Chapter 77 ~ Textual Relations

The month of August passed in such a flurry of sand, sun and social obligations that Rachel had been astounded when she found it Labor Day and she was on a plane bound for California, and away from Jon.  Meetings in that week had demanded her presenc on the West Coast, while Jon’s non-music obligations, along with the last minute details Bon Jovi’s Greatest Hits album release, had kept him on the East Coast.

Which meant now, three weeks later, Rachel was suffering a carpal tunnel flare-up from servicing herself during phone sex, when she should’ve been on tour with him in…  Well, she wasn’t quite sure where he was at the moment, but she definitely knew that it hadn’t been her bed.  If it had, she would’ve been sleeping better – in post-orgasmic bliss.

Despite her lack of quality sleep, bat-shit-crazy clients who were never satisfied, and her aching wrist, Rachel found herself spending this Sunday afternoon poolside, feeling unusually relaxed.  The peace and quiet of her yard, where the California sun was still as blazing in late September as it had been in July, allowed her knotted muscles to ease into a rubbery state as she spent some time putting a little extra glow in her fading tan.  Of course, the twenty laps she done in the pool hadn’t hurt, either. 

That feeling of physical exhaustion was a good one, but it wasn’t doing much to ease her mental and emotional restlessness.   

Used to being on her own, and even being independent when she wasn’t, Rachel was more surprised than anyone could be that her thoughts continually turned to Jon.  She wanted to read him a blurb from the morning paper.  She wanted him to make her the coffee that she couldn’t ever quite get right.  She wanted to fall asleep next to him after mind blowing sex and wake up to the same thing. 

In plain, simple English, Rachel missed him.  Big time. 

Her physical state of relaxation gave way to her mind’s restlessness and she swung her legs over the edge of the chaise until her feet touched warm concrete, thinking that maybe the mundane act of rinsing the chlorine from her swimsuit would ease the ache her heart and body felt.  Or at least provide a distraction.

But she was wrong.  Even standing over the laundry room sink, she couldn’t escape the ‘ghost’ of Jon. 

If he was here, he’d probably be screwing my brains out on the washing machine.  And then he’d turn on the spin cycle. 

The thought brought a smile to her face at the same time it pierced her heart. 

My job is becoming a pain in the ass.

For the first time, Rachel wondered if she truly needed the sense of independence and fulfillment that she’d always vehemently sworn that her career provided.  If it wasn’t for her job, she would be straddling her man in some random hotel and being fulfilled in a whole other way – a way that she missed like she’d never missed her work. 

You are not quitting your job, she ordered herself as she pulled a Lean Cuisine dinner from the microwave and took it to the family room, sitting in Jon’s favorite chair.  Damn if his very distinctive and sexy scent didn’t puff up around her when she sank into the cushions, making her tingle with anticipation.

 You’re just horny.

It was funny how your body got used to another body.  Where she once, not so long ago, had gone to sleep by herself without a second thought, now Rachel would lie in the darkness, looking at the ceiling while she ached. 

Yes, ached.

Like a damned Harlequin romance novel heroine, Rachel actually ached to feel Jon’s skin against hers, to the point where the softness of the sheets became uncomfortable.   She physically craved those callused fingertips skimming over her ribcage, and his breath warming her cheek as he snored.

Ugh!  I’m pathetic!

Her shower and lotion didn’t help matters, because she would never again be able to put moisturizer on her body without thinking of Jon – and sex. 

I have got to get my mind on something else!

Hoping to ease the restlessness she was feeling, Rachel locked up the house and plopped into her big (lonely) king-sized bed to read.   People Magazine was always a good distraction – or it had been once upon a time.  Until she’d caught herself reading about celebrities she’d actually met.   Now it was sometimes felt a little creepy and intrusive.  Better than the tabloids, but still…

Demi Moore’s crumbling marriage was the cover story in this issue.  She’d never met Demi Moore, and Jon didn’t know her well as far as Rachel was aware, but her crumbling marriage just didn’t interest Rachel in the least.  She tossed it to the nightstand in frustration. 

There was nothing that was going to come close to easing that restlessness, other than Jon himself.  Granted, a text message wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do until she could find out whether he was awake somewhere in the world and up for a little visit. 

And with any luck, he’ll talk dirty to me.

[7:32 PM]RACHEL:  Whatcha doin?

She impatiently tapped the side of the phone with her fingernail, willing him to hurry up and answer.  When no response came after ten minutes, the only logical assumption to be made was that the man was sound asleep. 

Rachel screwed up her face in deliberation. 

She could call always call him, she reasoned.  Agreeing that, if one of them really needed to talk at any time of day or night, they both had their phones set to always ring through for one another.  It didn’t matter if he had the rest of the world silenced, his phone would ring if she called, but her sexual agitation wasn’t exactly earth shattering – for him, anyway.  If he’d actually managed to get to sleep, Rachel wouldn’t wake him. 

With a sigh that was deeper than the others she’d been emitting, she resigned herself to channel surfing the bedroom TV until she could find sleep for herself.  She was just contemplating buying a new set of luggage from QVC when a text message chime interrupted her. 

“Oooh!”  She snatched up the phone and swiped across the screen with a sense of excitement and anticipation. 

[8:09 PM]JOHN BONGIOVI:  workin

Working?  At this hour? 

Of course she really had no idea what ‘this hour’ was where he currently stood.

[8:10 PM]RACHEL: Are you in the middle of a show?

[8:10 PM]JOHN BONGIOVI:  ya  u ok?

Dammit!  So much for dirty talking.

He couldn’t very well get her off in the middle of a show.  Could he? 

It wouldn’t hurt to throw that out there, just in case.

[8:11 PM]RACHEL:  I’m horny! 

When his response time hit forty-eleven seconds, Rachel flipped from the messaging app to her email.  She may as find out where he was at, so she could figure out how much longer he wasn’t going to be any help to her sexual appetite. 

Her heart jumped when she saw “San Jose”, but quickly plummeted back to its usual spot when realizing it was followed up by “Costa Rica” instead of “California”. 

“That would’ve been entirely too convenient,” she muttered to herself. 

A quick Google search had his venue pegged in a time zone that was only an hour ahead of her.  That meant he’d be on stage quite a while yet, and likely not interested in indulging her newfound fetish for phone sex. 

Crap.

Nonetheless, he did continue to text her between songs, which was a miracle in and of itself.  He normally stayed very focused and didn’t like distractions during his shows, so it made her feel just a little bit smug that he was voluntarily allowing her to be a distraction. 

[8:24PM]JOHN BONGIOVI:  u & every woman here

She grinned at the phone.  They may be horny, too, but he kept coming back to her.

{8:25PM}RACHEL:  Oh yeah?  Any favorites in the front row?

This time, as she waited, she decided to search for a live stream of the show.  Surely some techno-geek would be working illegal magic with their cell phone, right?  She’d yet to be at a show where there weren’t thousands of phones up in the air for the majority of the night.  Who knew what they were doing?

She sighed.  Again. 

