10 - Mamma Mia

“A conversation that we won’t be having,” Petey warned him over the opening lyrics to “Bohemian Rhapsody”.  The music was coming from the floor outside the bedroom door, where her jacket still lay crumpled.  “And please stop calling me Sugar.”

She was so busy dreading what that ringtone meant, she barely heard Jon say, “I hate to tell you no when you asked so nicely, saying please and everything, but you’re probably outta luck on that.  Unless I happen to think of something more appropriate.”

When she didn’t immediately give him a disgusted look or snappy comeback, he realized that her attention was riveted to the floor behind him.  Jon swung around and scooped up the singing jacket.  “I believe you have a call,” he said, gallantly offering the garment to her.  “Queen, huh?”

“Yeah, so I hear.  I’ll just take it out on the terrace, so as not to bother you.”  Petey dug into the pocket as she strode quickly for the big glass door on the far side of the room.

“No bother.  I’ll be in the study when you’re done,” he called after her.

One hand went up in acknowledgement, her hip bumping the door open as she said, “Hello, Mother.”

So the Pixie of Death has a mama.  So much for the idea she was raised by wolves.  Or werewolves.

In the study, Jon chuckled as he reared back in the squeaky leather desk chair and lifted his bare feet to the desk’s surface.  Maybe he should ask about Mama.  After all, she promised him at least a couple of questions since ‘the sex was better than average’. 

Little Miss Petey has a quite the gift for understatement.

He didn’t think it was his woman-drought saying the sex had been better than average.  Sparks flew when the two of them touched.  Not even when things with Dorothea were good, had they been that good. 

Absently rubbing the tender spot on his chest where she had bitten him, Jon smiled smugly.  Then there was Petey’s self-confidence and enthusiasm, which easily escalated things to amazing.  Next time, when he threw off the stupid restraints she imposed – it would be blow-your-mind-phenomenal.

That whole thing had been something close to surreal.  In his personal experience, even when a woman said it was ‘only sex’, she was secretly looking for more.  And what woman didn’t want to steal your soul with her wicked lips?  Even more importantly, what woman didn’t want a guy going down on her? 

Every man dreamed of no-strings-attached sex, and Jon may be cutting off his nose to spite his face, but yeah…  They were definitely having that conversation.

☠ ☢ ☠

“I don’t know, Mother.  That’s still weeks away.  I haven’t decided yet.”  Petey rolled her eyes, pacing along the length of terrace railing while listening to her mother obsess over something silly.  Occasionally, she would look to see if Jon was watching her through one of the windows.  She wouldn’t put it past him to spy, but so far it looked like he was sticking to the study, as promised.

Perching on the edge of one of the two chaise lounge chairs, she tucked the phone tightly into her ear and slipped her arms into the jacket’s sleeves.  Pacing agitated her more than these bi-weekly phone calls from home.

“Go ahead and plan on me being there,” she finally relented, finding it easier to acquiesce than convince the woman on the other end to accept a firm maybe.  “If I decide not to come, it won’t be a big deal.  It’s easier than trying to add an extra person at the last minute.  Okay?”

Her mother loved her and meant well.  She just had no concept of why the Goths from Hell, as she called it, had stolen her picture perfect child and transformed her into some cliché joke.  Petey was a white bread American compared to real Goths, but had long-since given up trying to explain that to her mother.  Petey didn’t even consider herself Goth.  It was more like she unashamedly indulged in avant garde fashion.

“No, I haven’t found out whether I’ll be on the tour crew or not, but I met Jon Bon Jovi last weekend and did some work for him.  He said he would give a good recommendation to my boss.”

She wondered if it was too soon to ask if he’d done that.

“I know I’m smart, Mother, but this is just like anything else.  It’s not about what you know, it’s about who you know.  Or at least showing what you know to the right people.”

Of all things the things that her mother might need educated on, this should not be one of them. 

