112 - Carry That Weight

Tony tossed the towel over the shower rail, still grinning after their latest round of lovemaking.  They’d both wanted showers before bed, but decided they might actually get clean if they used separate showers.  So, after one last steamy kiss, he’d thrown his dirty clothes back on his sticky, satiated body and returned to the guest room for the night.

God, she makes me happy.

It wasn’t the sex, although the sex carried a heavy dose of euphoria with it.  It was just her.  Her dry, sarcastic way of talking to cover the soft heart inside, the passion that she’d unleashed and shared with him, and everything else that combined for a cool, detached Dorothea.  To most of the world anyway.  One would think she was a callous bitch at first glance.  He’d always known she wasn’t, but now…  Now he knew how exactly how deep her emotions ran. 

Pulling on a pair of sweatpants, he remembered how she’d been with Romeo that afternoon when he was terrified of losing his Mommy.  She was calm and collected on the outside, but he’d been with her long enough now to see that her heart had been breaking.  It killed her when her kids were hurting.

He tugged one of his favorite, worn Harley t-shirts out of the dresser drawer and meandered across the floor to the darkly decorated bed.  The mattress dipped invitingly as he crawled under the covers, plumping the two king-sized pillows behind his head with a relaxed sigh.

This was definitely a masculine guest room, with its light gray carpeting and dark gray and black bedding.  He liked it, but he liked the soft green of her room better.  Would she want to redecorate when they got married?  Make it their room?

Impatience was eating Tony alive.  There needed to be a ring on her finger and a wedding date on the calendar.  He’d waited long enough already.

Jon’s getting married this week.  You should wait and make it a completely separate, special occasion.

He should, but he didn’t know if he could restrain himself long enough.  FedEx would be delivering the last of what he needed tomorrow and, even if it took longer than he expected, everything would be ready by Thursday or Friday.  Sitting on his hands after that would prove to be an impossible feat.

You know you’re going to do it before the wedding Saturday.  Have the balls to admit it to yourself, man. 

There wouldn’t be anything to do until he picked out a ring.  That was the biggest thing he hadn’t done. 

Her first engagement ring had been huge and ostentatious, even though she hadn’t gotten it until after they were married – or maybe because she hadn’t gotten it until then.  The abominably large center diamond was accessorized by at least a dozen others in its platinum setting.  Tony could only assume that she’d loved it since, he was pretty sure, she had selected it herself.

He was by no means hurting for money, but he didn’t have the bottomless bank accounts that superstardom brought.  There would be no ‘outdoing’ the last husband.  Instead, he would have to be more thoughtful about choosing the right ring.  It would have to be something significant enough to take her breath, but not so significant to obliterate his life savings.  More sentimentality than bling.

The temptation to recruit help was heavy.  There was always an off-chance that Matt might be convinced to go ring shopping with him. 

Desiree’s ring is a plain diamond solitaire.  Matt doesn’t care about that kind of stuff.

Tony knew who might care about that kind of stuff.  There was someone who could probably be easily cajoled into going ring shopping, if he would just get his stubborn ass to New York. 

It was time to call Richie.

Stretching, he palmed the smartphone from the nightstand and squinted lightly at the backlit screen, not bothering to put on his glasses.  Flicking a finger through his contact list, he found the number that had been stored there for some time, but seldom used.

Richie was like another older brother to him, but they’d never been super-close.  Rich and Matt were closer, likely because of the nature of their jobs.  With Matty wandering around backstage all the time, they just had more unavoidable interaction, whereas Tony was under the stage or back at the sound board.

Not super-close, but close enough to kick his ass when it needs it.

“’Lo?”

It was after midnight in Jersey, but even without the three-hour time difference, Tony wasn’t worried about waking Richie.  The guy was a night owl, and always had been.

“Hey, Rich, it’s Tony.”

At least the guitarist sounded pleased to hear from him.  “Hey, little bro.  What’s up?  How’s things with you and D?”

“They’re good,” he admitted through a self-satisfied smirk.  “It’s part of the reason I’m calling.  I need the assistance of a man who’s good with jewels.  You have time in your busy schedule to come help a lovesick schmuck pick out a ring?”

“No way!” Richie guffawed.  “A ring already, man?  You sure about this?  It’s awful quick.”

“Nah, it's not quick, it only seems that way to everybody else.  Truth of it is that we’ve been together over a year.  I don’t wanna wait anymore.”

“You gonna make it a double-wedding this weekend?” the older man asked bitterly.  “Seeing as you Bongiovi boys get something in your head and say fuck the rest of the world.”