If a stream of the show was out there in cyberspace, Rachel wasn’t geek-savvy enough to find it.  She was just about to go take another shower and make use of the hand-held showerhead when her phone finally chimed.

[8:40PM]JOHN BONGIOVI: brunette in a see thru mini

See-through mini?  That actually might be useful.  Maybe if she could get his mind on sex, he’d be more likely to help her ease the pain of Jon-induced nymphomania. 

[8:40PM]RACHEL: Nice boobs?

[8:41PM]JOHN BONGIOVI: maybe better than urs

For the first time today, Rachel found herself actually laughing.  Out loud. 

[8:41PM]RACHEL: Oh come ON!  Nobody that’s going to PAY to see your show has better boobs than me.

Her heart sang a happy little diddy.

Because for a millisecond it didn’t feel as if they were a gazillion miles apart.  He wasn’t on a stage in another country earning his keep by soaking women’s panties with a single glance while she was alone with her own wet panties.  However briefly, in this comfortably bantering moment, they were connected.

Funny.  It only makes me miss him more. 

[9:24PM] JOHN BONGIOVI: ha!  cocky much?

[9:25PM]RACHEL: It’s why you like me.

[9:25PM]JOHN BONGIOVI: like u better on ur knees

Rachel smirked. And why wouldn’t he?  She was good at that, but it wasn’t the only thing she was good at.

[9:25 PM]RACHEL: I’d fuck you senseless tonight, that’s for sure! 

And…. silence. 

This damn show is interfering with my powers of seduction!

[10:11 PM]JOHN BONGIOVI:  could a guy finish his show without all this sexual harassment?

Rachel giggled.  Sometimes the responses were worth the wait.

[10:11 PM]RACHEL:  You love it and you know it!

[10:11 PM]JOHN BONGIOVI: more than my next bottle of wine.  Encore.  Call u later.

Well, dammit.  Just when it was starting to get fun.

Nonetheless, Rachel couldn’t resist sending one last text – and accompanying it with a provocative selfie. 

Okay, maybe provocative was too tame a word.  Pornographic.  That might be more appropriate.  But not hard core porn. 

[10:13PM]RACHEL:  Looking forward to it, baby.

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

“You sadistic little minx,” Jon scolded the instant Rachel answered her phone.  “You can’t send me naked pictures of yourself when I haven’t had sex in weeks!  Jesus, c’mon!”

“I’ve gone without sex for the same amount of time,” she volleyed right back at him, with a laugh that made him smile.  He actually loved to hear her laugh, even when she was being a cock tease. “So you’re not the only one deprived around here, mister!” 

That sure as hell wasn’t his fault, but he didn’t think that pointing out would get him anywhere he wanted to be, so he went with something a little less acidic.  “Yeah, well…neither one of us would be in this mess if you didn’t have to be in meetings all day Tuesday.  You’d be here with me and I’d let you follow through on that promise to fuck me senseless.”

“Oh! Get this…”  She let out an unladylike snort that belied her usual behavior.  “James cancelled Tuesday’s meeting.  So, as it turns out, I actually could have gone with you this week.”

No good, cock suckin’, pink sweater wearin’, troublemakin’, gonorrhea-ridden sonofabitch.

“Just for one fuckin’ day, I’d like to go without hearing that cocksucker’s name,” Jon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Knowing what he thinks of me, the sumbitch probably never had meetings scheduled in the first place.”

“Have you always had such a suspicious nature, or is this new since you met me?”

“Since I met James, actually, and I don’t wanna talk about that piece of fuck anymore.”  He pushed a tired hand through his hair and leaned back against the headboard of his hotel bed, scratching his bare chest.  “So if you don’t have meetings that require your presence, why isn’t your sexy little ass on a plane headed for Costa Rica?”

“I… Well…” Jon smiled at her hesitation.  Evidently, she hadn’t thought to ask herself that question.  “Well, I honestly don’t know why I’m not.”

His smile turned to a wide grin.  He loved it when he was right and she didn’t even want to argue with him about it. 

Fucking loved it!

“Good answer,” he approved.  “Now pack your goddamn bag, because I’m sending a plane.”

Her giggle made him want to do dirty things to her.  Very dirty things.

“And don’t wear panties,” he ordered gruffly.  “I’m gonna want breakfast as soon as you get here.”

Ch 76 ~ Splinters and Softails

Oh my word, James didn’t just say that!

Rachel was pissed.  Beyond pissed.  She didn’t care if James was her immediate boss or the Pope, no one was going to insult Jon that way as long as she had a breath left in her body, and she was going to take great pleasure in extracting a pound of flesh from the man she’d thought was her friend. 

“James!  Don’t you dare speak to him that way!  What in the world is wrong with you?”  Her palm itched to slap him, but she restrained herself.  Barely.  “That has to be the rudest, crudest thing I’ve–”

Just as she was getting a good head of steam built up, Charles interrupted by cupping her elbow – firmly – and turning her in the direction of the bar.  “Come along, Rachel.  I see Joe McLemore over by the bar.  Do you remember meeting him?  No?  Then I shall introduce you.”

It took every ounce of willpower that she possessed for Rachel not to shake out of the older man’s grip and tell him get his fucking hands off of her, but she managed to do it.  Only because her livelihood depended on him – her boss’s boss, as it were.

“But...”  Her eyes flicked back and forth between her current lover and her former one, both of whom were locked into a silent stare-down.  Jon’s jaw muscle was jumping with barely repressed anger, and telling the full tale of how James’s socially unacceptable comment had affected him, while James wore an aura of condescension as ugly as his pink sweater. 

She couldn’t walk away until she was sure this had been properly taken care of.

“Now, now, my dear,” Charles murmured under his breath as he very nearly dragged her away from the awkward scene, unconcerned about her wishes.  “No man wants a woman defending him as though he’s tied to her apron strings.  I’m sure your partner can take care of himself quite ably.”

What? I would never do that! 

However, in essence, that’s exactly what Rachel had done.  She hadn’t even hesitated to see what Jon might say, just jumping in with both feet, intent upon avenging his good name.  Like he was inept and incapable of taking care of himself, when that’s absolutely the last thing in the world she would ever consider him.

He didn’t get where he is in this world by having someone fight his battles for him, and he certainly doesn’t need to start now. 

So it was with a resigned nod and a lingering glance over her shoulder that Rachel accompanied Charles to the bar, leaving Jon to deal with James in whatever way he saw fit. 

As he stared into the eyes of the cocksucker he’d like to sucker punch until he writhed on the ground and cried like a little girl, Jon made a mental note to thank Charles later.  It was time that Jon and James had it out once and for all, and having Rachel there would present a distraction.

“Listen, you jealous sonofabitch,” he growled through one of his fake press smiles.  It wouldn’t do anyone any favors if the other partygoers realized what was about to go down here.  “My fiancée has to work for you, so – out of respect for her – I’m gonna do my best to be civil as long as you do the same.  You cross the line like that again, though, and you’ll be looking for a way to get grass stains outta that stupid pink sweater, because I’m gonna put you flat on your back.  Do we have an understanding?”

