t bother to listen to the fifth and sixth that she also presumed were from an increasingly agitated Jon.  She frantically stabbed at the glass screen and tried to imagine what could possibly be so urgent that he had called her six or more times while she was in the air.

Most of the scenarios that she manufactured in those frantic seconds involved death or dismemberment.  The most cheerful crisis that she could envision was a horrible explosion at the O2 or hotel, without injuries, and even that had her breaking into a cold sweat.

“Rachel, we only have twenty minutes to catch the San Francisco flight.”

Impatiently nodding and waving James away, she put a finger in her left ear to block out the noisy bustle of travelers in transit and silently beseeched Jon to answer his phone as it rang across the Atlantic. 

Come on, baby.  Pick up.  Let me know you’re okay.

“It’s about fucking time,” growled the voice she’d been longing for.  Was he aggravated because he was in pain and she hadn’t been there?

“Jon, what’s wrong?  Are you okay?  Tell me what’s going on and hurry before I go into cardiac arrest from worry!”

“No, I’m not fucking okay,” he volleyed without hesitation.  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that you saw that rat bastard sonofabitch James yesterday?  Better yet, why didn’t you mention the mother fucking fact that he asked you to marry him?”

Rachel’s mouth fell open, then snapped shut and fell open once more, like that of a fish out of water.  Her mind couldn’t shift gears quickly enough from death and devastation to intelligently interpret what Jon had just spewed at her with as much anger as she’d ever heard from him. 

“Answer me!”

“I...”  It took her another breath to even find her voice and she used it to relay her utter annoyance with his dramatic histrionics.  Talk about making a mountain out of a molehill.  “I didn’t tell you because by the time I got to the arena, you were completely focused on show prep and, afterward, you were more interested in arguing about the fact I had to leave.  All that was before you decided you wanted an all-night sex fest as compensation for the inconvenience.”

In reality, she had wanted the sex fest as much as he did, needing to be as close to him as possible before having her trip cut heartbreakingly short.  Rachel had counted on those last few days together in order to mentally prepare for separation from the man whom she had become attached to at the hip while in Europe, and they had been ripped from her with only a moment’s notice.  No matter what Jon thought, she hadn’t been any happier about it than he.

In this particular instant, however, that logic was irrelevant.  His psychotic dick-dom overrode it all and was continuing to trample it with every word.

“So you’re not denying it.”

“Denying what?” she huffed, becoming more frustrated as she tried to wind her way amongst a throng of people who were determined to block the path to her next flight. 

“That you kept it from me that you met James for tea.”

Oh for the love of...

“In the interest of getting to my gate on time, I am not going to rip you a new one over technical details.  I will simply say that no, I’m not denying that I met James for tea yesterday.”

But oh-ho-ho how she wanted to rip him a new one... 

Maybe she was still asleep on the plane?  Maybe it was the mob of people in La Guardia confusing her?  Maybe the mushrooms on her in-flight meal were magic?  Those were the only reasonable explanations for this surreal conversation she was trying to have while James kept glancing over his shoulder with impatient irritation as he sprinted the length of the terminal.

“What about the fucker asking you to marry him?  What the hell is that all about?”

Rachel’s eyes zipped to the broad shouldered man acting as a trailblazing guide to Gate 42, and her stomach convulsed into knots. 

“I don’t have the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.”

Yes she did.  There wasn’t a doubt in Jon’s mind that Rachel knew exactly what he was talking about.  He could tell by the way her tone had gone from righteously indignant to slightly tremulous, and it made him physically ill.

“Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“Jon, I... I don’t know where you’re getting this crazy idea from.”

He rubbed a frustrated hand through his hair, pacing in front of his dressing room sofa for the millionth time since Richie had left.  Was this what it was going to come to?  She wouldn’t marry him or travel with him, but she was going to go running every time this schmuck snapped his fingers?

A wave of uncertain apprehension rolled over him.

Was James why she was cool with not marrying Jon?  So she could keep a little something-something on the side? 

“It doesn’t make a shit where I got it,” he informed her flatly.  “What matters is whether or not you left here because of work... or because of James.  So which is it, Rachel?”

“Rachel, sweetheart, if you don’t move it right now, we’re going to miss our flight.”

There was no mistaking that masculine dickwad voice, even if he wanted to.  Not only was she running when the fucker snapped his fingers, she was running with him.

Son.  Of.  A.  Bitch.

“You know what, Rach... nevermind.  I think that answered my question.”