137 - Poker Face

Fuck!

Left standing alone in the hall, there was nothing for Jon to do but cram the sunglasses on his face and follow after her like a whipped puppy.  What the hell was wrong with her?  He knew what had put him in a piss-poor mood.  The question was:  what had done it to her in the space of ten minutes? 

His was easy.  Kind of.

It was that wedding gift she’d been so excited to give him.

The fucking hot, sexy, erotic wedding gift that he wanted to go hide in the bathroom with and jerk off until his dick was sore. 

That little imp outfit had him swallowing his tongue and the pink foofy thing had his mouth watering.  He could practically smell the cotton candy oozing off the page. The woman was a tiny, compact bombshell, showing just enough skin to be enticing and flaunting those milky white curves in a way that would put a porn star to shame. 

Then he realized that, even though the camera was showing only an enticing glimpse of skin, she was practically bare-ass naked on that bed… blanket… whatever it was.  Rage heated his blood to a fast boil at the thought of some nimrod being in the same room with Petey and searching for sexy ways to pose her near-nude body. 

As quickly as the rage simmered to life, it found itself battling for top spot on Jon’s emotional barometer with another, stranger feeling.  Fear. 

No.  Not fear, really.  Confusion.  He couldn’t understand why he felt so…  Neanderthal possessive.

He wasn’t a possessive kind of guy.  Hell, he normally didn’t have a jealous bone in his body.  If he did, his marriage would have died many, many years ago, because jealous made for a lousy touring companion.  It would have eaten at him until he was convinced Dottie was cheating and they would've been divorced before Stephanie was even conceived.

Yeah, sure, there was that thing where he got ticked at Richie for going out with Petey, but that wasn’t possessiveness.  That was a misunderstanding before they officially hooked up.   It didn’t count.

This though…  This counted.  And, fear-invoking or not, he didn’t feel a damn bit bad about it.  Nobody should be looking at his almost-wife’s body with sex on their mind.  Nobody. 

His blood pressure rose for each level that the elevator fell, and the out-of-control feeling was one he didn’t like.  Yeah, he knew he loved Petey – a lot.  But, Holy Mary Mother of God, this was uncharted waters for him.  It was… unsettling and, with no experience like it, he didn’t know how to process these feelings.  Did they mean he loved her more than he loved Dottie?  That she had the power to hurt him even more than Dottie had?

Fiery acid clung to the soft tissue of his esophagus, trying to burn its way out of his body. Hurting worse than that would screw him up for good. The threat of it, along with the fear, made him snippier than usual and – if possible – less tolerant.

After being ushered into the backseat of the town car, Jon waited for the guard to close the door before turning to Petey.  “I always liked that you didn’t fucking play games,” he growled quietly.  “Don’t start doing it now.”

“I’m not playing games,” she growled right back, eyes darting toward the driver and Rocco in the front seat.  “This is something that’s a private matter, and we have parties to attend.  I told you… tonight.”


He might love her strength and spunk, but it could infuriate the hell out of him, too.  Even infuriated, for the next several blocks, he considered letting it drop until later tonight, as she suggested.  In the end, he couldn't.  That just wasn't how he rolled.

“Well, I’m not going to fucking enjoy the parties if you don’t tell me what the hell your problem is!”

“Lower your damn voice!” she hissed, sharply pinching the inside of this thigh as the car slid to a halt in front of the Four Seasons.  “I said private.  Now shut up and smile.”

Smile, huh?  Of course she thought he would - it was precisely what she did.  She beamed at his best friend as though she didn’t have a care in the world.  Jon damn well knew better.  The shadows were hanging in the back of her normally bright eyes like those friggin' cobwebs she liked so much.

And that stupid dress she had on under the wool coat made her look like she was going to a Senator’s wake. 

He shook his head with silent disgust and slumped back into the corner of the car seat, offering a mildly grunted greeting to Richie.  With him in one corner and Petey wedged in the other, a puzzled Richie was forced to drop into the empty spot between them on the wide bench seat.

“Well…”  Richie cleared his throat awkwardly, after several minutes of suffocating silence where Jon and Petey each stared broodingly out their respective windows.  Not a word had been said since he clapped Jon on the back and air-kissed Petey’s cheek.  “I didn’t realize I was supposed bring a knife to cut the tension.  Problem, lovebirds?”

“Of course not,” Petey denied with the same breath that Jon muttered, “Damn straight.”

Richie laughed, unfazed as the car whipped sharply around a corner, sliding him toward Petey.  “O-kayyy.  Anything I can do to help?”

Opening his mouth to respond, Jon chose instead to bite his tongue when Petey zapped him with a vicious ice-blue stare and said firmly,  “We’re fine, thank you.”

“Now, Pretty Dark Angel…”  Richie righted himself and lightly sandwiched her little hand between his much larger ones, patting it soothingly.

See?  I’m not feeling possessive over that. Am I?

“… I might not be a college graduate, but you don’t need a sheepskin hanging on the wall to see through that bullshit.”  His partner’s dark head dipped close to Petey’s even darker one.  “Tell me he made you cry and I’ll punch him in the face.”

“Keep your goon fists to yourself.  I didn’t do anything,” Jon sniped before she could reply.  Her faint smile was disconcerting.  Should he be glad she was smiling or pissed that she was smiling over Richie's threat?  “She’s mad about something and won’t tell me what.”

Leaning forward, his fiancée’s head peeped around Richie’s and she informed him coldly, “I’m not mad about anything.  As for what’s bothering me, if you’d just wait until after we get through the evening with our family and friends, we will talk about it.”

The yelling was about to start, if for no other reason than to relieve some of his stress. 