“And that’s the other part of why I’m calling,” Tony grimly admitted.  “What’s your beef with Jon and Petey getting married?”

“I got no beef,” was the belligerent denial.

“No?  Then you’ll be here on Saturday with the rest of us, right?”

The line went quiet on the California end of the conversation.  It was quiet for so long that Tony finally prompted, “Rich?  You still there, man?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, and then took a deep breath.  “Look, Tone, I can’t do it.  They shouldn’t be getting married, and I can’t be there and pretend I’m happy that they are.”

“Then I repeat, what’s your beef with them getting married?”

“She doesn’t fucking know him,” Richie bit out.  “She doesn’t know that he’s going to stop being Mr. Romance and get his head stuck in dollars and cents and business, forgetting about her or putting meetings ahead of her birthday, their anniversary and half the fucking holidays in the year.  I can’t stand by and watch him fuck everything up for himself a second time.  They’re both gonna end up miserable – her from the way he treats her and him when she leaves him because of it.  I don’t want that for either of them.”

“You don’t know that’s gonna happen.”

“I know that Petey should be rescued from the crazy-ass demons in her life, not tethered to one of them.”

Jon’s best friend was calling him a demon?  Damn.  Talk about cold.  What kinda bug was up his ass?

“Rich... Petey doesn’t need rescued from shit.  She could fight the demons with one hand tied behind her back and still not come out breathing hard.”

“Didja ever think she might need rescued from him?”

What?  What the hell was he talking about?  Jon wouldn’t hurt Petey.

“No,” he growled, starting to get seriously irritated with the guy who would supposedly die for his brother.  “You wanna explain that?”

“No, not really.”

“Well that’s too fuckin’ bad, because you can’t drop that kinda shit and just leave it hanging there.  What the hell are you talking about?”

“Dammit Tony, you weren’t there when the girl was crying her eyes out over something Jon had done.  It just about killed me, and I can’t stomach the thought of him doing that to her again.”

He could sympathize, but sometimes that was just the nature of relationships.  You had to hit a hard spot to get to the soft spots.  Richie should know that.

“Okay, I get that, but you haven’t even seen them together, Rich.  I’m telling ya, once you do, it will be different.  Even I can see that he loves her.  He gave Mom – Mom, for God’s sake! – five different kinds of hell for looking down her nose at Petey!  Told her if she didn’t get over herself, she’d never see any of ‘em again, including the kids.”

Richie went quiet again, and Tony assumed he was mulling over new information before he admitted he was wrong and agreed to be there for his best friend’s wedding.  However, when he finally spoke, the reply wasn’t what Tony had been hoping for. 

“So what kinda ring are you thinking for D?  I can probably clear my schedule to be there on Thursday morning and spend the day, if you want my help.”

You gotta be kidding me.

“I tell you that and you’re still not coming to the wedding?” he asked incredulously. What the hell happened to Mr. Sensitivity who loved the whole fuckin’ world?  The man who accepted any and everybody with a smile and a hug?  That’s who Tony believed he’d been talking to.  He didn’t know this guy.  “I never expected this from you.  I really thought you, more than anybody else, would always be there for him.  You disappoint me, man.”

If he was disappointed, he couldn’t imagine how his brother must feel. 

“You know what? I wouldn’t wanna put you out, so I’ll find a ring on my own.  Thanks, anyway.”

☠ ☢ ☠

Richie put the phone down gently on the desk in front of him, casually tapping the icon that would bring up his text message history.  Petey had sent him no less than half a dozen since his refusal the night before. 

Tony's call still vivid in his mind, he dragged his finger down the screen to scroll back.  One by one, he re-read Petey’s messages.

[12:48 AM]PT: You’re his friend.  His BEST friend.  You have to be there.

[7:22 AM]PT: I’m a big girl.  I know how to look out for myself.

[11:05 AM]PT:  Richie don’t do this.

[2:27 PM]PT: Think you can live with the guilt when it’s over?

[5:30 PM]PT: You’re making me mad.

[7:58 PM]PT: What?  Are you jealous?  Is that it?

[11:18 PM]PT: Hope you can sleep tonight.

No, he wasn’t going to sleep tonight.  Ava was at a friend’s house, working on a project for school and then staying over.  Charlie’s mom would take them to school in the morning.  That left Richie all alone in an alcohol-free house.  He could call and have some booze delivered or…

The phone’s screen lit up at his touch, and he hit a button he hadn’t touched in a long time.  Lifting the thing to his ear, he ignored the sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach at the familiarly breathy, “Hello?”