“No, we clearly do not,” James scoffed.  “Because you might have the rest of the world fooled with that gaudy ring she’s wearing, but I know it doesn’t mean shit.”

“You don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground.”

“Oh really?”  The other man’s eyes narrowed and he leaned in, lowering his voice in a taunting manner.  “Has she actually said she’d marry you, Rock Star?”

No, but she would.  However, Jon didn’t feel the need to justify himself to this asshole.  “Fuck you.”

James’s laugh was as derisive as his next words.  “Let me help you out there, high school graduate…  No.  She hasn’t said she’d marry you.  And do you know why?  Because she doesn’t trust you.”

“I said it once and I’ll say it again:  You don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground.”

Jon sincerely believed that the egotistical cocksucker was pulling shit out of his ass and throwing it, in hopes that something would stick, but his statement still stung Jon just a little bit.  There were a lot of things he could blow off, but not having Rachel’s trust was a big deal in his book.  If there was just a sliver of truth in James’s accusation…

“I mean, can you blame her?”  The dark-haired man’s shoulders lifted in a sympathetic shrug.  “Your sexual exploits have been well documented, and it’s not like they’re old news.  Two women in your bed is enviable from my point of view, but I’m sure Rachel doesn’t quite feel that way.”

Jon’s fist clenched at his side.  It had been a long time since he’d gotten into a fist fight, but his next one was getting steadily closer.  If there weren’t a hundred Hamptonites– all connected to Rachel’s livelihood in some way or another – milling about, he would’ve flattened the smack-talking son of a bitch already. 

So, instead, he just smiled that press smile a little bigger, dropping his head back for a canned laugh.  “Grasp at straws, James old buddy, because that’s all ya got.  You don’t know shit about my relationship with Rachel.”

James adopted the same wide smile and phony laugh, clapping Jon on the shoulder with a “friendly” thump and a wink.  “I know more than you think I do, Mr. Pinky Swear.”  With that, he turned to meander off toward the bar, repeating over his shoulder, “I know more than you think I do.”

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

After rejoining her at the bar with a murmured, “Later,” when she opened her mouth to ask what had happened with James, Jon had been pensive for the remainder of their time at the party.  He had smiled and laughed at the right times and made the appropriate responses when spoken to, but there was an underlying tension that Rachel was likely the only one to notice. 

The car doors had barely closed and Jon was just putting the key in the ignition when Rachel reached the limit of her patience.  “Well?  Are you ever going to tell me what happened?”

“Nothing happened,” he told her blandly as he pulled the vehicle onto the road.  “He waved his dick around, said what he wanted to say to put me in my place and that was the end of it.”

Rachel’s forehead furrowed and she turned in the seat to frown at his profile.  There was no way in the world the man sitting beside her would take a verbal tongue lashing from James, of all people, without some kind of retaliation.

“I don’t believe you.  There has to be more to it than that.”

He shook his head and made the turn that would bring them into the driveway, ending their short commute from Charles’s home.  “Nope.  That’s it.”  He was out of the Chevelle and in the process of closing the door when he realized she was still sitting inside, just staring after him.  “You comin’?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head in disbelief, crossing her arms and settling back into the seat.  “I’ll just stay right here until I get back from the alternate universe I’ve apparently drifted away to.  Because nowhere in this universe would Jon Bon Jovi allow himself to be bested by the likes of James.”

“Suit your fuckin’ self,” Jon muttered and slammed the Chevelle’s door.  He stalked toward the house, leaving a flabbergasted Rachel behind. 

I don’t need this shit.  What I need is a bottle of wine and a blow job. 

Inside the front door of the place that he’d called his summer home for many years, he strode to the bar, choosing to pursue the one thing on that short list that was a sure thing.  May as well go for the wine because, the way it was looking, he wasn’t going to get the blow tonight. 

The front door banged shut about the same time he worked the cork loose from the bottle and, when he lifted his chin to take the first drink of the night that he might actually enjoy, his eyes found Rachel.  Her French-manicured feet were belligerently planted on the opposite side of the bar, and she had that look about her. 

The one where she was looking inside his head as though his skull was made of glass. 

Absently, as the sweetness of his beloved Pinot Grigio slid down his throat, Jon wondered why he’d thought it such a good thing that she knew him so well.  It was times like this, when he didn’t particularly want to admit his thoughts out loud, he wished she would just chalk his behavior up to a rampant bout of dickdom and move on with her night while he quietly got drunk and sulked inside his head.

It wouldn’t be unusual for him to have an outbreak of dickdom – and he should’ve had a major outbreak with that cocksucker James – but the truth of the matter was that he’d gotten distracted by the sharp point of the stupid sonofabitch’s words. 

Not sharp like a dagger that could bleed him out, mind you.  More like a splinter.  Just a quick prick and then a lingering irritation. 

Kind of like James himself.

“You can tell me now,” said the blonde pit bull he called his.  “Or you can tell me at three in the morning when you’re tired of me keeping you awake.”

One corner of his mouth slid upward, and he swirled his wine in the glass while he tried to play this off.  “Depends on how you’re keeping me awake.  If you do it right, then I ain’t gonna mind a bit.”

“Jon…”

Great.  Now she was even starting to resemble a pit bull with the set of her jaw and the low growl. 

“Yanno, Rach… this shit isn’t worth the trouble.  Stop making a dramatic production out of everything.”

“I beg your pardon,” she snorted, stepping forward to prop her hands on the edge of the bar and leaning toward him.  “From where I’m standing, you’re the one being a drama queen.  If you had just told me what happened the first time I asked, we’d be tearing the sheets off the bed by now.”

Yeah.  That makes it better, he thought sarcastically.  Knowing I could be gettin’ laid instead of doing this Oprah moment.

“I don’t want to do this, Rachel,” he sighed.  “Because I can already tell you what’s gonna happen.  You’re going to accuse me of not trusting you, which isn’t the case at all, and blowing something completely out of proportion.  Although, God knows, that’s already covered.”

Her hands flew up into the air.  “What?  Are we in junior high here?  When did you lose the ability to have an adult conversation?  Just.  Tell.  Me!”

Jon had backed himself into a corner.  There was no way out other than straight up the middle, because she wasn’t going to let this go until she had the complete blow-by-blow account, and he knew it. 

All I wanted was a bottle of wine and a blow….

“Jesus H. Christ!  Fine!  He said you don’t wanna marry me because you can’t trust me, and he implied that he knows more about your feelings and our relationship than I do.  Can we fuck now?”

“Oh, Jon.”  There it was.  That look of pity.  The one he hadn’t realized he’d been dreading until it settled over her perfect features in a display of sympathy that made him want to punch something. 

“Don’t,” he cautioned her, holding up a distance-saving hand when she reached for him across the bar.  “Just fucking… don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t treat me like some goddamn stupid kicked puppy.”  He slugged back another belt of his wine.  “I’m not insecure and I’m very aware that he was just tryin’ to push my buttons.  So don’t.”

