38 - Plumb Nuts

“Cassidy, you wanna try something with Lema?”

Staring thoughtfully out the window as she sipped her tenth cup of coffee for the day, Cassidy’s first instinct was to refuse the proposal.  It was nine o’clock, darkness coated the outside world and not a single good thing had come of this day.  The two and a half hours following David and Obie’s return had actually been worse than the first six hours of their studio day, as impossible as it seemed. 

Jon had struggled to make a decision about what he wanted to do.  When he finally did make one, he changed his mind two minutes later before finally going back to the first choice.  Basically, they’d spent the evening listening to him mutter frustrated obscenities and, when he barked at Cassidy for starting the song he asked for instead of the one he wanted, the guys decided enough was enough.  Both of his friends bluntly told him he wasn’t producing anything worth a damn, he was a pain in the ass, and that he needed to get out before they killed him. 

It was a testimony to his fatigue that Jon agreed to go with only a cursory argument, but he was still muttering obscenities when he walked out the door half an hour ago.  Based on the text she’d received shortly thereafter, which asked if she wanted to stay at the hotel or cabin while he was gone, Cassidy assumed he was now on his way back to New Jersey.

Her belongings were in the back seat of the Jeep alongside her dirty laundry, so she had chosen the cabin and returned a quick message to that effect.  It was for the best, but that decision came with another lengthy drive at the end of her day and she still had to wash her clothes. 

If she left now, it would be at least two hours before she got home.  Adding another two or three hours on top of that just to goof around in the studio sounded like torture right now.

You’re also floating on the lazy coffee river, which means you’ll be up all night worryin’ about Jon, anyway.  Might as well enjoy the distraction they’re offerin’.

“What’d you have in mind?” she inquired, rotating her torso and twisting to relieve some of tightness that had come from sitting on a hard stool in front of the mic all day.  A glass of wine would have been more therapeutic than the coffee; it was just too bad she hadn’t thought of it sooner.

“I dunno.”  He lightly smacked David, who was at the lounge’s dinette table scrolling through his phone.  “Any ideas?”

“Huh?”  Blank blue eyes flipped back and forth between her and Obie.  “I wasn’t listening.”

The burden that Obie suffered was enormous if the depth of his sigh was any indication.  “Singing.  With Cassidy.”

“Yeah, sure.”  He immediately pushed to his feet, the phone simultaneously sliding into his pocket.  “What floats your boat, Dixie girl?  I don’t know a lot of shit kicking country music, but I’m game.”

Her mouth bemusedly curved around the edge of her coffee cup.  His assumption that she was a country music girl was right up there with believing that her slow drawl was a measure of her IQ.  Human beings were a peculiar lot in the way they stereotyped others to make themselves more comfortable.

“See those shoes?” Obie directed David’s attention to the ruby heels she still wore.  “They sure as hell aren’t shit kickin’ boots.  Our girl is a rocker."

The big blonde man’s forehead furrowed in perplexity.  “But… You were singing Patsy Cline on the solo I heard.  And hymns earlier today.”

“Honey, likin’ Queen or Aerosmith doesn’t mean I’m pure heathen,” Cassidy laughed.  “My MeMaw raised me right; it just didn’t stick quite as tight as she hoped it would.  And Patsy Cline was Obie’s doin’, not mine.”

“Oh.”  A light of remembrance dawned in his eyes.  “Hey, that reminds me.  Did you ever find that friend of your grandmother’s?”

Cassidy wrinkled her nose with disgust, because Beauregard Beasley was still missing in action.  He remained well hidden from her, in any case, even after doing all the things David had suggested.   It was starting to get under her skin.

“No, not yet.”

“Why don’t you let me take a stab at it?” It was nearly an exact echo of his generous offer from the other night.  “It will give me something to do other than trot around after Obie and Jon like a damn dog.”

“Fuck you,” Obie muttered absently as he now scrolled through his own phone.  “Jon’s back at the hotel alive, by the way, and it’s not my fault you don’t have a life.”