“Mother, I’m on a job, so I really need to go.”  Green eyes rolled to the heavens.  “Yes, on a Sunday.  Yes, I’ll be there for Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday.  Yes, I promise.  Maybe even the day before.  Okay.  I love you.”  Warm dimples creased her cheeks at hearing her step-father’s voice in the background.  “Tell him I love him, too.  I’ll see you on Wednesday or Thursday.”

Poking the phone into her pocket, Petey toppled back onto the cushioned chaise with a sigh, taking a minute to inhale a breath of crisp November air.  The mid-afternoon sun was warm on her face, but the air had a definite bite to it.  It was good football weather.

Football.  Was she going to watch football and spend the day with a man who made her certifiably nuts? 

It was hard to make that kind of decision when she could still smell him on her skin.

Clasping her hands together atop her stomach, Petey’s eyes fell shut.  With the inside of her eyelids acting as a high definition projection screen, the highlight reel from today started rolling with vivid clarity. 

It started with a slide show of Jon’s facial expressions since she’d arrived:  congeniality, friendliness, lust, confusion, annoyance, seduction, concentration, rapture, satisfaction, frustration, pure anger, understanding…

Petey knew her own face had run the same gamut, and it was disconcerting.  They made each other insane.  The job would be nice, but it wasn’t strictly necessary.  So why was she still here?

Cue the scene where she wantonly displayed herself to him and he said – Petey could feel her face heat – that she was the stuff wet dreams were made of. 

Who was she kidding?  It was the first orgasm she hadn’t been solely responsible for in almost three years.  She was still enjoying the aftershocks and, if she were honest, the enticing prospect of another.  That’s why she was here.

“Everything okay?“ came the soft inquiry from above her.

Petey’s eyes flew open with a start.  Blinking the moisture back into her contacts, she brought a hand up to block the sunlight and squinted into his face.  No smugness.  No arrogance.  Only concern.

“Yeah, fine.”  She popped into an upright, seated position, noting that he carried two beers in his left hand.  “I was taking a minute to unwind, is all.”

He offered her one of the cold bottles with a wry smile. “If she’s anything like my mother, this may help.”   

She may not be a connoiseur, but Petey couldn't fault the man's choice in beer.  The microbrewery name splashed across the label was the same as the one he’d given her last week, and the taste had been exceptional.

“Thanks.  She’s a little overbearing sometimes, but for the most part we get along well.”  Accepting the drink, Petey tipped the bottle to her lips while surreptitiously watching him take his own drink.  His Adam’s apple did a little dance with each swallow, emphasizing the masculinity of his neck.

This has to stop.  Vibrators are a whole lot less trouble, Petey. 

“I’m pretty sure overbearing is in the mother handbook, pages one through ten,” he laughed.  “And then mine wonders where I get it from.”  Beer dangling at his side, Jon moved from small talk to studying her intently.  She purposefully refrained from fidgeting under the scrutiny.  “So will you spend the day with me?”

A whole lot less trouble.

“Does my job depend on it?”

So much for being unflappable.

An unidentifiable reaction fleeted across his face before he settled into a mask of indifference.   “No.  I was gonna tell you that Tony had already decided to put you on the crew.  You didn’t need my endorsement.”

“Oh.”  That answered that question, but now she was suffering the unfamiliarity of remorse.  Normally she said exactly what she meant and made no apologies for it, but the bitchy question about her job didn’t stem from a deep-rooted confidence in her words.  It stemmed from nervousness and insecurity – two things she hated.  They were signs of weakness and she wasn’t a weak woman.  Not anymore.

No longer fascinated with her, he squinted into the distance as though he’d spotted something of interest.  “So you want me to help you with that ladder so you can get to work and get out of here?”

It was time to remember who she was, not who she had been.

“I’d like to get the work out of the way, but…” She tugged lightly on his free hand, in a mute request for his attention.  When Jon turned, it was to find Petey was staring boldly into his eyes.  “I don’t have to be anywhere today.  So I thought I might hang out here for a while.  You know, since you offered.”

A slow grin eked one side of his mouth upward.  “Sounds like a plan to me.”