One artistically shaped brow slid up on her forehead as she straightened her shoulders, folding her arms on the edge of the bar.  “Then get over yourself and stop being an asshole.”

“I wasn’t being an asshole until you nagged me to death!”

She shrugged, completely unconcerned with the accusation he flung out in frustration.  “I wouldn’t have had to nag you to death if you’d just told me in the first place.”

Jon closed his eyes. 

One… two… three…

It honestly wasn’t her fault.  He was irritated with that cocksucker, not her, but she was jumping up and down on buttons that had already been repeatedly pushed tonight.

Four… five… six…

He knew what he should do is just tell her why he was so damn annoyed, but he felt like that was pretty much equivalent to revoking his Man Card.  What red-blooded guy was going to admit that a dumbass like James had managed to get under his skin – even if it was just a little bit? 

Seven…  eight… nine…

No.  He was not going to go crying to his woman because some wormy, pink sweater wearing cocksucker had made him – just for a second – the tiniest bit insecure. 

Ten.

Jon plopped his wine glass on the bar and took three long strides around it, not stopping until he reached Rachel.  Firm fingers gripped her upper arm and he pulled her close, and he crashed his lips down on hers in a kiss meant to both vent his frustration and punish her. 

Punish her for what, he really wasn’t sure.  For making him love her too much?  For making him vulnerable to James’s bullshit?  He wasn’t at a point where he could make that determination.   Rational thought was just beyond his grasp, but Jon just knew he wouldn’t be feeling this way if it wasn’t for Rachel.

He plundered her mouth with a vengeance, bruising her lips in a mindless effort to rid himself of the unwanted feeling.  His tongue pushed inside her mouth, seeking out hers until it slicked against his in the way that always made his gut tighten with anticipation.  One hard suck on it had it had her whimpering with pain, and Jon’s conscience was pierced. 

He was being too rough.  She didn’t deserve to be brutalized because he had his thoughts in a twist. 

Jon was just about to break the kiss and step away when her fingers tunneled into his hair, holding him close so that she could return the favor and sucked on his tongue.  However, he didn’t whimper with pain.  He groaned with desire. 

Sex.  Sex would put his psyche back on track. 

Does James know about our sex life?

That thought wasn’t a splinter, it was a dagger.   Or a machete, maybe, because it stopped him in his tracks. 

That was the one thing he hadn’t mentioned to her yet.  James’s insinuation that he knew things about Jon’s relationship with Rachel.  Not just things, but private things.

Pinky swear.

Jon’s lips wrenched free of Rachel’s and he sucked air like a runner who had just completed his first marathon as her glazed eyes registered confusion. 

“Are you telling James about our private life?”

“What?”  The glassiness faded and emerald irises became focused with a razor precision on his.  “Like our private, private life?  Of course not!”

He dragged his thumb along her cheekbone, really wanting to believe her.  It wasn’t that he didn’t, in fact.  His head understood quite logically that Rachel wasn’t a woman to kiss and tell, but his heart…  His heart was being a dumb fuck and wanted more. 

“Is this why you thought I’d accuse you of not trusting me?” she went on, when he didn’t speak.  “Because James claims to know things I’ve supposedly told him?”

Her eyes were conflicted.  He could see anger snapping in them, along with shades of that fucking pity again.  The pity was for him, Jon knew.  The anger, however, he wasn’t so sure about.  Was it for him – or for James?

“Pinky swear.  He said that to me, Rach.  Why does he know that?”

Anger simmered brighter, but the pity was replaced by exasperation.  “Because, last time I saw him, I was wearing the necklace and earrings you got me.  He said it looked interesting and I told him what it was.  I didn’t consider it classified information, Jon.”

It wasn’t.  Of course it wasn’t.  It wouldn’t have made two shits if James hadn’t presented it in the worst possible light. 

“But,” Rachel took her index finger and pushed his chin until they were eye to eye.  “I have never told him – or anyone – the details of our private life.  Your skeletons and my skeletons are still locked safely in the closet together, where they’ll always stay.”  Her mouth curled into a wry smile.  “Nobody knows that you use sex like truth serum on me.  Or how you dig your fingers into me when you’re about to come.  Or how my nipples harden when you suck my clit.”

Her nipples hardened when he sucked her clit?  Hell, he didn’t even know that.

“Oh yeah?”  Settling his hands at her waist, he pushed the hem of her blouse up so that he could drag his thumbnails over the smooth flesh there.  “What else does nobody else know?”

Nimble fingers unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and moved steadily downward, until his shirt was parted to each side.  “Nobody knows how bossy you can be in bed.  Or how much I like it.”

Jon grinned down into her face, his own fingers getting busy on her blouse.  “Oh, I know, baby.  I know exactly how much you like it, just like I know how much you’re gonna love me bending you over this bar and smacking your ass while I ride you like a custom Softail Harley.”

A soft moan confirmed it. 

“Do you trust me, Rachel?”

Her answer was instantaneous, with no thought given to the bra he stripped from her.  “Yes.”

“How much?”

Authoritative hands pushed her capris down to the floor and Jon immediately pushed his hand into the crevice between her thighs.

She was wet. 

So wet.

“Ohhh,” Rachel purred, arching into his touch as she pulled at his belt.

Jon jammed a single finger up into the hot channel that immediately clutched at him, eager to be filled with anything he had to give her. 

“How much, Rachel?  How much do you trust me?”

“With my life,” she squeaked when he hit her g-spot and applied firm pressure. “I swear to God, with my life!”

His pants hit the floor, and he kicked off his shoes to shed them before pushing Rachel back against the bar.  He was still giving her g-spot hell, and his hand was sopping wet as payment for his work. 

“Then you’ll let me put your hot little ass up on my bar and let me take pictures of you spread-eagle?  You’ll let me fill my phone camera with shots of your drippin’ pussy?”

She stiffened for a millisecond before reaching down to cup his balls and squeeze.  “Sure, baby.  As long as you let me take pictures of you on your hands and knees eating that pussy while you stroke that big dick of yours.”

Jon grinned. 

Tit for tat.  That was his Rachel, and that was her way of telling him she trusted him every bit as much as he trusted her. 

With his life. 

He spun her around and propped her hands on the padded edge of the bar.  “Who the fuck has time for pictures?  I got a Softail to mount….”

Ch 75 ~ Fireworks in the Hamptons

Sitting on an elevated two-acre site with over two hundred feet of direct frontage on Georgica Pond, and adjacent to a seventeen-acre meadow preserve, Charles Hardcastle had one of the most admired estates in all of East Hampton.  He wasn’t only known for owning the one-hundred-year-old mansion designed by noted architected Stanford White, either.  As CEO of First American Bank, he was a prominent figurehead among the Wall Street types who frequented these infamous beaches to which the rich and famous of the East Coast flocked every summer.

He was also Rachel’s boss.

Which is why she and Jon were currently milling beside the pool, and he wore an expression that was perfectly amicable to the untrained eye.  Rachel, however, was professionally trained in reading Jon’s facial expressions, and this one was pissy.  He was not thrilled to be here and was convinced that there was some kind of evil subterfuge afoot.

