9 - Tick Tick Boom

“Guess I’d better get that mess fixed,” Petey noted mildly, nodding toward the gaping wooden panel that housed the television.  Jon had moved off of her only seconds before, to dispose of the condom, and she felt very naked and very exposed.

Bottom bouncing lightly across the mattress, she moved away from him and toward the opposite side of the bed.  Her toes had just registered the coolness of the floor when a firm hand curled deliberately around her bicep.   

Craning her neck to regard him questioningly, she found that he was stretched out across the bed.  The smooth line of his bare right hip caught her momentary interest before she forced her eyes to his. 

“Petey.  Don’t shut me out.” 

She mulled the words over in her head, pondering their real meaning under the heavy weight of his gaze.  He was staring at her so intently that it brought to mind a line of poetry and she mentally recited Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s “Eyes of gentianellas azure, Staring, winking at the skies.”  

But Elizabeth Barrett Browning had no business in her head.  Not now.  Not ever.  That romantic crap was a farcical fabrication perpetuated by the greeting card and music industries.  Oh, and the Flower Growers of America.  Bastards.

“Asking me not to shut you out presumes that I’ve let you in to begin with.  I told you it was just sex.”  She gently pried herself from his grip and reached for the panties that were draped over the end of the bed. 

If he were being honest, Jon might say his ego was bruised.  The best (only) sex he’d had in more months than he’d care to count and she was blowing it off as a non-event.  Dammit, it hadn’t been that long since he’d had to force women from his bed after sex.  Who was she to dismiss him out of hand?

Don’t blow up and get pissed.  All that will do is send her outta here in a tizzy, leaving you with more questions.  Again.  Channel Yogi Sambora.  Deep, relaxing breath.

“Why does that mean we can’t be friends?”

She shimmied the leggings over her hips and the tattoo between them.   Jon silently cursed as the pink ink went into hiding.   He’d been so busy trying to keep her naked that he forgot to check out her tramp stamp. 

Her derisive snort reminded him that he had more important things going on right now.  “You don’t want to be friends with me.  I bug you because I don’t fall in line with what you think I should be.  The only thing you want is to dissect me like a damn frog, and see what makes me tick.”  Petey shrugged before putting her face into the neck hole of her t-shirt.  “Seeing as the sex was better than average, I’ll probably humor you and answer a couple of your endless questions.” 

Bra fastened and shirt in place, Petey pulled the elastic bands from her bedraggled pigtails and bent forward at the waist, finger-combing her hair before flipping back up to let it settle in a tousled mess around her shoulders.  She cast a pointed glance at him from behind her right shoulder.

“But don’t treat me like I’m an idiot by plying me with your corporate charm and schmooze.  At least be honest about what you want.”

Relaxation is for pussies.

Jon’s heels hit the floor with a thump that resonated from every hard surface in the room.  He heatedly snatched his shorts from where they lay beside the nightstand and jammed one leg in, then the other, before carefully zipping up around his now deflated manhood.  That charming metaphor took him from a slow burn to instant detonation, and he whirled on her, pointed darts of blue anger shooting from his eyes with the force of a Tommy-gun.

“Who are you to tell me what the fuck I want?  Because ninety percent of my damn life is documented on the internet and you listen to a couple of songs that ‘came from my soul’…”  He angrily formed the air quotes around the fan-babble.  “You think you know what makes me tick?  Well that’s bullshit!”

Angry hands pawed through his hair before he stalked to the doorway, retrieving his shirt and yanking it over his head.  He’d be damned if he’d stand here half-naked when she was already dressed and shoving her feet into those ridiculous tennis shoes.

“You’re not the only one who gets pigeon-holed, ya know.  The press and the whole free world decides who I am and paints their own picture accordingly, using any random bit of shit they can find to support the notion.  But the mother fuckin’ truth?  Ha!  Nobody wants that muddying the waters.”

He stabbed an indignant finger through the air.  “And you!  You come along with your body piercings and black-as-night presence, totally turning my fuckin’ world up on its end, because some weird-ass piece of my inner psyche thought it found a kindred spirit.  But your Brothers Grimm fairy tale of darkness paints me as the evil dragon, who you must valiantly slay with your sharp, pointed tongue.  How the fuck is that fair?”

Still smoldering, Jon propped his fists on his hips and glared expectantly across the width of the bed at her.  His last question was not rhetorical.  He expected a damn answer.

The pink jewel in her brow piercing glinted as it rose into its now familiar arch and she mimicked his fists-on-hips pose.    “Are you finished?”

And yet she’s still gonna give me attitude.  Lord, God, Jesus I’m gonna toss her impudent little ass off the terrace if You don’t stop me!

He bit his tongue in favor of a ferocious scowl and one sharp nod.

Although the sun shone intensely enough through the floor-to-ceiling windows to warrant sunglasses, the room brightened ten-fold when Petey graced him with her first full-on smile.  It transformed her blasé expression into something ethereal, knocking him figuratively on his ass.  That pretty pink mouth dressed up with the most intense dimples he’d ever seen was…  Shit.  She made him forget what he’d been waiting for her to say. 

But he didn’t forget that he was pissed.

“Mind telling me what you find so damned amusing?”

One artificially emerald iris disappeared in a flirtatious wink of her eye – What the fuck? – and Petey responded with a simply-stated, “I like you better this way.  It’s honest.”

Had he ever been rendered totally speechless before?  If he had, it was so long ago that the memory had swum merrily away in a sea of Pinot Grigio.  She flustered him like no one else he’d ever stumbled upon. 

P.T. Diehl was going to be the death of him, he prophesied with one bewildered shake of his head.  He just knew it.  It may not be today, but it was most assuredly on the horizon if he continued to subject himself to this quirky, unpredictable woman.

But was that an option...?

“So where does that leave us?”

“I was invited here to chase away the home entertainment Boogey Man.”  Petey dipped her head toward the ladder.  “Think you could help me with that so I can get to work?”

“Yeah, but what about after that?  Are you going to run like the hounds of hell are snapping at your heels?” 

Petey sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking one hip.  “What is it – specifically – that you want, Mr. Bongiovi?”

He, too, crossed his arms and turned his mouth into a stern frown.

“The first thing I want is for you to call me Jon.  We just had sex.  That means it’s okay to be on a first name basis.”

“And the second thing?”

Eye-popping smile notwithstanding, the stubborn imp still wasn’t giving an inch.  Unbelievable.  Well, she was about to find out who wrote the book on stubborn. 

“Say it.”

“Oh please.  Stop being childish and tell me what the hell it is you want.”

“Say it.”

That bowed little mouth flattened with annoyance.  “You know what?  I don’t need this, you, or your ego-maniacal crap.  Have Tony – or one of your kids – ‘idiot-proof’ your entertainment system.  It’s not that hard.”

“Nice jab, Sugar, but you’re not gonna distract me from what I want.  Say it.”

“Fuck you.”

“You just did.  Say it, Petey.”

Not uttering another word, she hightailed it for the door, rubber soled feet clomping noisily against the hard floor as tangible proof of her unhappiness with him.

Well, she’s about to get even unhappier…

Jon took two long strides, lodging himself steadfastly in the doorway, one foot and hand planted against each side of the doorjamb.  She wasn’t going anywhere until they’d finished this…  whatever this was.

“Move.”  She belligerently angled her chin, close enough to him that he could see the flush of anger pinkening her cheeks.  Pink was quickly becoming his new favorite color, he thought randomly, stifling a sneer.

“Stop being pigheaded and just say it, for Christ’s sake.”

“I don’t like you.”

“Not exactly a newsflash there, Sugar, but what makes you finally decide to say it to my face?”

Charging at him like a miniature bull, Petey shoved two flattened palms into Jon’s chest with enough force to knock the wind out of him, but his growl of pain was barely audible over her infuriated roar. 

