*20 - Why They Call It the Blues

Jon had his guitar in his lap, but he hadn’t strummed a chord in twenty minutes so he set it aside to reach for the thing that really held his interest.  The Mac lid was flipped open, and he once again clicked on the last entry in Cassidy’s studio track list.

This made at least the fifth time Jon had listened to it. 

After Dave and Cassidy left him alone a couple of hours ago, he’d immediately gone back for a second listen simply because he was finding it difficult to accept.  He’d had to hear it again to confirm it was as impressive as he had first believed.  When it still appealed to his ear with the same impact as the original go through, he hit it a third time to listen more critically and seek out flaws. 

He found them, if they could even be called flaws.  One slight timing issue, a nearly imperceptible lyrical slipup from Cassidy and a wrong chord on his part.  They were all things that wouldn’t exist if they had rehearsed for twenty minutes before recording the track. 

Now as their voices washed over him again, he was faced with the awareness that there might be significant changes looming on the horizon for Bon Jovi.  There was a subtle excitement at the possibility of what could be, but there was also an equal amount of dread.   

He hadn’t been lying when telling Cassidy he didn’t fuck with things that worked, and the formula he’d honed twenty years ago still worked – mostly.  What he didn’t share was the fact that he was also a creature of habit.  Tour kickoff after Superbowl, August off for the Hamptons, Christmas break at St. Baart’s.  The older he got, the more he liked routine and predictability.

That’s part of the reason this… thing with Cassidy was such a surprise.  Yes, he’d had affairs.  No big secret to anyone who could read between the lines of his interviews – or his wife, for that matter.  Most of them hadn’t meant anything beyond a physical release.  There were a few whose company he enjoyed outside of bed, but he never spent more than a day or night at a time with any of them.  It was for damn sure that none of them had been invited to spend a week because he was feeling needy.  That just didn’t happen. 

In fact, his best friends would laugh their asses off if they knew, which meant that they couldn’t find out about it under any circumstances.  Spending time with Dave and Cassidy in the same room was going to have be minimized in order to accomplish that after the look Dave had given him when “Dixie” slipped out.  It showed a little too much interest for Jon’s taste. 

The guy was an idiot, but he was a really intelligent idiot.  Given half a chance, he would have this whole thing pieced together inside an hour. Not that he would say anything about it, especially to Dorothea, but Jon didn’t want to put him in an awkward position.  Nor did he want David looking at Cassidy in that light.  She deserved better, and more respect. 

When the hell did life get so complicated?

When you invited a beautiful woman to spend the night with you.

No.  That was one of the easiest, least complicated things he had ever done, and he’d been rewarded enormously as a result.  It was his friends helping Cassidy to attain a music career that was creating the problem, and here he was considering taking on the cause himself. 

Complicated.

Out of restless curiosity, he randomly chose another track from the list and clicked on it.  It was only a brief moment before the distinctive piano intro immediately identified it as the Elton John song, “I Guess That’s Why They Call It the Blues”. 

It had been a little odd listening to a woman singing it at first, but Cassidy had given it just enough of a twist to make it not feel like a karaoke version.  A run here, an octave jump there.  It didn’t feel canned to Jon, and that was a good thing.

Her vocal quality was also good.  Exceptional, really.  It didn’t carry the same punch on its own as it did with his, in Jon’s personal opinion, but maybe he wasn’t being objective. 

Seeing as Jon had promised Obie a call after listening to the duet track, maybe it was time to make good on that promise and hear what his friend had to see.  He picked up the phone and hit a familiar series of buttons.

“So you didn’t forget my phone number or who I am.”

“You know I didn’t.”

“I dunno,” his friend drawled nasally.  “I was starting to wonder.  It doesn’t take a whole day to listen to one damn song.”

“Yeah, well, I got busy.  I’m calling now.”

“And?  What do you think?”

Jon reclined, resting his head on the back of the chair and bringing one foot to rest on the coffee table.  “Exactly what you expected me to.  It’s good.”

“Ha!  See?  I told you so!”

“Could we keep the gloating to a minimum?  Tell me what you think of her solo stuff.”

“It’s good.  Just not as good as the two of you together.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” he sighed.  “I’m gonna have to do another song with her aren’t I?”

“I think you’re a dumbass if you don’t.”