Objectively, she could see how he might think that, but she was convinced that he was overreacting.

Just because James had arrived on the Hamptons scene shortly – the day after – she and Jon had arrived with the kids at the beginning of August was no reason to be suspicious.  James had bought a home here years before and had often spent weekends there, Rachel recalled, while she was living in New Jersey the last time.  He’d even invited her to join him a time or two, explaining that the business contacts she could make in the Hamptons would be invaluable to her career.

So it wasn’t like he’d purchased a house for the sole purpose of stalking Rachel and Jon.

In fact, when they’d been enjoying some beach time with the kids earlier that day, it hadn’t even fazed Rachel when James had casually sauntered up to them and invited them to Mr. Hardcastle’s party this evening.

Repeat:  It hadn’t fazed her.

Jon, however….

“What?!?!” he had hissed the instant James was out of earshot, clearly unhappy that she had accepted the invitation.  “Why the fuck did you tell that cocksucker that we’d go?”

Rachel was grateful for Jacob and Romeo playing in the surf a couple dozen feet away.  She was convinced that it was only their presence that kept Jon from completely – and loudly – blowing a gasket. 

“I know we were planning on making the most of our alone time, after Dorothea picks up the kids this afternoon,” she sympathized evenly.  Intimacy had definitely taken a back seat to family time for the last few days, and they’d both been counting on this time to raise a little sexual ruckus.  “But I can’t count on my fingers and toes the number of your events I’ve had endure with a smile.  It won’t kill you to endure one for me.”

Rationale and reason had derailed his meltdown, for once, and he only grumbled and cursed under his breath – a couple of times an hour – until he intententionally parked on the street at the end of Charles Hardcastle’s ridiculously long driveway. 

“I don’t wanna wait for some goddamn valet once you give me the green light to go,” he explained, smoothing a hand over his hair and began the hike toward the front door.  “You realize it takes less time to hike Diamond Head than this?”

She had smiled up into his face and winked.  “Maybe next time we’ll use the valet service then.”

His scowl had magically disappeared when the door was opened by a party staffer – and had remained so until now. 

“How long do we have to stay?” he fussed, waiting for the bartender to fill his order.

“Oh honey,” she laughed quietly, patting the small of his back while kissing his cheek. “You know the drill.  We’ll see and be seen, make our appearance, smile with the boss and leave.  In theory, we could be home and writhing around on the bed within the hour.”

“I’m holding you to that.” He turned to lean against the bar and peruse the well-heeled crowd.  “I bet he sucks a mean dick,” Jon observed after his first swallow of wine, dipping his head toward the other side of the pool.

“What?  Who?”  She pivoted with her own glass, trying to see who he would make such a comment about when she spotted Mr. Harcastle – with James at his right hip.  James, who was dressed in navy linen trousers, a white button down shirt and a pink cardigan draped across his shoulders.  “Oh my word.  If you ever put on anything that even resembles what James is wearing, I swear I’ll never have sex with you again.”

“No worries, baby,” he snorted as she latched onto his hand and dragged him along toward the two men.  “You’ll never find anything other than pussy on my lips.”

“JON!  Please behave yourself tonight.”  She was aghast that he’d say something like that out loud in the middle of a crowd.  Well…  She was and she wasn’t.

“You don’t want a well-behaved man, Rachel.  No woman does.”

“Well put those acting classes to good use and pretend you’re one,” she ordered amusedly, under her breath, before stepping into her boss’s space and extending her hand.  “Charles, it’s so nice to see you again, thank you for having us.  This is my better half, Jon Bon Jovi.”

With the introductions made, small talk ensued.  Rachel was pleased to note that, for the most part, Jon and James were civil.  In fact, if she didn’t know better, they almost seemed friendly with one another.  She had no idea that Jon really could act.

“Rachel, your idea to donate the plot of land in California was excellent,” Charles interrupted her profound revelation with shop talk.  “I’d like to talk to you more about that and how we might utilize the concept company-wide in the future.”

“Well, as much as I’d love to take credit for the idea, that little brainstorm belongs to my man here.  Jon is very involved with Habitat for Humanity and, when I mentioned I was struggling to sell that parcel, he immediately suggested we donate it and take the tax credit.”

“We know you’re beautiful, Rachel,” James was quick to compliment, “But I’m sure Jon doesn’t want you to imply he’s the brains and you’re just the beauty.”

Jon had reached his fill of this bullshit.  He had played nice with this asshole as long as he wanted to, and silently willed Rachel to wrap this up with her boss so that they could get the fuck out of Dodge before he nut punched James for the fun of it.

Clenching his fist unobtrusively at his side, Jon flashed his press smile and casually popped of, “Nah, James.  She’s the brains.  I’m the pretty one.”

 “I see,” James responded politely before muttering, “I suppose rock stars don’t have to be humble.”

“Oh, bein’ a rock star has nothing to do with it,” Jon denied, clapping the man whom he considered his adversary on the shoulder with a hearty thump.  “It’s all about Rachel.  My head swelled to the size of a hot air balloon the minute she let me slip that rock on her finger.”

Take that, motherfucker!

“I’d like to hear more about how you became involved with Habitat, Jon,” Charles chimed in, and Jon’s irritation was replaced with an easy calm.

This was something he could engage in.  This was something relevant.  This wasn’t stupid-ass James trying to make himself look good in front of Jon’s woman.

“Well, sir…”  He angled himself so that he was directly facing Charles and putting James out of his line of sight.   “One night in Philadelphia, I looked out my hotel window and saw a homeless man sleeping in front of City Hall.  There I was, surrounded by all the history of our great nation and I thought ‘I don’t think this is what our forefathers had in mind.’  I dug deeper, met up with people in the know and that led me to Habitat.  Habitat for Humanity’s work speaks for itself – you’ve seen it. In the wake of Hurricane Katrina and the Tsunami, for example, Habitat was there – rebuilding lives. And that’s just in response to disaster. In Habitat’s 30 year history, they’ve built more than 200,000 home.  And dreams, by offering families a chance to be first-time homeowners.  It’s a great opportunity for your company to give back.  And, let’s face it, the tax benefits and good press will more than offset any net financial loss.”

Rachel beamed with pride and slipped an arm around Jon’s waist.  His enthusiasm for his passions was contagious, making him an insurmountable ambassador for any cause he chose to take under his wing, and he spoke with such clear insight.  One need only spend mere seconds with him to see he was more than a pretty face.  Much more.

Charles opened his mouth – to agree in Rachel’s mind – but before the CEO could do so, James guffawed rudely.  “That’s a lovely sentiment, Jon, but rock stars don’t have a Board of Directors to account to.  We’re in the business of making money, a profit center, and that’s not conducive to donating our nonperforming assets to the homeless!”

Rachel was ready to jump in with both feet to defend Jon’s position, but before she could get the first word out, Charles took it upon himself to counter James’s opinion.  “I don’t know about your take on this James.   I’m sure Jon is intimately familiar with the profit center concept, and he has an excellent point about the tax and PR benefits.  I’m surprised you don’t see this in the same light.”