He was at the hotel?  That surprised Cassidy, but perhaps he was just stopping by to check out and pick up his things before leaving town. 

“Thank you for pointing out that I don’t have a life, because that’s precisely my point.  Justify my oxygen intake, Dixie belle.” 

It was tempting to take David up on that offer.  Sorely tempting because Google, database searches and general internet research weren’t exactly her forte.  She could conduct basic inquiries, but Cassidy worried that she was missing something significant due to her lack of expertise. 

What kept that temptation in check was the fact that, in order to accept his assistance, she would have to provide more information on Mr. Beasley than she wanted to give.  It was just better if no one but she and Libby knew why Beauregard was a person of interest. 

“I ‘preciate the offer, honey, but I’ll just muddle along on my own,” Cassidy declined as gently as she knew how so as not to offend him.  She’d stuck her foot in her mouth enough lately.  “There’s no sense in tyin’ yourself up with it.”

His face spoke volumes about his inability to comprehend the irrational ways of stubborn women.  “I’m not giving you part of my liver; it’s just a few minutes of time.”

Cassidy’s sense of humor was sparked and she couldn’t keep from absurdly remarking, “Since I don’t have a good recipe for liver, I’m much obliged to you for keepin’ that.  I’ll be fine on my own, thank ya.”

“Jeez, Hannibal the Cannibal.  Stubborn much?”

“Very much,” she concurred without hesitation and accompanied the agreement with a feisty grin.  “It’s part of my charm.”

“Well, use your charm to pick a damn song, so we can get this show on the road.  And pick something fun, would ya?”

No charm would be necessary to accomplish that task, because she had already chosen.  Cassidy regretted not being able to do this song during the last studio visit and, now that Jon had presented her with ruby slippers and admitted he heard her voice instead of Judy Garland’s, there really was no other option to consider.

Bumping her grin a little wider, she kicked one high heel up to touch her backside.  “You’re gonna need to refer to the shoes again for my selection.  You get to save your voice, though.  I require nothing more than your stellar piano playin’.”

Obie glanced up from his phone with a snort.  “Why am I not surprised?”

His eyes shifted between the room’s two other occupants in expectation, but the answer wasn’t provided quickly enough to suit David, leaving him to complain, “Since I’m obviously the only one in the dark here, is somebody gonna fucking clue me in?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Lema, meet Nashville’s answer to Judy Garland,” Obie presented with an absent wave while swiping his phone with one thumb and walking around the corner to the soundboard.  “She wants to do ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’.”

Cassidy was finding things increasingly amusing as the caffeine buzz kicked in and she giggled at his disappearing form before fixing mischievous eyes on David.  “He’s smarter than y’all give him credit for.”

“I heard that.”

“You…”  David’s finger waggled in her face, before he hooked an arm around her neck and walked her toward the recording booth.  “You’re a damn troublemaker.  I could grow to like you.” 

“Okay, children,” Obie announced from his soundboard throne.  The phone had been put aside and he was clearly ready to work.  “Playtime is over.  Let’s get something recorded that doesn’t make me feel like I’ve flushed an entire day of my life down the crapper.”

Cassidy climbed onto the stool with a laugh and settled the headphones onto her ears.  “No pressure, though, right?”

“Let’s just say… less than there has been.”

“No shit,” David emphatically validated his friend’s statement and took his place at the keyboard.  “Gimme a sec to pull Dorothy up for a quick listen.  Any particular key, Cass?”

“C is fine.”

“You’re easy.”

“You bein’ snide again?” she sassed with a teasing wink as he once again swiped at his phone.  “Hey, can I ask y’all a question?”

“May as well,” was Obie’s sighing opinion.  “Since we’re stuck waiting on Lema to figure out his shit.”

One long middle finger flew up in the air before returning to the iPhone screen.  “How in the hell was I supposed to predict I’d ever, in my fucking life, need to know this song?  I mean, come on!”

