17 - Deny Yourself

Jon frowned in his sleep.  With a grumble of discomfort, he noted that his back was sore and couldn’t figure out why.  With a groan, he flopped from his back to his stomach and buried his face in the pillow, hiding from the sunlight’s early rays.  

One cotton candied sniff of the sheets was an ample reminder of why his back was sore.

He grinned into the pillow.

Damn, that little imp was amazing in bed.  She fired up at his touch, simmered at his sex talk and boiled over with a hot hiss when he made her come.  And it for damn sure wasn’t a show to feed his ego.  No, every time they had sex, Petey was racing to the finish line as impatiently as he was. 

Memories of her whimpers and screams made his morning wood even harder.

Accepting the fact that sleeping was no longer an option, Jon crawled out of bed and meandered to the shower.  A little tension relief and he went about his morning routine, ending up in the downstairs kitchen with a cup of coffee and his computer.  Clicking on CNN.com, he got lost in the news for a good couple of hours, until his phone rang at about ten o’clock.

“Hey, man,” he answered cheerily upon identifying Richie’s number.  “Seven o’clock in the morning?  What are you doing up so early?”

“Ava.  Black Friday.  Coffee.”

Jon’s warm chuckle came easily.  Richie may not have a wife to spend his money for him, but his teenage daughter did her best to fill the void.  “What’s the deal with women and shopping so early in the morning?”

“I got no idea, bro.  It’s something in their genes, I think.”

“I hear ya.  No self-respecting guy is out looking for a bargain before sunrise.  So what’s up?”

“Nothin’.  Just figured you’d be awake and I’m parked at Starbucks until Ava is finished abusing my credit card.  Thought I could pass the time checking in on the tour prelim. ”

Jon’s wrist twisted slowly, swirling the last of the coffee in his cup.  “Things are good.  Contracts have been through the lawyer’s hands and received the seal of approval.   Roadies and interns have been hired. Tony’s got everything nailed down for the video and swears it will be ready to run in time.  We’re right on target for the first of February.”

“Good deal.  Is Petey gonna be on Tony’s crew?”

The coffee mug hit the counter, splashing the remnants over its rim, and Jon cleared his throat in an ploy to buy time.  He didn’t typically censor himself with Rich.  Richie was his best friend.  They’d shared as much as any two people could.

But he wasn’t owning up to any awareness of Petey. 

“I dunno.” 

Technically, he didn’t.  He knew Tony had chosen her, but didn’t think Petey had officially been asked or accepted.

“Well, I hope so,” his guitarist said.  “She’s a great girl, and I bet she’d liven things up a bit.  Maybe I’ll call and ask her if she’s heard anything.”

The acid churning in Jon’s stomach meant he should eat something.  All this coffee and no food was giving him heartburn.

“Mm.   Hey, do you think you might get back this way before Christmas?  Since the crew has all been hired, I thought I might throw together an office Christmas party.  Sort of a ‘get to know you thing’.”

In actuality, the idea had been a knee-jerk impulse, just to change the subject.

“Yeah, I’m sure I can swing back to New York.  Send me the date and I’ll see what I can do.”

They spent a while longer talking about their kids, random song ideas and the state of the world until Richie rang off, promising to talk soon.

Jon’s phone clicked quietly when he laid it to rest on the counter. 

Why hadn’t he told Richie that Petey was coming with them?  That he’d specifically asked Tony to bring her?  It was purely a professional decision, having nothing to do with the fact that they were having sex.

And that’s what it was.  Sex.  Period.  Jon was a private man, with he and Richie being way past the stage of discussing their sex partners, and that’s all she was.  A very good sex partner but – as Petey kept reminding him – they didn’t have a relationship.

Bleak blue eyes landed on the screen of his phone and he wondered how she fared in the craziness this morning. 

Unless it directly affects the next time you’re going to be nailing her to a mattress, it doesn’t matter.

Jon checked the time.  Eleven o’clock.  If he was actually going to have a Christmas party, he’d better tell his assistant.  The last time he’d sprung a last minute event on her, she’d threatened to quit.  Monique was an amazing P.A. who managed to keep him sane most of the time.  He couldn’t afford to lose her.

☢☠☢

Petey scaled the last stair and wearily trudged along the hall to her apartment. 

I don’t need half of this stuff, she thought, suffering the bite of shopping bag handles in her palms.  Damn retail propaganda.

She’d enjoyed the crowds and the anonymity of being just another shopper, even looking like she did.  For Petey, it wasn’t a matter of spectacular deals; it was the cyclone of excitement whipping around her that had convinced her to put a serious dent in her credit line.

Oh well.  I needed some new clothes anyway, and I knocked out a major chunk of my Christmas shopping.

The bags dropped to the floor, her sigh of relief overshadowing the heavy thunk and crinkle of plastic.  Sliding the backpack from her shoulder, she rustled around in the smallest pocket searching for her door key.

“Hey Petey.”

She whirled around at the unexpected voice behind her, to find her neighbor lounging in his doorway once again.  “Hi Gavin.”