“Because you screw with my logical thought process!  I don’t have sex with strangers.  I don’t act irrationally!  That’s not who I am, yet when I’m around you, every bit of good sense I have vanishes into thin air.  Stop making me crazy!”  

At the first impact, he had cuffed her wrists in his hands to keep them from pummeling him to death.  Even though she was still huffing agitatedly as she killed him a thousand times with her eyes, Jon slowly released his hold.  Tentatively, he cupped light palms over her shoulders and gave the gentlest squeeze.  

“I know, Sugar,” was his subdued reply.  “I know.  You have the same effect on me.”

“Then why am I here?!” she cried, practically stamping her foot in frustration.

He gave her a lopsided grin, and tucked the pink streak of hair behind her left ear.  “Because as crazy as you make me, I can’t resist the lure of P.T. Diehl.  I want to spend time with you.”

“But why?” she insisted.  His ambiguity did nothing to appease her desire for a logic and order in the crazy whirlwind that had slurped them into its vortex.

“I don’t know,” he sighed, his already rumpled hair once again bearing the brunt of his tumultuous thoughts.  “I guess you were partly right in saying I wanna know what makes you tick.  You intrigue me.  That’s all I can tell you.”

Jon knew his explanation was lame at best, and didn’t want to give Petey a reason to doubt his sincerity, so he openly met her eyes.  He figured was only fair that to offer her the opportunity to see whatever she needed see. 

Whatever it was evidently passed muster.

“So what do you want then… Jon?”

The grin that split his face was full of appreciation as much as pleasure, channeled from the mysterious warmth radiating throughout his chest.  “Spend the day with me.  Fix my mess, check out my terraces, watch football and let me cook dinner for you.  No pressure, no hidden agenda – just two friends hanging out.”

“No sex?”

The tone of her voice was so neutral he couldn’t tell if she was for or against the idea.  At this early stage of their truce, it would be in his best interest to test the waters before committing sexual suicide.

“I’m open to it if you are,” he said slowly, hands coming to cautiously encircle her waist in a loose embrace.  The mysterious warmth continued to burn when she stiffened only slightly.  “Because, in my opinion, it certainly bears repeating.”

“It didn’t suck,” was her somewhat pained admission.

Treating her to his own perfectly arched eyebrow, Jon pointed out, “I believe that was at your request, and it deserves a whole separate conversation, Sugar.”

8 - Sex and Candy

Petey’s forage for a stepladder had proven successful.  There was a utility closet off the kitchen downstairs that held, although not exactly what she’d been looking for, an acceptable substitute in the form of a six foot folding ladder.  Her victory died a speedy death, however, at the daunting prospect of transporting it back up the stairs.  Weighing no more than a few pounds, she had no trouble lifting it, but navigating its awkward height up an open staircase – without taking a gash or two out of said staircase – could be a problem. 

Taking a moment to analyze the situation, Petey reasoned that there should be a service elevator somewhere nearby.

There is no way the residents of a two-story penthouse are expected to hike laundry up and down the stairs. 

It took only a brief exploration to discover that she was right.  She caught sight of nondescript elevator doors a few steps away from the closet. 

A single push of the call button and the doors slid open, granting access to both her and the ladder.  Carefully leaning her companion against the rear wall of the car, Petey punched the button that would take them up.

What she hadn’t fully factored out was, once the doors slid open on the second floor, that she might be slightly disoriented.  Logic dictated that, since she’d crossed the living room after descending the staircase, that the staircase – and master suite – should be on the other side of the upstairs living area from where she was. 

Hefting the ladder onto her shoulder, she trod off in that direction, her Chucks squeaking slightly on the hardwood floor.  She cautiously navigated the ladder into the narrow hall and stopped to confirm that she didn’t scratch the study doorway when passing through it.  She was just making the sharp right turn into the bedroom when his voice attacked her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jon barked from directly behind Petey, his volume and nearness making her jump.  That, in turn, loosened her grip on the ladder, allowing it to crash to the floor and take her feet out from under her in the process.  Before she could say ‘timber’, she was sprawled all over an unforgiving aluminum ladder.

“Goddammit!”  She yelled as loudly as he had.  “You don’t fucking sneak up on people like that and scream at them!” 

Air hissed through her teeth as she took a quick physical inventory for damages.  Knees – banged up from their impact to the floor, but nothing that wouldn’t fade in a few minutes.  Shins – throbbing like a bitch from where the flat metal rung had imprinted itself across them.  That was gonna leave a mark. 

All in all, she decided she would live. 

“God, Petey, I’m sorry!” he apologized contritely. “I wish you would’ve waited five minutes and let me get that.”

“Funny, so do I,” she muttered.

“Here.”  Jon reached a hand out, his fingers waggling for her attention.  “Lemme help you up.”

Glowering at him, Petey contemplated telling Jon to go screw himself, but decided the little bit of satisfaction she’d get from it wasn’t enough to merit the effort.  So she huffed – loudly – and placed her hand into his much larger one, allowing him to help pull her from the floor.

He either over estimated her weight or underestimated his strength, because once her feet were on the ground, the momentum continued to carry her forward.  She stumbled toward Jon, barely able to catch herself before landing nose first in the center of his chest. 

His hair was still damp, she noted once she had stabilized, inhaling his crisp, clean scent.  There could have been a subtle undertone of cologne but, if there was, it smelled so natural that it must’ve been made from those pheromones he was always tossing around.

Air became a little scarce as she stood toe-to-toe with the sexiest man in rock and roll, her hand wrapped tightly in his.

Out of the blue, Petey realized it was the first time they’d actually touched.  The good news was her theory had been firmly proven.  Direct exposure to him was the reason for the hype – and she was hyped. 

She’d read someplace that there were four yards of nerve endings in a single square inch of human skin, and that the average body had fourteen square feet of skin.  Petey was fairly certain that the electricity from his touch was overloading all twenty-four thousand one hundred and ninety-two inches of nerve endings in her body.  Simultaneously.  Although she admittedly felt more of an impact on some nerve endings than others. 

And the really strange thing was…

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was lust in your eyes,” she observed quietly.

“It is.  I want you.”

Her head tipped to a curious angle as she pushed away her body’s chaotic response to the matter-of-fact pronouncement.  “Why?”

Jon’s eyes hadn’t left hers since he hoisted her from the floor, and she could see that they were clouded with confusion on top of lust when he confessed, “Damned if I know.”

Instinct told her she should take offense, but Petey couldn’t seem to muster up the indignation, mostly because it would be hypocritical.  She felt pretty much the same way.

The overwhelming chemical reaction between them was… peculiar – yet provocative enough for Petey to ditch her stranglehold on logic in favor of a crazy impulse.    

“This would only be sex. I’m not looking for a relationship.”  Her voice held firm, offering no room for negotiation.  Her nerve endings may be half-way to fried by a mere touch, but this was going to happen on her terms. 

It had to happen on her terms.

And apparently he had no problem with that, or was mortified at the thought of a relationship with her, because his response was a prompt, “Understood.”

Jon discreetly released his pent-up breath.   Didn’t matter if it was business or personal, he loved reaching a clear, concise understanding.  It drastically reduced the opportunity for things getting screwed up, and right now there was only one thing that he wanted screwed…

He tucked a loose fist under her chin, gently nudging her face upward with a single knuckle.   The dark-rimmed eyes were still too heavily made up for his taste, but for the first time he noticed for that her nose was narrow and turned up slightly at the end, just like a pixie.  And that her perfectly bow-shaped mouth, with its full lower lip, was pale pink even without the cotton candy coating from before. 

The confectionary fragrance that had haunted him for days teased his nostrils now as he ever-so-slowly dipped his head in deference to her diminutive stature.  Slumberous blue eyes shuttered closed when her face blurred with nearness, and his lips tingled in anticipation of that first taste.  A taste that he was denied when, at the last second, she turned away.  Rather than tasting her mouth, his lips found themselves skating along the curve of her jaw. 