There was a problem.  He wanted it fixed right-the-fuck now.  That’s the way it worked: problem, solution, resume life as you know it.  It was a formula that always worked, and the fact that she wouldn’t just do that was making him two steps beyond cranky.

“Darlin’,” Richie soothed, correctly reading that Jon’s tolerance gauge had just shot past full.  “You’re both upset.  Don’t you think it would be better to go ahead and deal with this?  It’s gonna make a crap-tastic night for everyone otherwise.”

Shooting the older man a look of gratitude, Jon then fixed hooded eyes on Petey.  Would she heed the advice or continue being a stubborn assed imp?  So far, there was no sign of stubbornness in the set of her jaw, only... melancholy.  Melancholy that was mirrored in the cobwebs behind her eyes. 

I'll be damned.  She isn’t mad, she’s sad.  

That made for an entirely different ballgame.  Her anger was a problem that required their joint collaboration to remedy.  Her sadness did not.  That was his problem, and his alone, to fix.  Period. 

And he would.

“Rich, trade her places,” Jon commanded in a low voice, then beseeched her, “Sugar, come on over here and tell me what’s wrong.”

Richie lifted her across his lap, amid her obligatory protests, then scooted close to the door saying, “I’ll just be over here looking out the window and talking to the guys up front.”

He’d no more finished his statement when the driver interrupted with, “We’ve arrived at Angelina’s, sir.”

“Fuck,” Jon swore quietly, seeing that Petey’s mask of distant pleasantry dropped back down like a protective shield.  He latched onto her hand, unable to go in there and pretend everything was peachy keen.  If they were fighting like cats and dogs, that was okay for the world to know.  Couples squabbled all the time.  But, not knowing what was going on in that crazy mind of hers – only that she was sad – he wasn’t gonna do it.

“Baby, stay here with me and-“

He never got a chance to finalize his request before the back door flew open and Gavin’s head popped inside the car.  “There you are, Dollface!  I’m a bit of a stranger at this lovely soiree, so I was waiting for you to introduce me to the fam."  The spiky blonde head dipped curiously, realizing that his hand was draped over a thigh – Richie’s thigh.  “Oh.  Well, it seems that we’re not strangers anymore,” he tittered, with a smirky grin.  “No pun intended.  The song and all that?” 

Petey gave him a distracted smile and Jon wanted to pinch the guy’s head off for interrupting.  Richie, being the people-person he was, simply pushed his hand beneath Gavin’s and transformed the grope into a handshake with an affable smile.  His best friend was so much better at awkward than Jon was.

“Yeah, I got it.  That was good off the cuff,” Richie complimented.  “I’m gonna guess you’re Gavin?”

The flamboyant younger man beamed, irreverent to the cold air gusting into the vehicle as he returned Richie’s handshake.  “Why, yes I am, and of course I know that you’re Richie.  It’s a pleasure.”

“Yeah, nice to meet you man.  Any friend of Petey’s – “

“Is a little bit of a freak show, but that doesn’t mean we’re not good people.”  Gavin’s laughter was loud and raucous, wrapping around Jon like a vine of thorny briars.  Petey’s friend or not, he just wanted the borderline-obnoxious man to get the fuck out.

“Rich, why don’t you take Gavin in and introduce him around?  You know everybody besides Petey’s brother.  We'll be there in a minute.”  His fingers cemented in between hers meant she wasn’t going anywhere, even though she wanted to debate the point.

“That’s okay, Richie,” Petey furrowed her brow, vainly trying to extract her hand while Gavin backed out of the vehicle and Richie stepped a foot onto the pavement.  “I’m going in now.  Gavin can go with me.”

“Petey…” The guitarist turned his head back, speaking softly over his shoulder.  “Stay and talk this out.  You’ll feel better.”

They had their ups and downs, as any friends did, but nobody ever had his back the way Richie did.  Well, other than Petey. 

“Sugar, stay for just a minute.”

“Patience!  What good timing,” Teresa chortled, waggling her fingers inside the open car door once Richie had vacated his seat.  “I’ve been so excited to get back and see you again!  Hello, Jon!”

Well Christ-a-mighty….

“Hi, Mom,” Petey called, wiggling her own fingers.  “Jon,” she pled in an aside, working her hand free.  “This isn’t the time.   Please.”

Time and their families had conspired against him and it was only getting worse.  Tony, Dottie and the kids were strolling up the sidewalk now, followed by Matt and Desiree.

“Five minutes,” he decreed with a soft swear, releasing her.  “That’s it.  We get everybody introduced and make sure they have a drink and we’re excusing ourselves to talk.  Understand?”

In a rare show – outside the bedroom, anyway – of submission, Petey hesitated only briefly before nodding her acquiescence.  She accepted Gavin and Richie’s hands to exit the car and Jon opened the door on his side, climbing out with a stifled huff. 

Cramming balled fists into the pockets of his favorite puffy black jacket, he lifted his eyes to the restaurant’s exterior, unable to appreciate the stately Victorian house on the edge of the island.  Beautifully kept and very well frequented by celebrities, including David Bryan, the food was reputed to be phenomenal .  Because of David’s recommendation and Angelina’s reputation, they had the entire third floor reserved for their dinner.

The entire third floor.

The cursing may have been silent, but Jon's breath was clearly visible in the cold air when he muttered a particularly raunchy obscenity.

With the large and wide assortment of guests, it would likely take half-an-hour to get everyone settled with their drinks.

Five minutes.  I don’t care what happens.  Five minutes and we’re finding a quiet corner and dealing with this shit.

Next post.... Monday, July 16