14 - Like Frankie Said

Jon swiped a weary hand across the back of his neck as the elevator approached the penthouse floor.  Days like this seemed to never end.

The kids spent last night with him so they could do the family thing and walk down to see the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade this morning.  The balloon handlers and those on the floats threw candy, sending both Jake and Romeo into a competitive frenzy.  You’d think they never had a bite of candy in their lives the way the little urchins scrambled into the street for the jawbreakers and bubblegum.  Jess stuck close to his side, now recovered from the pickup football injury and eager to watch the college games on TV that afternoon, despite Dorothea’s threats that he would never play again.  Stephanie hung just a little behind, engrossed in her phone until Jon tugged her to his other side, looping an arm around her shoulders.

It was hands-down the best part of the day - just him and his kids and a bunch of oversized balloons. Forget the thousands of other people crowding the streets.  They were just extras in the background.

Afterward, among pitiful moans and cries of ‘starving to death’, he stopped to buy them either a pretzel or a hot dog from one of the street carts.  They weren’t allowed to take the first bite without taking a vow of silence, though.  Dot would have his head if she knew they’d eaten ‘junk’ instead of waiting for the big family dinner. 

Temporarily worn out and stomachs full, Jon piled them all into his Escalade for the hour long trip to Red Bank and the Norman Rockwell holiday that awaited them.

Things at the house were…  creepily like they’d always been.  

His parents, her parents, the kids, Tony, his youngest brother Matt and his family, Dorothea’s sisters and their families and Dorothea had comfortably made small talk while waiting for Jon to deep fry the turkey, much as they had for the last twenty years.  Everything seemed normal on the surface, but Jon’s skin felt itchy with awkwardness.  His imagination had Dot checking her watch every five minutes, anxious for them to leave so she could get to her boyfriend.

Get over it.  She deserves whatever happiness she can find.

After that mental kick in the pants, he actually settled down and found some enjoyment in the day.  He’d even managed to squirrel in a little business while everyone was distracted, pulling Tony to the side and asking about his video setup.

His brother’s wide shit-eating grin worried him.

“It’s all under control, Jon.  Everything you wanted plus a little more, all on budget.”

Blue eyes narrowed.  Tony was entirely too chipper about it.  There was more to this story.

“And?”

“And what?”

“You seem surprised you could do it.”

Tony stroked his hand over his goatee, absently smoothing the whiskers down.  “That’s because you want a Cadillac with a Chevy price tag.  I didn’t think it was gonna happen.”

“Did Tinkerbell pop in and sprinkle fairy dust on the whole project so that it glowed with love and dollar signs?” Jon asked sarcastically.

Chuckling under his breath, Tony shook his head.  “Hardly.  It was Petey.”

That got Jon’s interest.  He hadn’t talked to her since the night Jess was in the hospital, four days ago.  After that night, he'd obstinately stuffed his curiosity into a box and refused to think about her.

Much.  

“Elaborate.”

“Not much to elaborate on,” he said with a shrug.  “I hit a wall so I had a couple of my people look at it.  One couldn’t come up with anything feasible to cut the cost.  Petey…”  He smiled, eyes softening with... affection?  Tony was affectionate toward this girl?  “Petey took one look at it and made not one, but three improvements to the design that brought us in under budget.  She’s incredible.”

Thinking about the order she’d created out of corded chaos in his apartment, Jon didn’t hesitate to agree.

“I’ll send a check over tomorrow.  You can get everything ordered, or whatever it is that you do.  We only have about ten weeks until we roll this out.  Is it enough time?”

Tony sniffed arrogantly.  “With the crew I have?  It’s more than enough.”

Jon started as the elevator dinged its arrival at the penthouse floor.  Sighing, he dug the key from his pocket and slid it in the lock, a sharp turn to the left releasing the mechanism.  He pushed into the dark apartment, his keys skidding across the entryway table as he tapped the light switch.

Warm light flooded the foyer, but the interior of the apartment was still. 

The light may be warm, but there’s nothing warm waiting here.

Stowing his puffy black jacket in the coat closet, Jon toed off his boots then carried them to the bedroom with him, setting each room ablaze with light as he went.

Ten weeks.  He had ten weeks to get all his ducks in a row.  He would have to hit it hard starting tomorrow, making sure all the contracts with the venues were set in stone.  Tickets had gone on sale to the general public last week, and the preliminary numbers were good, but you never knew how many of those tickets had gone to scalpers.  One ticket sold didn’t necessarily mean one excited fan filling a seat.

Stripping his shirt and jeans, he tossed them in the laundry and padded to the bathroom.  Hot water should be pouring over his body.  Bath or shower?

The oversized whirlpool tub was sorely tempting, but he couldn’t resist the lure of the water pounding down on him.  Jon turned the temperature as hot as he could stand and slipped under the steamy spray with a groan of appreciation.

He soaped up his chest, noting that the love bites from the weekend had begun to fade.  They were just a light discoloration instead of blood-filled hickeys now.  The most noticeable one was on the ball of his shoulder above the Superman tat.  It didn’t have a coating of hair to disguise it and the teeth marks were distinctive.

His dick twitched.

The thought of her hot little body writhing against him and taking a bite… 

I am not jacking off in the shower like some damn teenager over a woman who can’t fucking stand me.

He flipped the handle that stemmed the water flow and ran a fluffy towel over his face before briskly drying the rest of his body.  In the closet, he found a pair of loose track pants and a stretched out sleeveless tee that were the epitome of bachelor slob.