“No kissing.”  She tacked on as afterthought, petite hands roaming the cotton-covered breadth of his chest.

A cloud of exasperation swept over Jon’s face and left creases in his forehead.  “You’ve got to be kidding me.  What is this, Pretty Woman?” 

“Do you wanna judge me, or do you wanna fuck me?” she asked with that damned pierced eyebrow cocked.

Feeling his arousal surge against her belly at the words, Jon knew she already had her answer, but he still growled, “Your rules, but I’m in charge.”

“You can try.”

Dammit, this woman should be pissing him off, but with each push for control, his blood only pumped harder.  Still, he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of admitting defeat.  Not with black leather lingerie and a nipple ring tugging at his subconscious. 

Determined hands shoved the leather jacket off her shoulders, completely uncaring when it fell in a wadded heap at her ankles.  His next victim was the psycho pink rabbit shirt that he whipped off without ceremony.  It was time to see if his repetitive nighttime fantasy was an indication of his visionary abilities. 

Shirt dropping unnoticed from his fingers, Jon realized any dream he had of opening a psychic storefront on the Jersey Shore had just been dashed.  Fortunately, the reality of Petey and her underwear dulled the sting of disappointment.

At the complete opposite end of the spectrum from studded leather, he found that she wore the softest pink lace, barely concealing her breasts for its sheerness.  Vainly, he searched for the dark outline of her aureoles, but decided the bra wasn’t as sheer as he thought.  There was only the barest hint of a darker shade showing through the lace.

Sheer or not, the garment offered enough support to push the twin mounds into an extraordinary display of cleavage that emphasized their surprising plumpness.  Her clinging tops hadn’t exactly been hiding anything, but seeing them in the flesh cemented for Jon just how stacked this little imp was.  

Between the full breasts and the generous arc of her hips, she boasted curves that a forties’ pin-up girl would be proud to have.

So reality tugged at a different part of his subconscious than the fantasy had, but he wasn’t complaining.

“You were expecting black leather and studs?”

“Something like that.”  One callused thumb scraped across the lace-clad softness, coaxing her nipple into a rigid point. 

“Haven’t you ever heard -” She gasped softly as he grazed it again. “- that you’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover?”

“I’ve heard it, just never had reason to believe it.”

Done talking, Jon rounded his palms around the ass that had been haunting him, squeezing worshipfully.  His own groan vibrated in his ears as the firm flesh filled his hands to overflowing, too much to be contained.

Meanwhile, her insistent fingers were pushing under his shirt and Jon was startled by the jolts that rushed through him as Petey slid unexpectedly soft hands over his ribcage.  She wasted no time in seeking out his nipples, giving them the same teasing attention hers were receiving.

“Off.”  She pushed at the stretchy, blue cotton until he stripped it over his head, leaving his bare chest as a playground for her hands and mouth.

The decidedly feline growl that she emitted only served to feed Jon’s readiness.  His fingers slid inside the elastic waist of her leggings, shoving the fabric down far enough to see that her boy-short panties matched her bra. 

Eating her up with his eyes, Jon could barely discern the difference between the pale lace and Petey’s own pale skin.  But the lace was apparently just as sheer as he’d originally thought.  The tiny, dark tuft of curls between her thighs was readily visible through the lace.

He peeled at the leggings, coaxing them down over her thighs until they became hung at her knees.  They were tucked into the knee-high shoes whose laces must be ten friggin’ feet long.  He’d blow in his pants before she got the damn things unlaced.

“Fuck.  What the hell is the deal with these things?” he huffed impatiently.

Snickering quietly, she kicked her right leg up and reached behind her.  One long metallic rasp and the shoe dropped to the floor with a thud.  “Zippers in the back.”  Another quick zip had its mate in the floor beside it and she stepped out of the leggings, pushing them and a pair of pink bobby socks to the side.

“Better?”

“Damn straight,” he growled, burying his face in the fragrant curve of her shoulder.  The cotton candy smell was nearly overpowering there against the satiny skin.  Before she could tell him no again, his tongue snaked out and dipped into the hollow of her collarbone, languidly lapping his way up her neck.  His hands were still roaming the softly landscaped playground of her ass, fingers teasing at the lace edges of her panties.  

While he was engrossed in the way her skin felt under his mouth and hands, Petey was busy with her own exploration, focusing on the fur that covered his pecs.  Her fingers burrowed their way through the crisp hair, seeking the skin that lay beneath.  Her tongue darted out to tease.  Her teeth –

“Ow!” He yelped.  She’d bitten his nipple.  Hard.  And she was swiftly moving her demanding little mouth up to his shoulder.

Damn, she’s a biter.

He’d never been into that, and had only allowed a woman to mark him on a couple of occasions, but hell if it didn’t turn him on to see and feel her even white teeth sharply nipping at him.

“Sorry,” she murmured, bending her arms behind her to reach for the clasp on her bra.

“Hey, hey,” he chastised, brushing her aside.  “That’s supposed to be my job.”

“Then hurry.”

He gave a sultry chuckle, the sound sending chills up Petey’s spine and causing her already stiff nipples to pebble even further.

“Patience.”

There was something about the way he said it…

She mewled softly, instinct grinding her hips against his and finding the firm edge of his erection.  She knew hardness was the perfect foil for the softness between her thighs; she just needed to get him there to prove it.  God, she wanted this man. 

A gentle breeze caressed her breasts as the lacy confection of her bra hit the floor. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, clearly appreciating what he’d unveiled.  “No wonder you smell like cotton candy.  That’s exactly what color your nipples are.”

Fascinated, Jon stroked the readily yielding flesh around the taut – un-pierced – pink nubs as he idly wondered what her natural hair color was.  With such pale nipples, she had to be a white-blonde or redhead, he speculated.  A look at what she had under those panties would tell him for sure.

Scooping her up, he strode toward the bed, where he lightly tossed her onto the comforter.  Its darkness suited her perfectly and lit up the stunningly translucent body that he ached to possess.

“Panties off.  I wanna see if that pussy is as pretty a pink as the rest of you.”

Her eyes smoldered as, for once, she silently obeyed, kicking the scrap of lace to the side.  Scooting back onto the pillows, she allowed her knees to fall wide, exposing herself to his gaze.  The action alone was sexy as hell, but that tiny thatch of coal-black curls that sat at the top of her cleft…  And the glistening pinkness that lie beneath it…. 

His shorts hit the floor without a second thought.  He wanted his dick buried in that picture perfect haven.

“Your pussy is the stuff wet dreams are made of,” he rambled mindlessly, with the sexual prowess of a fifteen-year-old boy.  A woman’s secret parts turned a man’s mind to useless mush on a good day.  For Jon, it had been over a year since he had seen any of those parts in person, as his throbbing erection was painfully reminding him.

Walking on his knees in the marshmallowy bedding terrain, he planted his hands on either side of her hips.  It was a slight detour, but he was compelled to sample her sweetness on his tongue before indulging in the main event.

Bent close, Jon could smell the sugary musk.  His mouth watered at the imagined sensation of gliding his tongue through the honeyed slickness before him and licking her flavor from his lips.  He was only a hair’s breadth away from his first drink…

Petey’s hand pressed against his forehead.  “Nuh-uh.  No kissing there either.  Fuck me.”

He frowned at her, but the need between his legs was a whole lot more pressing than the need for an explanation.  Talk later.  Sex now.

Mutely reaching for the nightstand drawer, he had the foil packet ripped open and its contents in place before the heat had a chance to fade. 

“It’s been a while for me, baby,” he warned softly, poised at her entrance.  “This may not last long.”

“Same,” she breathed, urging him forward with her heels in his buttocks.  “Just go.”