“Jon is an excellent businessman, James,” Rachel informed her former lover.  “He’s turned the Bon Jovi brand into a worldwide billion dollar company.  Trust me… he’s forgotten more about making money than you and I combined will ever know.”

Rather than being deterred and moving on to another subject, James didn’t respond to her, choosing instead to continue his conversation with Jon as though she and Charles hadn’t interjected.  “I know you had to have covered profit in college.  It’s in every basic business course.”  He cocked his head to the side inquisitively.  “Where is you went to college again, Jon?”

There was little doubt that the question was pointedly intended to be a dig at Jon’s lack of formal education, and the muscle in his jaw very nearly ached from clenching it until he could pull off a fake casual smile and tone of voice.

“Actually, man, I didn’t go to college.  I was too busy gettin’ rich in the real world.  The sweat on this old collar is my PhD and all that.”

“Oh, well that explains it then…”

Ch 74 ~ The Mistress

Two nights later, Bon Jovi took the stage for the second of their two Toronto shows, after which they were scheduled to immediately depart for Louisville, Kentucky for one day off, a show, and then another quick exit to Boston.  Beyond that, Rachel couldn’t remember – or didn’t care to remember, because it didn’t make much difference. 

It didn’t matter much where they were, Rachel thought to herself as the band started the music to “Damned”.  The hotels were basically all the same, as were the food, gym and bar.  It all ran together as far as she was concerned, and she wondered how Jon could keep it all straight.

She fanned herself, mentally correcting that statement, because there was no way she would forget the Toronto shows.  Kid Rock’s fire effects had made Rogers Centre as hot as the edges of Hell last night.  Why they hadn’t opened the dome on the ‘convertible’ arena/stadium she would never know, but tonight hadn’t been as bad.  It was less Hell, more purgatory since they’d toned back the flames in the opening act, yet a droplet of sweat still crept down the valley between her breasts.

Inconspicuously flapping her blouse to generate a breeze, she checked her watch and calculated how long before she could get a cool shower and crawl into bed.  She had just looked up to the stage, figuring she had at least another hour, when Jon unintentionally caught Rachel’s eye.  He was interacting with someone near the front row, and she squinted to get a better look and what was going on.

Kid Rock’s flames have nothing on Jon Bon Jovi.

It was only a moment, but she caught a glimpse of Jonny at his rock star best.  He was sweaty, sexy and cocky, with a glint in his eye that made even her panties melt.  And damned if he didn’t look like he was enjoying himself.  Was that what kept him on the road?  The flirting?  The adulation?  The applause?

She meandered through the crowd, as she had taken to doing during the shows lately, so engrossed in assessing the idol-worshipping gazes of the women around her and trying to see them from Jon’s point of view, that she missed her cue. 

There was a certain spot in the set that she had to get back under the stage if she was going to be in Jon’s quick change room when he ducked in there during his mid-show break.  If she didn’t make her way back to the main stage by that point in the show, she couldn’t get there without accessing the tunnel beneath the circle – and that mean interfering with Matt’s security detail.   

                 

Soooo not a good idea.

So, instead of being in position to give her man a quick kiss and “go get ‘em” pat on the ass, Rachel found herself effectively trapped inside the railing that surrounded the control boards in the middle of the arena floor.  Mentally shrugging, she perched a hip against the steel barrier and resigned herself to being in the perfect spot to enjoy Richie’s solo version of “Lay Your Hands on Me”.

The Richie girls, as always, were vocal in their appreciation of his bluesy-gospel version of the song.  They loved it almost as much as Jon loved the five minute breather the song gave him in the middle of the set.  For her part, Rachel was more partial the stained-glass backdrop they used for Richie’s solo than anything.  While she could see the appeal of his alternative interpretation, she still liked the original version better, she decided as the last notes reverberated and the lights went black. 

This was typically one of the points in the show that she didn’t get to see from a good vantage point.  Granted, Jon’s ass wasn’t a view she would ever complain about having, but it would be nice to see his face when he did the mid-show stint out on the circle in the middle of the audience. 

Wonder what he’s chosen to sing out here tonight…

It would assuredly be one of the ballads, because this was always the time in any show that Jon’s energy seemed to run a little low. 

When the spotlight flared to life, putting a bright halo around Jon, who was practically right in front of her, at the same time the low wail of a saxophone filled the air.  The first thing Rachel noticed was the intensity and fatigue lining her man’s face.  It, in equal parts, frustrated and baffled her.

Why do you do this to yourself night after night, baby?  Why?  What’s worth doing this to yourself?

As the saxophone finished its intro, amazingly enough, Jon saw fit to try and explain.   

On a long and lonesome highway, east of Omaha

You can listen to the engine’s moanin' out their one note song

You can think about the woman, or the girl you had the night before

But your thoughts will soon be wandering, the way they always do

When you're riding sixteen hours and there's nothing much to do

You don't feel much like riding, you just wish the trip was through

Here I am, on the road again

There I am, up on the stage

Here I go, I’m playin’ the star again

There I go, turn the page

He often startled her with the things he revealed about himself when he sang – things he could never put into words without a melody to go with them.   He would tell her a story that would allow her into the deepest parts of him, if she paid close enough attention…

When you walk into a restaurant strung out from the road

And you feel the eyes upon you as you're shaking off the cold

You pretend it does not bother you, you just want to explode

Most times you can't hear 'em talk, other times you can

It’s that same old cliché, is it woman or a man?

You always seem outnumbered, you don't dare make a stand

Here I am, on the road again

There I am, up on the stage

Here I go, playin’ the star again

There I go, turn the page

A pained expression streaked across his face so quickly that it almost hadn’t happened.  If she was pressed to put a name to it…  Well, Rachel could only describe it as… hurt, maybe?  With a touch of underlying bitterness.  It was enough to let her know that the memories of those times – the times he’d had to endure the ‘cliches’, the times he wanted to explode – it hadn’t been all glamour and fame for Jon Bon Jovi.  Sometimes, the whole lifestyle was just a huge pain in the ass. 

Out here in the spotlight it’s a million miles away

Every ounce of energy, you try to give away

As the sweat pours out your body like the music that you play

Later in the evening as you lie awake in bed

With the echoes from those amplifiers ringin' in your head

You smoke the day’s last cigarette, remember what she said

A tightness knotted her chest and tears gathered in the corners of Rachel’s eyes as understanding dawned.  He didn’t stay on the road because he needed the money.  It wasn’t the the applause, the adulation, or any of the other perks that came with the rockstar lifestyle.  In fact, she marveled, it wasn’t even a choice he made.

Jon toured because he had to. 

His mistress demanded it.  All the hours spent on planes, in hotels, meeting with the press were the price he paid to be with her, because she lured him out time and again.  She seduced him, speaking to his soul in a way that no one or nothing else did, and he was powerless to deny her.  How could he? She was as vital to his existence as oxygen.  Without her, he was just a guy from Jersey trying to make it through the day.  