There was no room for uncertainty.  The mindlessness of this was exactly what Richie needed.

Yeah.  Keep telling yourself that.

“Hey.  You feel like hooking up tonight?”

Her panting giggle was supposed to be sexy, but it grated on his nerves, sounding more like an asthmatic hyena.  Fortunately she couldn’t giggle when her bulging lips were wrapped around his cock – she wasn’t smart enough to multitask.  “You know I always wanna hook up with you.”

“Then come over.  Now.  Don’t bother primping or changing clothes.  Put something slick on your lips and come blow me.”

With that crudely stated directive, he abruptly disconnected the call.  It sounded harsh, but that’s what she got off on.

Good thing.  In his current state of mind he sure as hell wasn’t inclined to give her any more than that.

☠ ☢ ☠

“Mmmgggggnnnnhhhhhaaaa!”  Jon stretched in the bed, twisting his muscles until they were on the verge of cramping before relaxing into the mattress.  It was late – for him, anyway – if the light streaming through the windows was any indicator.  Propelling his head lazily to the left, he cracked  open one eyelid looking for Petey, but she wasn’t there.

“Petey?” he croaked out pointlessly.  If she was in the shower she wouldn’t hear him.  As pitiful as his voice sounded this morning, she wouldn’t hear him if she were standing next to the bed.  Jon cleared his throat and tried again.  “Petey?  Sugar, where are ya?”

That did the trick.  Her radiant face appeared in the doorway, hands busily bunch her hair into an intentionally bedraggled ponytail.  From here, he could see that she was going with the pink eyes again today and hadn’t gotten to her makeup yet.  Or clothes.  Her fine little ass was covered only by the briefest pair of panties and she still had on her bedtime tank top.

“Good morning my studly sleepyhead,” she greeted him airily.  “Did you orgasm yourself into a coma?”

God, she was cute.  “Somethin’ like that,” he chuckled throatily, rolling onto his side and extending an open hand toward here.  “C’mere and gimme a little lovin’.”

“Nuh-uh.”  Her refusal was adamant even as she sidled up next to him, accepting his hand.  “No sex this morning.  I’ve gotta meet Gavin in an hour for the Great Wedding Dress Adventure.  Don’t forget my mom is flying in this afternoon with food and flower stuff for us to look at.”

“I remember.”  Jon grinned wickedly and pulled her near, cradling her hip with his free hand.  “If I don’t get sex now and your mom is coming over, then when exactly am I supposed to get back in that always-wet pussy of yours?  Hm?”

“I hate you,” she mumbled, as he released her hip so that he could probe insistent fingers between her thighs.  “You’re a nymphomaniac.”

“No, Baby.”  His denial was nothing but a purr when his fingertip touched the wetness he knew would be waiting for him.  “You’re the nympho, I’m the enabler.”

The unrestrained laughter that spilled from her made him grin wider and sent warmth through his belly. 

“Well, my very hot enabler.”  Petey gently but purposefully disengaged his naughty fingers and stepped out of his reach.  “You could always sleep all day so you could enable me all night.  You know… if you were so inclined.”

“If only that were an option.”  Flopping onto his back, he snaked a hand under the blankets to readjust himself.  “While you’re out shopping, I have to tackle my own wedding chores.  I’ll be holed up here all day on the phone.”

And playing my guitar, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“Oh, good.  Then you’ll be here to open the door for Mom if Gavin and I get sidetracked and run late.”

Rolling his eyes, he intoned on a snicker, “Yes, mistress, I’ll be waiting here like a damn butler to do your bidding.”

“Shut up.”  She flounced back toward the bathroom, completely unconcerned by his bitching.  “Although…”  Petey paused in the doorway, leaning her shoulder blades heavily against the door facing and running a provocative hand up her torso.  “That mistress thing…” A coquettish pink wink had his hand diving back under the covers.  “…sounds pretty hot.  If you ever decide you wanna be a slave boy, just let me know.”

That was the straw that broke the horny camel’s back. 

Jon flipped the covers back and thumped his feet onto the floor, delighted when her eyes grew wide and her dimples came out to play.  He moved across the floor with a deceptive indifference, repetitively fisting himself while stalking her with slow, deliberate moves. 

“I like history,” he commented amenably, stopping mere inches away.  “But right now I’m more intrigued by Minutemen than slaves.”  Releasing his erection, he pinned both hands above her head against the door frame and bucked his hips suggestively.  “Wanna see if I’ve got what it takes to be a Minuteman?  You know…  Since you’re in such a hurry to go shopping.”