His thumb tested her readiness, finding her dripping with anticipation.  Reassured that he didn’t need to restrain himself, Jon plunged deep in a single stroke.

“Ohhhh, shit Petey…  You feel so good.  So damn wet and hot.” 

Her pelvis lifted from the bed as she rocked to meet his thrust.  “Nnnhhmm.” 

Jon withdrew and filled her again, testing the limits of how far he could bury himself.  Her moisture coated them both, making the glide so fabulously easy that he couldn’t hold back the prolonged groans of pleasure.  It had been so long since he’d felt the blissful pressure of a woman’s thighs locked around his waist...

Petey’s wild thrashing below him reassured Jon that she was riding with him on the fast train to the top.  Her eager hips writhed heatedly, seducing him further and adding to the tantalizing friction that sparked between them. 

Feeling her short nails scraping his shoulder blades, he hissed in pleasured pain, the sensation barely fading before she was covering his chest with a flurry of love bites.   The imp was a little hellcat.

“Hold on baby.”  It was time to put this to an end.  Jon fucked her with a desperation and force he normally kept leashed, but she had dragged him to the brink, so he mercilessly pummeled her into the mattress.

“Come for me, Petey,” he bit out, conserving his oxygen for the peak ahead.  “Come with me, baby.”

As though all he’d had to do was speak it into being, her back bent in a perfect arch and she slammed her pelvis into his with the impact of her orgasm.  That husky voice of hers reached inside him as she cried out in pleasure and buried her fingernails into his back.

The unmistakable sound of her completion gave Jon permission to follow her over the edge and he pivoted his hips frantically, sweat dripping unnoticed down his face.  The pressure built as he jackhammered his way through to the other side, where his balls exploded and pinpoints of light flooded his vision.  The condom was flooded with hot stickiness, and a guttural moan was dragged from the absolute bottom of his lungs.

Jon angled his body to the side when he collapsed, so as not to crush her while he tried to catch his breath.  His chest heaved as he inhaled in the air around them, only to find himself still drowning in her candied smell.

Christ.  I forgot sex could be that good…

7 - View To a Thrill

“Hi,” he greeted with a warm smile.

Or at least Petey thought he smiled.  She may have caught a flash of white teeth out of the corner of her eye.  It wasn’t something she’d swear to, though, since her attention was locked on his very sweaty, very bare, very sexy chest. 

Holy shit…

The hair that blanketed his well-defined muscles from collarbone to waistband – and beyond – was glistening with beads of perspiration.  That same perspiration was sliding down the skin that lay beneath the softly curling hair.  His nipples were at attention, courtesy of the cool air against his heated body…

We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect…  Dammit! That isn’t helping.

“Hi.”

Her eyes were green today, Jon noted.  Emerald green.  For some reason it didn’t strike him the least bit unusual.  Nor did the fact that she was dressed head-to-toe in black, hair divided into two black braids.  After meeting her just the one time, he would’ve been surprised had she not been a poster child for darkness.  Maybe it was his dream giving him a new perspective, but it worked for her. 

Under the now familiar leather jacket, a fitted baby-doll tee hugged her torso almost as tightly as the black leggings she wore with knee-high Chucks.  The only splash of color was a pink, cartoony rabbit on her shirt, which was trussed up in a strait jacket.  Underneath, the caption read “Cute But Psycho.”

“Is that my fair warning?” he asked dryly, nodding toward the shirt.

“Maybe.”

The last week hadn’t softened her attitude toward him any.  Mentally steeling his spine, Jon corralled his own Jersey attitude in favor of a little Sambora-style charm.  After all, his brotha had managed to get on her good side.  Jon was capable of taking a lesson when the situation called for it.

“It’s cute.  Come on in.”

She nodded once and surveyed his stance expectantly, waiting for him to step aside.

Jon moved, but not nearly far enough out of the way.  She was going to have to squeeze by him to get into the apartment, Petey realized.  There was no way in hell she was going risk brushing up against his bare chest.

Petey gestured for him to go before her.  “I’ll follow you.  That way you can show me what you want me to do and where you want me to do it.”

Oh little girl, if you knew what those words summoned up in my sex-deprived brain, you would never have thought them, much less said them out loud.  Thank God for the foresight to burn the treadmill up before you got here.

Stifling his smirk, he wordlessly turned, assuming she would follow.

And Petey vowed that she would follow – as soon as she could stop staring at the way his back muscles rippled under that sheen of sweat as he walked.

Give me liberty or give me death…

“Sorry about the way I look,” he tossed over his shoulder, perhaps tongue-in-cheek?  She couldn’t be sure.  “I got in the zone and my run went longer than I meant.”

“Yeah.  I know how that can happen.” 

“Oh?”  He paused, turning toward her with a curious look.  “You run?”

“Sometimes more than others, but yes.” 

Sometimes non-stop for what feels like days because something screws with your head.

“That explains the great tone to your legs.”  The black leggings she wore hid nothing, clinging to every curve and muscle from waist to knee-high tennis shoe.  He was looking forward to checking out the view from behind…

“I guess.  So… wiring?”

Nodding, he silently resumed the trek to his bedroom, scaling the open staircase to the upper level of the penthouse.  Jon was no longer sure how smart this was.  Having Petey in his bedroom was liable to be a serious test of his self-control, but there was nothing to be done about it.  He’d committed to this before he started having erotic dreams about her. 

Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, they topped the staircase and he gestured to the right.  “That’s the upstairs living area and the main terrace.  The terrace straight ahead is officially the dining terrace, I think, and the master suite is over here,” he guided to the left.  “That’s where the most recent bane of my existence lives.  I can show you, then I’ll get a shower while you’re working.  If you’re interested in the full tour, I’d be happy to show you around after I’m a little more groomed for company.”

She refused to allow his casual mention of a shower to overtake her mind, bringing with it a host of easily conjured visual images.  Instead of fixating on his wet, naked body, she let the New York skyline draw her in.  The Empire State Building was right there in the distance, and if she looked toward the Village, she could no doubt pick out her brownstone walk-up. 

Despite her appearance, Petey was no stranger to opulence, having been in her fair share of upscale residences.  But this wasn’t so much opulent as…  breathtaking.  She tried to bring her widened eyes back to a more normal size, nonchalantly saying, “Sure, why not?”

Irises that were cobalt blue today locked onto her green contacts, secret amusement dancing in their depths.  Damn him.  Jon knew that she was impressed with the walls of glass that surrounded this upper level and the spectacular view of the city that they offered.  But to his credit, he didn’t take that as an invitation to be arrogant. 

He merely offered a silent sweep of his hand, inviting her to precede him down the short, narrow corridor.  She hesitated only briefly before accepting the invitation, feeling much like the fly being invited into the spider’s parlor.

Petey would be surprised to know that Jon’s thoughts weren’t nearly that predatory.  He was simply feeling smug.

Well, well… I’ve got something that impresses the Ice Queen of Darkness. 

The sweet scent of sugar floated along behind her as she strolled into his study, finally giving Jon the view he’d been waiting for.  The leggings that clung so lovingly to her legs looked even more spectacular from behind, pulled taut across her backside. 

Maybe as much as that impresses me.

“This is the study,” Jon offered carelessly, upon entering the masculine domain.  A huge leather office chair was positioned behind a rich, cherry desk and bookcases lined the far wall.  Family photos and football memorabilia were scattered throughout the bookcases and adjoining seating area, lending an air of intimacy to the formal setting.   Oddly, Petey thought, the room’s only musical representation was a baby grand piano that commanded a good portion of floor space to their left. 

Jon pointed toward the doorway on the opposite side of the room.  “Our destination is right through there.  The bathroom is to the left, closet dead ahead, and bedroom is on the right.  We’re headed for the bedroom.”