So that’s why he did it all.  For the music.  His true first love.   

 

Here I am, I’m on the road again

There I go, up on the stage

Here I go, I'll be playin’ the star again

There I go… turn the page.

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

His knee ached from being on it two nights in a row.  His face ached from smiling.  His ass even ached from shaking it.  Tonight’s show had drained Jon, and the mildly recuperative flight from Toronto to Louisville had been rendered completely useless as soon as the plane door had swung open.  Jersey was humid in the summertime, but it didn’t hold a candle to stickiness hanging in the Kentucky air at one in the morning – and that was exactly why he avoided scheduling summertime shows in the South.  

He’d heard Rachel muttering, “Holy mother of pearl,” when she came down the jet’s stairs right behind him.  “Isn’t it supposed to get cool when the sun goes down?”

His California girl wasn’t much of a summertime South fan either, it seemed, but she offered no more complaint than that.  In fact, he mused as he lay in bed flexing his knee while waiting for her to join him, she hadn’t said much at all after tonight’s show.

“You’ve been unusually quiet tonight,” he murmured when she finally finished her shower and lotion thing, and pulled the sheet back to slide in beside him.  

“Humidity,” she murmured listlessly, curling into his side and resting a cheek against his chest.  “It sucked away the only iota of energy I had left.”

He looped a loose arm around her, trying to maintain the coolness the sheets had provided without forsaking the comfort of her nakedness against his.  “You were quiet before that.  Are you pissed at me over something again?”

She slid a hand across his stomach, twirling the hair there before squeezing tighter into him, and his cock stirred, instantly erasing the awareness of how his Humpty Dumpty body felt and replacing it with how good she felt. 

“No,” she denied, the simple word blowing an erotic puff of air over his nipple.  “In fact, I’m more in love with you now than I’ve ever been.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, now legitimately hopeful for an explosive orgasm to help him sleep.  Or any orgasm that he didn’t have to flex his wrist for.  He wasn’t picky.   “Does that mean I might get a little tonight?”

“Anything you want, baby,” she purred amusedly, stifling a yawn.  “Just cover me up when you’re done.”

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head.  “You’ll adjust to the travel schedule, babe, just give it a little time.”

“Mm.”

The softly agreeable grunt didn’t bode well for his orgasm, but he took pity on her by closing his eyes and trying to sleep – for all of five seconds.

“Rach?”

“Yeah?”

“What made you decide you love me more now?”

“You.”

“Well, hell.  Naturally.”  He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.  “But there are so many things about me to love…  Why don’t you humor me and narrow it down a little?”

She inhaled deeply through her nose and propped up on her elbow to regard him with one squinted eye.  The other remained firmly closed.  “I love you more now because I finally get it.”

“That makes one of us.”

It was her turn to roll her eyes.  “Tonight.  On the circle.  When you sang ‘Turn the Page’, I finally understood why you willingly deal with this hellacious travel schedule night after night, week after week.”

This should be good.  God knew he’d never been able to put it into words, so he was curious to hear about the epiphany she thought she’d had. 

“And why’s that?” 

“Because,” she explained patiently.  “Playing music in a studio isn’t the same as playing to a sold out crowd.  It doesn’t feed your soul the same way, and your soul needs to be fed.  You need this.”

Holy shit.

She was right.  He couldn’t say that he’d ever bothered to sit down and think of it that way, but she was right.  There was an undeniable pull that kept him going, despite the fact that he hated hotel rooms and abhorred the cold of the north and the humidity of the south and the jet lag from zipping from one time zone to another. 

It feeds my soul.

Damn if that wasn’t the truth, but he wasn’t sure how comfortable he felt admitting that out loud, even to Rachel.

“Maybe.”

“No.”  She shook her head in vehement denial.  “Definitely.  When you sang that song tonight, it was like a window into your soul that I’d never been privy to before.  It was weird, but I saw it, Jon.  Surrounded by thousands of people, it felt like one of the most intimate moments I’d ever had with you.”

Was that why he’d chosen that song tonight?  Sometimes he didn’t know why an idea came to him.  Sure, they had a sax player on hand tonight, but maybe he’d subconsciously picked the Seger song because – lately more than ever – he could personally relate to the story it told.  

And Rachel knew that, because she could read him that well.  When was the last time somebody had been able to do that?  Or cared enough to?

“It also made me feel horrible about being a whiny burden on you lately,” she sighed.  “I want you to know I’m sorry, and I’ll try harder to adjust without being a drama queen.” 

Jon flipped to his side and stroked her hip with the hand she wasn’t lying on, completely humbled and amazed that this woman had seen something in him that he hadn’t ever put into words and she got it.  That was…  priceless. 

Hell, he’d buy her a diamond-crusted drama queen tiara if she wanted, because, whiny or not, he was stupid in love with her.    

“Rachel…  You’ve never been a burden to me, in any way, shape or form.”

One delicate shoulder lifted in a half-shrug.  “Okay, so I’m sorry for being whiny.”

“That I’ll take,” he conceded, leaning in for sweet, lingering kiss before doing something he’d sworn to himself – and her – that he would never do again.  “Marry me, Rachel.  Please?”

She chuckled quietly as she pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips.  The silky golden curtain of her hair enclosed them in a private cocoon when she bent forward to kiss him, and he inhaled the scent that he would forever associate with Rachel. 

“I love you, John Bongiovi,” she breathed against his lips.

“Is that a yes?” he breathed back, tongue darting out to savor the taste of her.

“No.”  One corner of her mouth kicked up in a wicked smile as her hips rolled forward.  His cock immediately jumped at the heated friction, eager for attention.  “It’s more like a ‘let me show you just how much I love you’.”

He was so starved for the feel of her body rippling around him that he wasn’t even pissed she’d turned him down.  Again.

Jon curled hard fingers around perfectly curved hips and lifted her from his body just long enough to get in position before he dropped her, the impalement good enough to pull a gut-deep groan from him.  At this particular moment, there was nothing that mattered beyond the feel of his body inside of hers.

Nothing. 

At. 

All.

Ch 73 ~ Road Warrior

Tour life sucked.

And that was the nicest thing Rachel could say about it.

There wasn’t a single day that had gone by in the past week that she hadn’t longed for the blissful days they’d spent together fucking and frolicking in the house on Navesink River Road.  Hell, she even longed for the times they hadn’t been frolic-ally fucking.

She’d gladly host a thousand Fourth of July barbecues with family and friends.  She’d be thrilled beyond measure to host his parents for months on end in the new house.   She would boat with the kids until she turned green at the gills and had to ingest an entire bottle of Dramamine.  Each and every one of those things, she had genuinely enjoyed and wished to be doing any one of them now.

Instead she was in travel hell.

Rachel flung a zip-loc back full of toiletries onto the bathroom counter, where it landed amongst the other half a dozen bags that were supposed to keep her organized while she traveled.  They had always been her saving grace, but when she’d traveled before, there had always been time to do more than throw her stuff in them and move onto the next city.  Saratoga, Cleveland, Calgary, Edmonton, Winnipeg and now…  Where the hell were they anyway?  Still in Canada.  That much she knew.  Toronto, maybe?