“You always think I’m a dumbass.”

“No, no, no,” Obie strongly contradicted.  “I always say you’re a dumbass.  I don’t usually believe it.  When do you want to record?  I can probably get a studio at Blackbird on Friday.”

This was not in Jon’s plans.  All he wanted to do this week was have sex and write songs with his muse.  Was that so much to ask?  Couldn’t Obie and Dave and Dorothea – and Cassidy’s talent – stay the hell out of this?  It was one lousy week.

“I have to go back to Jersey for the weekend.  Dorothea has some trip planned with her sisters so it’s me and the boys.”

“Even better!” the other man chirped optimistically.  “Bring her along and we’ll use your studio.  Saves me some money!”

Oh now wouldn’t that just be the fucking icing on the complicated cake?  With a few problematic sprinkles thrown on top.  And a candle.

If this was strictly business, you wouldn’t think twice about it.  Hell, you’d have her staying in the guest house.

Valid point, but it wasn’t strictly business and he couldn’t conduct non-business in his own house with his two youngest sons in residence.  That didn’t cross a line, it blew up the entire terrain and subjected it to new landscaping. 

Goddammit, he didn’t want Cassidy to be business.  He wanted the week of self-indulgence and productivity that had been dangled in front of him like a tantalizing carrot.  Now the carrot was trying to bludgeon him to death.

“Yeah, I guess,” he ended up conceding, barely keeping the frustration from his voice.  “She’s supposed to come see me when she’s finished with Dave.  I’ll pitch the idea.”

“And while you’re at it, could you ask her to return my damn texts?  I’ve sent her three today with no response.”

“You realize I’m not actually your secretary, right?”

“That’s just what I let you believe.  Later.”

###

It was an hour later when the knock finally came at Jon’s door and, by the time it did, he was hovering on the brink of a very foul mood.  He’d fully intended to spend that hour writing, but his intentions had been irrelevant because, once again, he couldn’t write shit.

“Hey, Kemosabe,” Dave greeted when the door opened and piloted Cassidy inside.  “How’s it hangin’?”

She looked happy, so Jon presumed piano lessons had been a success.  Of course, she was nearly always happy.  That had been part of her appeal from the start.  At this moment, however, it just annoyed him.

“Hey.”  He left them to close the door while he went back to his chair.  “How did it go?”

“Great, actually.”  Dave plunked down on the couch, patting the cushion beside him in invitation for Cassidy to sit, annoying Jon further.  “Dixie has a great ear and good instinct.  I think she’s going to improve a lot in a very short time.”

Hearing “his” nickname for her so casually roll from David’s lips threw another log on the fire of Jon’s irritability, and he couldn’t come up with a socially acceptable response.  Feeling very mature in not punching his friend in the face, he gave a simple nod.  “Do you want a guitar lesson this afternoon, too, Cassidy?”

The look in her eyes was a bit quizzical, and he assumed he wasn’t doing a good job of canning his mood.  “If you don’t have somethin’ else you’d rather be doin’, then sure.”

“I was kind of thinking lunch,” his buddy counter-offered.  “It’s almost three.  I haven’t had anything except a stale donut, and I’m pretty sure I heard her stomach growling earlier.”

Cassidy’s head shook with denial, giving Jon another glance from the corner of her eye.  “I’m not really all that hungry,” she contradicted.  “If he has the time and inclination, I’d prefer the guitar lesson right now.”

It was quite possible that no other words could have gone as far in soothing his frustration.  He was going to get five minutes alone with her, and planned to take full advantage of it.

“That’s cool.  Dinner, then?”

“I’ll call you when we’re done.”  Jon didn’t agree, but he didn’t disagree either.  He just wanted his friend out of this room.  Now.

David stood.  Thank God, he stood.

“Fair enough.  Cassidy, it’s been a pleasure.  I’ll see you guys later.”

The ever-polite Southern girl popped up out of her seat to offer her piano tutor a kiss to the cheek, while Jon tried not to scowl.  “Thank you so much for your time.”

With a wave of his hand, David Bryan disappeared out the door, doubtless headed for his own room, and Cassidy turned to where Jon stood by the window.  When he put his feet in motion to approach her, she put a hand out to stop him.

“The last time I saw that look on your face, you pinned me against a wall.  I trust that’s not about to happen again?”