Her stomach, and parts slightly south, tightened in reaction to the innocently spoken words.  Never in her life could she recall having such a visceral reaction to a man.  In fact, her most recent boyfriend had flatly informed her that she was either frigid or a lesbian. 

More proof that he was a stupid ass.

Disciplining herself to focus on the task at hand, she entered the bedroom and promptly scanned it for any electronics. 

“You won’t find what you’re looking for without that.”  He nodded toward the remote control on the night stand.  “It opens the wood panel that’s opposite the bed.  Inside is an assortment of gadgets that confuse the hell out of me.”  His sheepish grin was almost endearing,  as he’d, no doubt, planned for it to be.  “If you could idiot-proof like you did the living room, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Jon laughed.  “If it’s anything like last time, you’ll be done with it before I finish my shower.  If you are, feel free to check out the bedroom terrace.  It’s got a nice view.”

Visually following his silent gesture, Petey could see yet another flagstone terrace flowing from a wall of glass and acting as a bridge to the New York skyline.

She nodded silently.

“Okay.  So unless you need anything…?”

“I’m good.”

“Great.  I’ll just be a few minutes.”

With that, he turned on his heel and was gone.  Petey heard him pause to rummage in the closet for a minute, then footsteps on the hardwood floor.  At last, there was a definitive click, indicating he’d closed himself in the bathroom.

“Holy shit,” she mumbled to herself, allowing herself two seconds to assess the huge bed butted up against yet another glass wall.  Its host of throw pillows, grey suede comforter and black sheets immediately burned themselves into her memory.  “Get it fixed and get out, Petey.  This man doesn’t like you and he does fucked-up things to your libido.  No good can come of this.”

A few quick strides had the remote in her hand, and she intuitively began poking away at the buttons with little or no thought.  Somebody at some point had called her a savant.  Devices like this remote control were a natural extension of her, and she instinctively knew what combination would give her what she was looking for. 

This fairly streamlined model was no different.  The wooden panel slid obediently open and, as promised, revealed a plasma screen TV that was huge by most people’s standards, but not compared to the one in his living room.  Also tucked in the cubby hole were an impressive stereo system, satellite control box, and Blue-Ray player. 

None of which would be a problem, except for the fact that the satellite control box and one of the speakers were mounted above the television – a good eight feet off the ground.  Considering she was only five-three and the room was understandably free of ladders, this was going to be a problem. 

Petey saw no choice but to retrace her steps, venturing back to the lower level of the apartment.  Surely there would be a utility room in the vicinity of the kitchen.  The man had millions of dollars.  A stepladder shouldn’t be an unreasonable expectation.

I’ll just have to rummage around and see if I can find one.

                                        ☠ ☢ ☠

The warm water rolled down Jon’s back along with the diluted soap suds as his mind tried to formulate a plan.

Okay, Jonny Boy.  What is it you hope to achieve here today?

He was fairly certain if he didn’t come out of the shower with a game plan, she would be gone as soon as the last cord was fastened in place.  That meant the primary objective was convincing her to hang around for a while.  Get her comfortable enough that she would talk to him.  Jon didn’t even particularly care what she said, believing that anything would shine some kind of light on the paradox that was Petey.

There was the tour of the apartment, but there were only so many views of New York City.  The novelty could wear off quickly, particularly if she were a native New Yorker.  It would do to start, but there had to be something else.

Ah.  He would make sure to let her know he’d talked to Tony about that job recommendation.  That would take all of thirty seconds. 

There was the far-fetched possibility that she could be so grateful that she’d fall at his feet and tell him everything he wanted to know. 

He snorted into the water that flowed over his face.  Not fucking likely. 

Plan B?

It was Sunday.  She liked the Steelers.  The most obvious route would be to get her talking about football and see if there were any other teams she was interested in.   Did her litany of statistics extend only to the Pittsburgh franchise, or did she have that kind of info stored away for other teams?  Providing that she showed an interest, he, of course, would offer up his obnoxiously large plasma TV as an enticement to stay, along with whatever game was being broadcast.

It should be foolproof.

Which meant he would need to employ Plan C, taking a chapter from Get the Girl 101.  Liquor.

If the need arose, he wasn’t above getting her a little drunk in order to loosen her tongue.  ‘Course, the wild card she was, Petey would end up being a mean drunk and would, with no provocation whatsoever, beat the shit out of him with her itty-bitty fists.

Jon slapped the shower control handle into the off position with a thunk.

If he came out of this without needing a shrink, he would consider it a victory.

6 - Runaway

The treadmill rolled under her feet at the same steady pace as it had for the last half-hour.  Petey’s black tank was soaked both front and back from the same sweat that drenched the fine hair along her nape and temples.  The soles of her feet throbbed and the muscles in her legs had begun to quiver, threatening to give way, but still she ran.

It had been three days since Tony Bongiovi had called her with two messages – one from his brother Jon and the other from Richie Sambora. 

Richie’s message was a nice surprise and brought a pleased grin to her face.  He wanted her to call him about going out to dinner while he was in town. 

The few minutes they had spent talking left her with a good vibe about him, so she returned his call within hours.  Petey had every intention of declining his kind offer, but Richie’s charm doggedly undermined that intention.  His easy demeanor was irresistible and she got sucked into a playful banter that went on and on and on… until she laughingly relented and agreed to dinner.

He hadn’t cringed with embarrassment when meeting her at a little restaurant near her apartment in the Village.  Instead he’d made her twirl in front of him like a model before complimenting the form-fitting black corset adorned with pink laces.  Winking, he told her there was a leather jacket in his closet at home that could pass for the twin of hers.

“It’s a good thing I didn’t wear it.  People would say we were being too ‘matchy matchy’,”he laughed.  Any tension she’d been harboring immediately eased.  He had smoothly set the tone for an entire evening of talking about everything and nothing.  A good time was had by all.

So much so, in fact, that he wanted to see her again again before he left town.  Petey surprised herself twice – once by immediately agreeing and then again when she found herself looking forward to it.  Richie saw past her exterior, interested more in what she had to say than how she dressed.  It was a refreshing change.

Her life was precariously low on friends these last few years and it was good to let her guard down enough to sit and talk about frivolous things like fashion and football.  It was an eclectic combination, but he discussed both with equal comfort and Petey was hard pressed to recall the last time she’d met such a nice guy.

No, she wasn’t the least bit stressed over that message, she thought as her ponytail swayed rhythmically in time with her footsteps.

It was the other message that had her running three days straight, to the point of exhaustion each time.

Supposedly all he wanted was some more help in the battle against his home electronics.  Okay.  No problem.  All arrogance aside, she could probably do it blindfolded. 

It was her reaction to him that was the problem. 

She hadn’t lived under a rock all of her life.  Petey knew who Bon Jovi was, had more than a passing familiarity with their music and had repeatedly seen photographs of its famed leader throughout the years.  She knew all about his famous smile, the remarkable blue eyes and chiseled jaw.  But it wasn’t something she obsessed over.  Sure, he was a nice looking guy, but so were a lot of other men. 

No, his hype was a direct result of his public persona and she’d never taken the time to go to a show or listen to interviews.  That meant she could take him or leave him.

Now she was being forced to re-evaluate that assessment. 

New theory:  his hype was a result of direct exposure.

The man exuded more pheromones than should be legal.  From the moment he opened that apartment door, the magnetism surrounding him had reached across the threshold with the force of an electric shock.

That pissed her off.

She was not a lemming, blindly following the breadcrumb trail of everyone else’s life.  Not anymore. 

The bottom line was that Petey liked being different, and Jon Bon Jovi was one of those people clearly incapable of appreciating the difference.  Disapproval had rolled off him with such force that it was almost as overpowering as his sex appeal.  

That pissed her off even more, which, in turn, prompted her nervous tick to rear its quirky head. 