Now what to do?

Drifting back down the stairs, he found himself – surprise – behind the bar, uncorking a bottle of wine.  That first drink tingled against his tongue and left a pleasant aftertaste.  He filled his glass over-full and headed for the couch.

TV didn’t interest him tonight.  Maybe some music…

Pushing the black button, per his idiot instructions, the stereo hummed to life.  Sinatra would be a good companion tonight as he quietly got drunk off his ass.  He and Frank crooned forlornly about “Drinkin’ Again” and “The Saddest Thing of All” before Jon needed a refill.  When his glass was full again and the rest of the bottle sat at the ready on the coffee table, Jon decided it was time for something a little more up-tempo.  The other stuff was good, but too much of it would throw him into a self-indulgent funk.

Ah, here we go…

The up-beat swing music started his toe tapping and the lyrics wrapped themselves into his head. 

Don't deny me, satisfy me one more time,
Barricade me and invade me, just one more time.
Sacrifice me, don't be nice, be wild and free.
Make a sex-pot symbol out of little old me,
Caress me, molest me, one more time,
Excuse me and abuse me one more time.
Excite me and ignite me with your sweet torso.
Use your muscles, my corpuscles, wanna go.
Assault me, attack me, lose control.
Let's smother each other in a good old strangle-hold.
There's nothing but loving on my mind.
Don't deny me, satisfy me one more time.
Compromise me, vandalize me, have a ball,
Destroy me and restore me through it all.
Demolish, disassemble and dismantle all my doubts,
It's confusing, I don't know my whereabouts.
Bite my ears, baby, nibble on my nose
Let your dimples put those pimples on my toes.
There's sugar oozing over from my elbows to my knees…

Fuck.  The cushiony back of the couch softened the blow as his head fell dully against it.

Dimples and sugar. The damn song was about Petey.

Wonder if she would satisfy me one more time? 

There was enough wine creeping through his bloodstream to make him entertain the notion.  After all, she’d told him to ask if he wanted it.  He'd peevishly decided days ago that he wasn't going to play Twenty Questions anymore.  If she didn't want to offer information, damned if he was going to beg for it.  Jon Bon Jovi didn't beg for anything.

He just wanted to burn up the sheets with a hot body.  God knew Petey had a hot body.

Eyeing his phone, Jon reined in the impulse.  It was a bad idea. 

Frank’s crooning voice filled the room with the classic “My Way”, but it was still empty.  There was no one here.  His family was everywhere but here, in this lonely ass apartment with him.  Undoubtedly, he would drink the wine until it was gone and fall asleep on the couch.  About three o’clock in the morning, he would stumble to his cold, empty bed and sleep for a couple more hours, no doubt waking more tired than when he’d started.

It doesn’t have to be that way.  You can have a good reason to be tired in the morning.

He finally snatched the phone up and flicked his thumb to scroll through the address book for her number.   Wouldn't you know that the spinning contact list halted on the entry for P.T. Diehl like freakin' Wheel of Fortune?  Before he could talk himself out of it, he tapped the screen.

Petey answered on the third ring, sounding a little breathless and making his cock stir with her husky greeting.  “Hello?”

Second thoughts ran rampant through his mind, screaming at him to hang up the phone while rendering him mute. 

“Hello?”  That breathless, husky voice again.  The one that was made for sex.

“I doubt it will kill you if I say no.”  That’s the worst that could happen.  Right?

“You said if I wanted sex, to ask.  I’m asking.”

Petey’s thighs clenched, in an unbidden reaction to the softly spoken words.

She had just dragged into her apartment from the airport when her phone rang.  She’d spent the last two days and nights in her mother’s house doing the family bonding thing.  It was nice, but it was also nice that it was over.  Her brothers’ and step-sisters’ kids were very… spirited children.

She’d been looking forward to the solitude and quiet of home and a hot shower.

Then that quietly sexy voice had bid her to come and play, with not a trace of arrogance or entitlement that she could hear.  Only a soft, beseeching request.

“Is this what a booty call sounds like?”

Jon laughed.  “I guess it is.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about this,” she hedged, collapsing on the bed and kicking off her pink sequined Chucks.  “It’s a first for me.”

“I’m guessing you’re used to a little more subtlety?”

“No.”  She wasn’t used to stirring a man’s libido enough that he went out of his way to ask for sex.  But she wasn’t making that confession.  “I think I like it.”

“Does that mean you’re coming to fuck me stupid?”

He wasn’t bargaining for questions, or trying to pick her brain.  He wanted her body.  She grinned.  “Yeah, I can probably do that.”

“Gimme your address and I can send a car for you.  Fifteen minutes?”  Now that he had his answer, Jon was getting pushy.

She looked down at her jeans – a concession to normalcy for her mother’s sake – baby doll tee and striped socks.  Definitely not a booty call kind of look.

“I just got home from the airport.  I need time to shower and change.  Give me half an hour,” she bargained and gave him her building number on St. Mark’s Place.

“Done. And Sugar?”

She shook her head with a rueful smile.  She was the least ‘Sugar’-like woman in the world.  “What?”

“Bring an overnight bag.  I want a lot of sex.”

It was a wasted gesture since he couldn’t see it, but Petey lifted her eyebrow in disdain.  “Booty calls don’t spend the night.  We’ll have sex and then I’ll hit the Black Friday sales.”