Jon stopped in his tracks with a sigh of disgust.  It might have, had she not called him out.  As it was, he strove for a tone that wasn't crabby as all hell. “I am not happy right now, and would really like you to help me forget that fact.”

The grin she gave him was as slow and sexy as the way her Barbie doll shoes moved across the carpet.  The hand that had halted him a moment ago now lit lightly against his dark t-shirt, and she tipped her head back to regard him with what looked a hell of a lot like affection.

“Much more effective than the caveman routine, honey.  I’d love to help you forget.”

How it was possible for her to get any higher on her toes, he had no idea, but she managed to do it and brush their lips together.  The whisper of her breath mingled with his silently offered the escape he wanted, and Jon wasted no time in splaying one hand over each of her ears, holding her steady for an invasive kiss.  His tongue plunged deep, drinking of her flavor and happiness until he was all but drunk with it. 

“Tell me what you want, darlin’,” she purred as he moved from her mouth to her neck, purposely sucking at it harder than he should.  If he couldn’t beat his chest and claim her publicly so that other men wouldn’t call her Dixie, he damn well wanted the world to know she belonged to somebody – no matter how temporary it may be.

“All of you.”  His growled reply was so vague he didn’t even know what it truly meant, but he pushed at the hem of her shirt, seeking the skin it kept hidden.  If he was going to be bound by limitations and rules that were beyond his control, those were the only limitations he would tolerate.  “Give me everything.”

“Buttercup, there’s not much of me you ain’t already had.” 

The light-heartedness in her endearment made him greedy for that same light-heartedness.  He wanted that for himself.  He’d had it for himself until motherfucking real life had intruded upon it.

“Then I want it again until neither one of us can fucking walk.”

Jon pawed at her clothes, pushing them up, down and off while somehow doing the same with his.  Their mouths were fused when he walked her backward into the bedroom, and he feasted on her like a starving man who had been deprived of her taste for years instead of hours.  He wouldn’t have broken the kiss except to deposit her on the mattress and crawl between her thighs. 

“Oh Lordy,” she groaned with a husky timbre that incited him further.

His lips dove to the pink delicacy nestled at the very center of her, suckling until the back of his tongue was coated with honey that already flowed for him.  He ate her because he could.  Because she allowed it.  Because she would allow Jon to take everything he needed until his world normalized.  Until he could walk through it with confidence that his identity remained intact.  That he still had all the skill and talent it took to survive – flourish – in the music business.

Rolling hips thrust harder against his onslaught in search of the final push she needed to topple, and her hands cradled his head to place his mouth where she wanted it, but Jon resisted.  He didn’t want her to go yet.  Not until he was submerged so deep inside that Dixie would swear she was choking on him.  He wanted to feel those muscles rippling over his dick, milking at him until he had no choice but to topple with her.

“Motherfucker,” he rumbled when, at last, shrouded in the Southern sweetness that felt so damn much like his salvation.  Jon hitched her thigh up to seek deeper penetration and groaned at the pleasure the extra inch gave him.  His sole regret was that he didn’t have more inches to push inside her, only able to imagine how much better it might be. 

“That’s it, baby.”  Her purr filled his ear along with the heat of her breath as she kissed along his neck and jaw, her other leg folding around his waist while that talented hand of hers slipped low to make sure she didn't miss out on anything.  “Show me how good it is.”

Challenge accepted.

Jon dug stabilizing fingers into her hip as he pounded forward, keeping that leg hooked around him.  He moved incrementally from one side to the other until her strangled gasp declared that he’d found optimal friction, and that’s where he stayed, alongside her diddling fingers.  Fighting against the feminine muscles that wanted to hold him captive so that he could push and pull, retreat and attack, until she screamed with satisfaction. 

He knew before she screamed.  The instant she cracked, those mysterious muscles clamped down and gave him exactly what he sought – they rippled over his dick, milking him in a sure, steady rhythm until he cracked right along with her.

Jon collapsed, breathing heavily against her shoulder as the miracle of Dixie worked its way through every single muscle.  It delivered a bounty of bliss in its wake, aided by the gentle fingers she repetitively pushed through his hair.

They were almost as gentle as her voice when she asked, “Think you might wanna talk about it sometime?  What makes you so crazy that you look for sanity between my legs?”