But somewhere around the Gettysburg Address Jon had, for some unknown reason, decided to be pleasant despite his disapproval.  Probably because her ass passed inspection, she thought wryly.  Whatever the cause, he nearly lured her in with his rapt fascination as he interrogated her, and the way that perfect smile took him from serious to playful with a  single flash of pearly white enamel.

Butterflies – or maybe bats – repeatedly kicked up a flutter in her stomach during her time in his apartment.  Again, pissing her off.

It was the only explanation she had for blowing up at him in the kitchen.  Jon Bon Jovi broke the circuit of her logical thought process with some unseen electrical current.

Unnerving.

That’s why Petey hadn’t called him back. 

Based on the tenacious way he’d grilled her, she would guess that her silence was driving him crazy.  Two exasperated voicemail messages  from Tony were also a pretty good indication.

The control buttons on the treadmill beeped cheerily as she reduced the speed to a walk and worked through her cool down before turning it completely off.  Bending at the waist, she clung tightly to the control panel in an effort to keep herself upright despite the severe trembling in her legs. 

Rubbing at the sweat stinging her eyes, she acknowledged that she couldn’t avoid him forever.  The job he represented took precedence over her screwed up hormonal reaction to the man himself.

Scooping the hand towel off the grab bar, she scrubbed it across her face with a sigh and plucked her phone from the kitchen counter.  A cold bottle of water from the fridge went down while she kicked off her shoes then dragged her weary body toward the bathroom for a much needed shower. 

Phone still in hand, she paused outside her bedroom door, abruptly deciding to take the coward’s way out.

[7:45 PM] Sunday at noon? -Petey

Mentally shrugging, she lobbed the phone onto the bed.  That gave her three more days to get her act together.

☠☠☠

Jon's right knee began to protest as the miles pounded away under his running shoes and the sweat poured down his bare torso.  He’d much rather be running outside but with a visitor scheduled, he couldn’t risk being away from the apartment too long.  He had a feeling if he missed her, she wouldn’t wait, and it was better than not running at all.

God knew he needed to burn off the extra energy.

Petey’s text message had arrived Thursday evening while he and Richie were out to dinner with the kids.  After finding out Uncle Mookie was in town, the little ones demanded to see him and the older ones came along without acting too put out about it. 

The phone vibrated against his thigh while they were all gathered around a big table with pizza and soft drinks everywhere.  Jon pushed Romeo back down into his chair and forcefully threatened to restrain him if he got up again, all the while slipping the phone out to see who was buzzing him.   Three days' wait made him a touch over-eager and, Romeo temporarily forgotten, within seconds he typed and sent his reply.  

[7:46 PM] Sounds good.

“What’s your smug ass grinning about?” Richie leaned in to quietly ask.

“Nothing.”

Richie had been out with Petey night before last.  Jon knew that because the sugary smell was still clinging to Richie’s clothes when he collapsed onto the sofa beside him that night.  But he didn’t ask where they went, what they did or the things they talked about.  He didn’t want to know.  His interest in Petey was completely separate from dating.  Completely separate.  It was merely an intellectual, brain-picking quest to see what made the woman tick.

And he believed that.

Until his theory was shot to hell about six hours later.  That was when he woke in a puddle of sweat, his dick hard enough to pound nails. 

In the way things in the middle of the night tended to be, the dream had been larger than life.  It was so vivid that, lying there in the darkness, he could close his eyes and still see it.  Could still feel it as the blood pulsed through his groin.

Ah, fuck it.

Wrapping a loose fist around his throbbing erection, Jon groaned softly and gave himself permission to get swallowed back into the dark cloud of eroticism.

Petey’s hair framed her face, in wild disarray from the agitated fingers she had repeatedly pushed through the strands.  She slid those hands slowly down her torso, cotton candy pink lips shining wetly, violet irises dilated with desire.

Jon lay naked on the bed, admiring her translucent, made even more pronounced by its contrast to the black leather lingerie.  High, firm breasts were encased in supple cups that were liberally dotted with silver studs.  The G-string panties were the same supple leather as the bra, with the silver studs artfully arranged across her pubic bone.

He tugged lightly on the collar at her neck, urging her to join him on the bed and she obediently crawled on top of him, swinging one booted foot over to straddle him. 

He tugged the bra down to allow her breasts to hang free, his attention instantly captured by the small hoop through her left nipple.  Bowing up off the bed, he popped the smoky, dark aureole into his mouth where the metal felt cool against his tongue.  Clamping it firmly between his teeth, Jon gave a slight tug and that husky voice of hers dropped to a purr.

“I want you,” she whispered.  “Inside me.”

“Then take me.”

It was all the offer she needed.  Too impatient to remove her panties, she merely shoved them out of the way, pushing him inside with a lusty moan.

Clamping firm hands around her hips, the few studs dug into his palms as he forcibly kept her movements slow and steady.  She allowed it for a only few strokes.  Agitation had her pushing  his hands away and arching forward so that they were chest to chest as she rode him. 

Her breathless whisper tickled his ear.  “To form… a more… perfect… union…”

Jon grunted as the warm, sticky release spattered over his hand and stomach.

Jon grunted with frustration and ran faster.  The dream had come both nights since then and so had he.  His hope was, that by running himself into the ground, there wouldn’t be enough energy left for his body to form a humiliating hard-on the instant he opened the door.

The doorbell echoed through the apartment, signaling him that Petey had arrived.  He punched the control panel to stop the machine and hopped off the treadmill, lungs on fire.

Mopping a towel across his face and chest, he willed his breathing under control and strode toward the front door.

I guess I’m about to find out if it worked.

5 - Phoning It In

Dismissing Richie’s peculiar reaction to Petey, Jon focused instead on his own interest in the Insolent Imp.

As soon as his buddy headed off to his fashion commitments Monday morning, Jon hopped in the back seat of his hired car and pulled out his phone to call Tony – for the sole purpose of fulling his promise about Petey’s job recommendation, of course.

Might as well get something productive done on the way to the lawyer’s office.

“Tony,” he greeted in his friendliest voice.  “How are you on this beautiful Monday morning?” 

It was a beautiful fall morning in the city, even though the sun’s natural light was blocked by the local architecture as the car crept through SoHo and into the Holland Tunnel.  Jon hated New York lawyers.  He preferred to deal with Jersey’s native sons whenever possible.

“What do you want?” was his brother’s suspicious reply.  Obviously Jon’s cheerful demeanor had sent up a red flag.  He supposed it was a logical enough assumption since most of his impromptu calls to Tony were related to some job he wanted done, but that didn’t mean he had to cop to it.

“Jesus, I can’t just call my little brother for a chat on Monday morning?” 

“No.  I pissed you off yesterday by not jumping high enough when you called, now you’re about to make my life hell in some way.”

Jon felt a twinge of remorse at Tony’s words.  He really should’ve been nicer to his brothers growing up.  Tony sure didn’t think a lot of him sometimes.

“Actually I called to thank you.  Petey had the TV working in no time and, as a bonus, fixed everything so that I know how to operate the universal remote.   You could’ve clued me in that Petey wasn’t a guy though,” he tacked on peevishly. 

Tony laughed.  “Are you kidding me?  I spent the rest of the day smiling like a fool while imagining the look on your face when you opened the door.  It had to have been priceless!”

“Yeah, well it would’ve made things a helluva lot easier had I known.  I didn’t exactly get off on the right foot with her.”

“Big surprise there, you judgmental ass.  Did you even bother to talk to her before ragging on the way she looks?”

Jon bristled, wishing he could deny the accusation.  “Fuck you.  Have you picked your crew for the tour yet?”

“Yyyeahhh….?”

Had his brother always been this suspicious of everything he said?  Jon was going to have to pay closer attention in the future.

“And is she on the crew?”

“She is…”

“Good.  I was gonna offer my endorsement if you were still trying to decide.  She’s good at what she does, even if she’s a little… uncommon.”