“Been shopping, I see.”  He inspected her bags with interest.  Her eyes followed his, and took the same silent inventory – Gucci, Apple, Frederick’s, FAO Schwarz, Bergdorf Goodman, Gothic Renaissance.  “Interesting variety of taste there, Doll Face.”

“Mm.”  The key slid into the lock and Petey swung the door inward.  “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yeah, but let me help you with those bags first,” he offered, allowing his own front door to shut behind him.

No one had ever been in Petey’s apartment.  She liked it that way.  Did she want to break that streak for her very helpful neighbor?  Looking the obviously gay man up and down in his red satin lounge pajamas, she decided he was probably harmless enough and relented with a sigh.

“That’d be great.  Thanks.”  Plucking a few of the bags up, she clambered over the remainder of the pile and into the living room.  “Just dump them on the couch,” she directed, heaping her own load onto the pink silk tufted sofa.

Doing as he was bid, Gavin hefted the remainder of the packages before eyeing Petey’s apartment nosily.  The three room unit was small, so his perusal of the kitchenette and living room was brief.  Meeting her eyes, he offered a hum of approval.  “Nice digs in here Doll Face.” 

Petey looked over the sofa and matching Victorian shades on the floor lamps flanking it, trying to see it from a stranger’s perspective.  The low cocktail table was the same ebony wood as the claw feet and trim on the sofa, and a dark gray brocade chair, complementing the French style of the couch, completed the grouping.   

“It’s just an apartment.”

Gavin’s eyes roved over the dove gray walls and their landscape artwork, lifting an eyebrow at the pink silk drapes and matching Bordeaux valances.  “An expensively and beautifully decorated apartment.   Quite the surprise.”

“Because I dress like a freak?” she bristled out of habit more than anything.  His tone was conversational, not condescending.

“Yes.”  He met her gaze headlong for a moment, and then swept a hand from shoulder to waist indicating his loungewear.  “But far be it from me to judge.  I say let your freak flag fly, honey.”

One limp wrist flipped in the air as he checked out the control panel on her treadmill.  “Damn, this has more gadgets than the space shuttle.”

She rolled her eyes at his flamboyant saunter around the room and kicked off her Chucks, shoving them under the couch with her toe.  “Not to be rude, but what did you want?  I’ve been up all night and could use a little sleep.”

That garnered a knowing look and a soft, “Mm-hm, I’d like to see him.”

“Do you say everything that pops into your head?” she choked out through an incredulous laugh. 

“Yeah, pretty much.”  Eyes still flicking around rapidly, Gavin apparently felt assured that he’d inspected everything of interest.  “Anyway, the guy in tweed was here again last night, with a sweater vest, no less.”  He delicately shuddered.

Great. 

“What did he want this time?”

“Same ole, same ole.”  One bony shoulder lifted in a shrug.  “Where you were, when you’d be home.  I told Mr. Belvedere I wasn’t your social secretary.”

Petey’s eyes closed with a muffled groan.  That was twice within a week, plus the text message.  It was definitely time to relocate.  That morning, she’d had her phone number changed, and a simple text message saying she’d switched carriers had notified everyone in her contact list.  That should put him off a while longer.

Of course Jon had immediately fired back a responding text demanding to know the reason for the change, which she ignored.  She probably should’ve taken advantage of the situation and not given him the new number, but the memories of last night…  Well, it was purely carnal lust that made her do it.  His sexual proficiency outweighed his annoying inquisitiveness.

“Did you call the cops, like I suggested?”

“Threatened to.”  Gavin’s dark eyes narrowed with interest.  “Who is he?”

“Nobody important.  What else did he say?”

The tall man snickered nastily.  “I could’ve told you he wasn’t important.”  Long, skeletal fingers slipped into a pocket on his pajama shirt.  “He didn’t say anything else, just left this for you.”

Petey unenthusiastically accepted the small, sealed envelope with her initials neatly inked on the front.  “P.T.”

“Thanks, Gavin.”

He dropped a light hand on her shoulder.  “Next time I’ll mace the guy.  If you need anything, you just yell, okay?”

A humorless chuckle slipped out and she nodded, assuring him, “It won’t happen again.  I’ll be moved within the week and out of town for a prolonged period of time after that.  I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Doll Face, I’m a gay man.  We live for this kind of dramatic shit.  If it doesn’t happen to us naturally, we have to create it ourselves.”  His grin was endearing.  “Thanks for saving me the trouble.”

With that, he was gone, the door closing quietly behind him. 

Petey secured the deadbolt and chain, resting her back wearily against the door. 

What a total pain the ass.  I should have known he’d figure it out eventually.  He’s slow, but not a complete dimwit. It took him almost three years though.  Let’s see how long it takes him to find me next time.  If he can.

Tossing the envelope, unopened, onto the coffee table, Petey shuffled her socked feet over the oak floors to the bathroom.  Plucking out her over-dry contact lenses with a sigh of relief, she rubbed at her eyes and flung her pants and socks toward the hamper.

It was time for a long nap. 

Slipping between the silk sheets wearing only her t-shirt and panties, Petey rolled onto her left side and snuggled down in the bed.

Her lips curled into a sleepy, sardonic smile.

Mr. Belvedere.  Too funny.