So much for being prepared.

Apparently, she had been delusional in thinking that living in a London hotel suite for a couple of weeks qualified her to travel with this band of gypsies.  Traveling, was…  She had a whole list of adjectives built up at this point, but it was mostly exhausting.  At the third hotel in four nights, she’d given up trying to unpack.   Now that they were on the sixth hotel room in eight days, she’d come to the conclusion that living out of a suitcase completely sucked,, which was why she was currently venting her frustrations on plastic bags.

And they weren’t even halfway through this leg of the tour.  

Even the shows, which should’ve been a bright spot in the travel Underworld, were excruciating.  Summertime heat combined with humidity levels that belonged in the jungles of South America made each and every show seem twice as long as the two and a half hours Jon was customarily on stage.  She dragged around like some kind of exhausted zombie, not knowing if she was coming or going. And it was starting to take a toll on her typically sunshiny demeanor.

Not A toll.  Multiple tolls.  More than the New Jersey Turnpike and the Garden State fucking Parkway combined.

Between her foul mood and Jon’s foul mood, courtesy of the calf injury he sustained during the first New Meadowlands show and the accompanying rehab while he was still trying to get through the shows…  Well, to put it bluntly, their sex life even sucked.

To be fair, he was trying to be patient with Rachel’s floundering attempts to adapt to life on the road, but she could sense he wished she’d just suck it up and deal already.   The more stressed he became over his physical situation – including his struggle with the high notes as of late – the shorter his patience grew.  Only an hour ago he’d snapped at her, barking that he had all he could handle trying to get healthy and she’d have to deal with her PMS on her own.

She’d flipped him the bird, annoyed at the PMS remark, and griped that the only people getting the best from him were the fans each night when he took the stage “playing rock star”.

His reply?  “I hope you get your shit together before we have dinner with Richie tonight.  I’m tired of making excuses for your candy ass bitchiness.”

How could she be expected to do something as Herculean as containing her “candy ass bitchiness” when she couldn’t even find her fucking hairspray??

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Why did he willingly chose this lifestyle?  He couldn’t possibly need the money, and he hated virtually everything about touring except those few hours on stage, yet he continued with the insanity of it all.  . 

For the first time, Rachel wondered if she was insane, thinking she could keep up with him.

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

Meanwhile, in the living room of their suite, Jon and Richie were enjoying a pre-dinner cocktail while listening to the sounds of Rachel’s frustration coming from the bathroom.  The rustle of bags and the zing of zippers could be heard along with a repetitive chorus of “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” and the slamming of the bathroom door as Jon’s lady love stomped from there to the bedroom and swore some more.

“Sounds like your girl needs a drink, Jonny.”

“She needs more than that,” Jon groaned, feeling a headache looming behind his eyes.  It was definitely gonna be an Advil kind of evening.  “I guarantee that whatever the fuck she’s looking for is probably in plain sight.  Mark my words, though, in the next two minutes she’ll ask if I have the missing nail file, bra, tampon or whatever.  You name it, and she’ll accuse me of having it.”

Richie retrieved another couple of beers from the refrigerator, handed one off to Jon and opened one for himself.  “Trouble in paradise, my man?”

“Nah, not really,” he sighed, yet he didn’t hesitate to gratefully accept the beer and flip the tab.  “She’s just acclimating to the traveling circus lifestyle, but it’s no wonder she can’t find her shit.  I swear, she’s got more luggage than you do.  I dunno know why you two can’t get by with a single bag and simplify my life.”

“Because we have incredible fashion sense,” his guitarist retorted with a cheery lift of his can.  “Something you’d know nothing about, Jonny Bravo.  How many days you been wearin’ those jeans now?”

Only a couple, but before Jon could verbalize his response, an agitated Rachel appeared in the doorway, eyes wild with frustration.  “Did you use all my hairspray, Jon?  I can’t find it anywhere!!”

“It’s in my bag,” he reminded her in quiet tone, unsurprised that his prophesy to Richie has been fulfilled.  It was his way of life now.

“Why is it in YOUR bag?” she asked incredulously, as though she didn’t remember stuffing it in there personally, because all of her damn zip-loc bags were crammed to the gills with the rest of her woman shit.

“Because you didn’t have room in yours and you asked me to carry it for you.  Remember, honey?”

“Why don’t you ever unpack?  It would be so much simpler than digging through suitcases every day!  How do you live like this??!!??!!”

And…. she was off again. 

Jon closed his eyes and sighed, wondering if it was always going to be this way.  If so, he was going to need to buy stock in his favorite wine.

“I get that you’re frustrated, but you know what?  If you didn’t have four suitcases and two garment bags you wouldn’t be so fuckin’ frustrated.  You’re gonna have to learn to pack lighter if you’re gonna keep traveling with me.”

Rachel’s eyes rolled to the ceiling, and Jon’s fingers curled more tightly around his beer can.  “Says the man with forty-eleven trucks filled to the gills with his crap.”

“If I had a forty-twelfth one for your hair shit, you still wouldn’t be happy because you can’t unpack the fuckin’ thing every day,” he observed blandly.

“Fuck you, and worry about your own hair,” she tossed off, and he somehow knew she was arguing because it gave her some semblance of control in a world where she felt like she had none.  It was why he didn’t even flinch when she flung out, “And from the look of those gray roots, you should get on that, like, yesterday.”

“Children, Children,” Richie interrupted, rising from the sofa and stepping between them as though he thought they would come to blows.  “Don’t make me send you to bed without your dinner.”

“Wouldn’t be the only thing I’ve gone to bed without in the last week,” she muttered, fixing Jon with a pointed look.

The way she’d been lately, he’d probably get his dick ripped off if he got it close enough.

Sambora, because he knew it to be in his best interest to steer completely away from all-topics sexual with Jon’s woman, took a stride closer to Rachel and put a light hand on her shoulder.  “Rachel, Your hair looks great even without the hairspray.  Let’s make tracks and get a big, stiff drink in you before dinner.”

She ran her fingers through the unsprayed hair, clearly still frustrated, but she grabbed her purse and headed toward the door anyway, eyeing Jon as she walked by.  “Might as well.  God knows that’ll be the only big, stiff thing in me tonight.”

Jesus Christ…

Jon sucked in a deep breath and prayed for patience like he hadn’t prayed since Catholic school.  God must’ve known he was in dire need tonight, because a sick blanket of humor settled over Jon.  It was either laugh or he was going to put his hands around her throat and choke the living shit out of her. 

Chalk one up for the nuns.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Jon replied with a chuckled attempt at levity as he parked his empty beer can on the table and stood.  “Don’t be dissing the size of my dick.  It may not be as big as Sambora’s, but it can stiff you all night long.”

The loud snort found its way over her shoulder and back to him, along with her sarcastic, “I’ve been stiffed, alright…”

Yea though I walk through the valley of evil…..