“You talking about the Declaration of Independence thing?” Tony chuckled.  “Weirded me out the first time I heard her, but with the work she does, I don’t care if she quotes Dr. Seuss, the Bible or Hustler Magazine.  She’s about the best I’ve ever run across.”

“So what’s her story?”

He blew out a frustrated breath.  “I just went through all this with Richie a half-hour ago.  Can’t you guys talk amongst yourselves so I can get to my day job too?”

Jon frowned in annoyance.  Maybe he should’ve paid closer attention last night.  Was what Richie said less important than what he didn’t say?  Was he gonna make a play for this chick?  That was just the kind of woman he needed to be seen in the tabloid rags with.  Not.   

“Yeah, well humor me, since I’ll be indirectly providing her paycheck.  This tour is gonna be a yearlong whirlwind, and I’d like an idea as to who will be along for the ride before I make a long-term commitment.

“I will refrain from pointing out that you’ve never given a shit about any of my crew before,” his brother said dryly.  “As long as they get the job done, you nod politely and go on about your business.  You think because she dresses in black she’s gonna rob you blind?”

He was tired of being subtle.  Jon wanted specific information and it was time to resort to bluntly demanding it.  “Where did she come from Tony?  What kind of qualifications and references does she have?”

“It’s your turn to humor me, Big Brother,” Tony returned with the same brusque anger.  “Why do you care?    Petey works for me and her qualifications are really none of your damn business.  I will tell you she’s not some petty thief or out to spill the inner workings of your precious organization.”

“I didn’t think she was!  Talk about judgmental!”  Jon huffed loudly, staring blindly out the window and counting to ten in an effort to calm down.  It wouldn’t do him any good to jump feet first into the angry name calling he and his brothers automatically reverted to when they disagreed.  It typically blew over as fast as it blew up, but the way they acted, you’d think they were all still teenagers instead of grown men. 

“Listen,” he tried again, vainly searching for a way to explain something that was still beyond him.  “I’m not questioning her abilities or her ethics, but a woman her age that has chosen to look the way she does and has such unusual personality quirks…  Well, it raises a lot of questions in my mind.  I was just hoping you had some of the answers.”

“So you’re just curious about her as a person,” Tony asked, his anger having dwindled to confusion.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I dunno if I have anything that will answer your ‘questions’, but I’ll tell you the little bit I know.”

Jon’s car had arrived at its destination.  In response to the driver’s inquiring look, he held up a single finger, silently asking him to wait.

“She doesn’t come with any formal qualifications or endorsements that I’m aware of.  Petey just turned up about a month ago asking for a job.  Said she wanted to the experience a rock tour would give her, and that her research said Bon Jovi was the best employer in the business.  Since you’d just come out with a new album, she gave an educated guess that we’d be gearing up for a tour.”

“And you hired her because she walked in off the street and asked for a job.”  His brother was on the impulsive side, but that was crazy even for him.

“No, dumbass.  I had a pile of equipment and wiring that needed assembled, so I pointed her to it with instructions to make it work.”

“I assume she did?”

“You could say that.  It typically takes two guys about half an hour to evaluate what they have and piece it all together for the first time.  She did it by herself in under twenty minutes.  I’ve never seen, or heard, anything like it.  I dunno how she can comprehend up from down while quoting all that historical shit, but if anything it seems to make her hands move faster.”

Jon was silent for a moment, trying – as he had since she’d set foot on his doorstep – to make sense of P.T. Diehl.  Which reminded him…

“You had to have seen a Social Security card or something when you hired her, right?  Something with her full name on it?  P.T. has to stand for something.”

“Couldn’t prove it by me.  All of her government ID was legit, but every piece, from driver’s license to Social Security card, didn’t say anything but P.T.  When I asked about it she very politely informed me that if Uncle Sam was willing to accept it as her identity, who was I to question it?”

Well, damn if that wasn’t peculiar.  Didn’t the law require you to have some kind of real name instead of initials? 

“And that’s it?  That’s all you know?”

“That’s it, other than she keeps to herself and does whatever I ask her to without complaining.”

Again, all Jon had managed to do was climb deeper into the cloud of mystery.  He still didn’t have a bit more insight into Petey than he had twenty-four hours ago.

“Gimme her phone number, would ya?”

Tony groaned.  “Jon, you know I can’t do that.  Giving out personal shit on my employees isn’t gonna happen.”

“Even if I want to sub-contract her for another job?”

“Especially if you want to sub-contract her for another job!  Don’t be luring away my best help with your cushy, fluff gig just because you’re nosy.”

Jon laughed.  “Seriously…  She did such a good job of idiot proofing the living room, I’d like to see what she can do in the bedroom.”

The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to bite them back.

Dammit, I didn’t mean to say that!

“Jon.”  Tony’s voice was stern.  “Don’t screw around with her.  She may not be the traditional picture of kitten and butterfly happiness, but Petey seems like a really nice woman.  She doesn’t deserve being dicked over.”

He blinked blindly at the people coming and going from the office building before him, everyone valiantly launching into the work week ahead, while Jon took a rare moment to analyze his actions.

Why was this so important to him?  What did he hope to get out of it?  Had it been merely a Technicolor moment in a dull, gray weekend that made it seem so… tempting?  When he got immersed in his daily routine would it cease to matter? 

Unfortunately, he didn’t have a friggin’ clue.  All he knew was that right here, right now, he was obsessed with her.

Glancing back at the building again, Jon realized should be in there by now, making some lawyer’s life miserable, not sitting here trying to psychoanalyze himself. 

“Tony, I just want to ask her to look at wiring in the bedroom and maybe get to know her a little.  That’s it.”

That was as honest as he knew how to be, but it still didn’t sway his brother’s stance on giving up Petey’s number.  Tony merely said he’d pass along the request and Petey could decide.

With a sigh of resignation, Jon bid his brother goodbye, feeling strangely subdued as he weighed the pros and cons of hiring a private investigator to dig up some answers.  It would definitely be the quickest means to an end but, ultimately, it seemed to be an awfully extreme tactic to satisfy his curiosity.

No, he would get much more pleasure procuring his answers directly from the source.

4 - Statistically Speaking

Jon threw the door open wide for a second time in as many hours, again without checking the peep hole.  This second go-around left him almost as surprised as the first had.

“Rich!  What the hell are you doing here, man?”

True to form, his best friend ignored any notion of personal space and dropped the battered leather carry-on that he traveled with, pulling Jon into a back-thumping hug.  Affection displayed to his satisfaction, Richie withdrew, emitting a knowing chuckle as he reseated the bag on his shoulder.   “You forgot, didn’t you?”

Aw, shit!

Jon scraped frustrated fingers through his hair in a move that didn’t help his ‘style’ any.  Richie was in town for the week, and he was supposed to have picked him up at the airport – or at least sent a car for him.  There was some kind of fashion gig going on this week, he thought.  Richie’s involvement in the fashion world continued to mystify him, but he should have at least remembered that he would have a house guest for a few nights.

“Dammit, I’m sorry,” he apologized contritely, waving his buddy into the apartment.  “I ran into some unexpected problems and got lost in my head.”

“Is that all you got lost in?”  Richie asked slyly, with a pointed gaze toward the living room.  

Snapping his head around, Jon saw the same thing Richie did:  a diminutive combat boot bobbing in and out of sight around the edge of the chair as Petey animatedly swung her crossed leg.

“Shut up.  It’s not like that,” he defended.

“Oh yeah?”  They’d been friends too long for Richie to buy into that lame defense on Jon’s word alone.  “Then exactly how is it, bro?”

“She’s-“

“Do you need help with the pizza?” Petey called, both feet now on the floor and rising from her seat.  She’d just made the ninety degree turn that placed her in direct view of the entryway when she drew to an abrupt halt.  “Oh.  You have company.  I should probably go, then, huh?”

“No, no.”  Jon waved away her concern with a frown as she stepped onto the marble tile in front of the men.  “Richie’s not company, he’s family.  Petey, this is Richie Sambora – my friend, song writing partner and guitarist.  Rich, this is Petey Diehl.  Petey works for Tony.  She came by to rescue me from a football-less existence this afternoon.”

“Couldn’t turn on the TV again?” Richie smirked and extended his hand to her.  “Hello, darlin’.  Nice to meet ya.  Those are some kick-ass boots you’ve got there.”

Jon was mesmerized at his first up-close and personal view of her dimples.  They were etched deep in her face, taking about ten years off of her already youthful appearance.  Dubbing her a kewpie doll when she first arrived had been a perfect assessment.  She was adorable when she smiled.

Petey politely thanked Richie and they briefly discussed the merits of lug soles versus Panama soles, leaving Jon clueless – in more ways than one.  Yet another clouded facet of this enigmatic woman had been revealed, further taunting him.   

The doorbell pealed again, and he reluctantly left her with Richie to collect the pizza.  The two of them were speaking in a language he didn’t understand anyway, engrossed in the latest fashion trends or something.  If anybody knew Richie was a one-hundred percent red-blooded, woman-loving man... well, it was Jon.  But these kind of conversations still bordered on…  weird.

It took only seconds for the food to exchange hands along with a hefty tip for the delivery guy.  His bare feet were silent on the tile when rejoining them.  “Rich, you want some?” he invited, waving the fragrant container under both their noses before taking it toward the kitchen.

“It’s one of Sal’s,” he spoke behind him, temptingly.  “Petey, you want another beer?”

“Nah, that’s okay, man, I ate on the plane,” Richie called out before encouraging her to join Jon.  “But you go ahead.   I’ll just hang up my coat and put my bag away.”

Nodding, she followed Jon into the open kitchen, asking, “Plates?”

He dropped the flat box on the counter and pointed toward the cabinet beside the sink.  “You know, Petey, I assumed all the one-word answers were because you don’t know me, but you were all Chatty Cathy with Rich.  What do you have against me?”

Wooden cabinet doors closed with what seemed like an inordinate amount of force and she spun on her heel, violet sparks shooting from her eyes.   Those sparks made him glad she was still empty-handed, but despite the evident anger, her voice was something near emotionless when she answered his question with a whole lot more than one word.

“Gee, I don’t know, let me see…  You jump down my throat when I show up to help you, then look me up and down like your dick is gonna fall off if you get too close.  That’s right before you start ogling my ass and asking a million nosy questions like I’m a fucking science project.   At least your friend spoke to me like a person instead of sideshow freak.”

“Dude, you’ve been without a woman too long,” Richie observed dryly from behind him, arms crossed leisurely over his black fitted t-shirt.  “You’re totally screwing up this date thing.”

“It’s not a date.” Jon and Pete chorused in unison, eyes locked in standoff.

“O-kayyy then…  I saw a ballgame on in the living room. Think I’ll go check the score.”

Jon knew the bastard was laughing at him under his breath, not believing a word of their denial.  He’d have to straighten that misconception out later.  For now…

“Listen, I apologized for the way I acted when you first got here.  I was led to believe a guy was coming to help me out, not a woman.  It threw me off for a minute.”

“You don’t owe me anything but a job recommendation,” she intoned, her footsteps just shy of stomping when she retreated from the kitchen.  Her cotton candy scent teased his nostrils, stirred by the whipping of her hair.  “Your TV is working, so I’m out of here.”

Jon cursed under his breath before striding after her.  She was just pushing her arms into leather jacket sleeves when he caught up with her.  “Petey…”

“Interception!”  Richie jumped up from where he was seated on the couch.  “Look at him run!  Tackled on the fifteen, but what a play!  Damn, the Steelers are bringing it.”

Petey's attention was immediately riveted to the big screen.  "That's his seventh interception this season, and he ran back two of them for touchdowns.  He's also got four sacks and one hurry and he's only been sent on a blitz eight times.  If he keeps this up, he could be in contention for the Rookie of the Year award.  I was worried about how effective he'd be this week, since that strained knee was supposed to limit his playing time, but it looks like he's making the most of it."

Both men turned toward her with their jaws slightly agape, but she was still blinking wide-eyed at the television, speaking more to herself than anything.

“First down on the fifteen has been converted into touchdown plays four out of five times this season for an average of eighty percent.  If history holds true, they’ll pass unsuccessfully to the outside twice before rushing up the middle for the score.  Once that happens, based on the three point lead New England has, they should stick with the field goal for one extra point rather than trying to convert for two.  The payoff isn’t worth the risk at this stage of the game.”

“Holy shit,” Jon murmured, thoughtfully propping a fist on each hip.  Who the hell was she, and what was her story?  He’d just pushed past intrigued, flew by fascinated and was diving headlong into obsessed.  He had to find out more about her.

“Let me guess…  Steelers fan?” Richie asked with a laugh.  “I don’t think the commentators can spew that many stats on the fly.  Impressive, darlin’.”

A tiny shake of her head brought her consciousness back to the room.  Eyes flicking back and forth between the two men, she intently interlaced the separate halves of her zipper closure.  With a metal rasp, the two pieces of black leather met snugly over her torso, and she regarded Richie from under her lashes.  “Yeah.  Steelers fan.  I need to head out.  Nice meeting you Richie.”

“The pleasure was mine,” he assured, with a wink and friendly half-wave.  “I’m sorry you can’t stay.”

“Petey, stay and watch the game,” Jon cajoled, trying to make amends.  “Don’t make me feel like an even bigger ass by forcing you to miss the last quarter.”

But she was already pulling at the heavy door, one foot over the threshold. 

“I have the NFL app on my phone.  I'll stop in a coffee shop along the way and watch it."

And with a quiet click of the door latch, she was gone.

Muting the television, Richie folded his frame into the armchair where Petey had been in residence and looked at Jon expectantly.

The chair probably still smells like fucking cotton candy, Jon thought irritably.  “What?”

“You wanna tell me what the hell that was all about?”

The bar was calling Jon.  Loudly.  There was another bottle of Pinot Grigio literally screaming his name, but he couldn’t exactly get rip-roaring drunk with a recovering alcoholic in residence.  Even he wasn’t that much of an ass.

Dammit.

He collapsed to his former seat on the sofa, curled his bare toes over the edge of the table and mentally scrambled for the right words.  Richie had a tendency to see more than he wanted him to, either by reading his body language or sheer fucking intuition.  Not knowing what was truly going on himself, Jon sought the inner calm of his CEO persona – the one that dealt in facts, not emotions.

“Ya got me, man,” he shrugged.  “Tony wouldn’t come over and told me he was sending ‘Petey’, who I naturally assumed was a guy.  Enter the Pixie of Death, who was a little pissed that I questioned her presence when she would rather be home watching the game.  After I finally let her in, she fixed the TV and rewired everything so that it makes sense to me.  As a thank you, I invited her to stay and watch the game.  You saw the rest.”

The dark-haired man was silent for a time, whether analyzing the problem or determining the truth to his words, Jon wasn’t sure.  Knowing his luck, Richie would be in philosophical mode and give him a lecture on Karma and maintaining the balance of the universe or some such garbage.

But his friend surprised him.

“She’s not your usual type.”

Jon snorted at the understatement of the year.  “She’s not anybody’s type.”

Again, with the silence.

“So you’re not interested in her?”

Jon’s eyes narrowed, thinking of the smooth, pale skin of her torso and that spectacularly shaped ass.  Then the memory of her combat boots, purple contacts, piercings, and psychotic recitations came crowding in, larger than life.

“No.  Absolutely not.”

Much.

Richie nodded slowly, seemingly pleased with the answer, and dove directly back into the ballgame.  "Think the Pats can recover from that interception?"