“Cassidy, what’s the question?”

She covered a yawn with the back of one hand and blinked her eyes hard, praying the coffee wasn’t wearing off just yet.  “You think Jon is really gonna consider usin’ me for the band?”

“He’d be a stupid sonofoabitch not to,” the man outside the booth stated flatly.

“That means he probably won’t, especially considering today’s clusterfuck,” David predicted with a frown, still scrolling.  “Damn shame, too.  I’d rather look at your ass than his.”

“David!”  It felt only proper to feign indignation at his directness, but Cassidy was actually feeling quite pleased with herself.  She’d gotten more compliments on her backside in the last week than she had in years and was glad she hadn’t given up Pilates when she wanted to – or the sadistic StairMaster.  They were evidently doing the job.

HIs eyes slipped up long enough to deliver look of bored disbelief.  “Like you don’t know you have an amazing ass.”

Not knowing whether to take him seriously – about Jon’s intentions, not her backside – she turned an inquiring gaze on Obie.  “So, no?”

“He could surprise me, but I’d bank on no.”  Narrow shoulders lifted helplessly.  “Doesn’t mean we still can’t get you on the scene, just not with Jovi.”

Knowing that she couldn’t accept such an offer was irrelevant to Cassidy’s pride.  Her voice was at least as good as her backside and she wanted the offer.  She wanted him to think her good enough to give an offer to and there was still a chance, if these men would lend a hand.

“Dammit all to hell,” she drawled dividing her smile equally between them.  “Y’all convinced me I can sing and I’m gonna be eleventy-two shades of insulted if he isn’t on his knees beggin’ me to help out his little ole band.  Think we can cook somethin’ up that might convince him?”

“Well, rainbows sure as fuck aren’t going to do it,” proclaimed the sarcastic man who was still in search of the music for that song.

“Oh, but you’ll indulge me that one outta the sheer goodness of your heart.”  Cassidy batted her lashes with a proficiency that would make Scarlett O’Hara proud.  “Won’t you, honey?”

Rather than falling at her feet to do her bidding, she found herself the object of David’s narrow-eyed scrutiny.  “What’s it worth to you?”

“How abut I stand in front of you while I sing?  You can watch my ass,” she cheekily proposed.  “That work?”

“Eh.”  He shrugged in resignation.  “I’ve done worse for less.  What the hell?”

Cassidy giggled and blew him a flirtatious kiss.  “Thank ya, darlin’.  Now what about for Jon?”

Reaching for a pen, David began scribbling something down from his phone screen and she expected it was the chord progression for “Rainbow”.  Since he was busy, she turned her question to her adoptive mentor. 

“Obie?”

“Yeah, I’m thinkin’.”  One arm was propped on the soundboard while he tapped his chin with the index finger of the opposite hand.  “If you’re going to prove you're capable of singing with the band, I guess you should try a Bon Jovi song.  One that his voice won’t let him do so much anymore.”

“That’s easy,” David remarked without looking up from his notations.  “He cusses every time somebody mentions doing ‘Always’.”

She knew the song.  It qualified as a greatest hit for the band and was challenging.  Then again, most of Jon’s songs were.  He just made them look easy.

“That’s true,” Obie conceded.  “I was thinking of ‘In These Arms’ or ‘Make a Memory’, but ‘Always’ is a good choice.”

David’s curls swung along with his head.  “Scratch ‘Memory’.  Carries too many ghosts for him.  He won’t be able to focus on her, and that defeats the purpose.  ‘In These Arms’ and ‘Always’.”

“With my song that makes three,” she stated the obvious.  “Y’all plannin’ on spendin’ the night here?”

“What else do you gotta do, Dorothy?”

If she was Dorothy, he was the Scarecrow with the mop of straw-colored hair that sat on his head.  Obie would probably be a good Tinman, so all they needed now was a Cowardly Lion and Toto.

Focus, girl.

“Laundry is what else I’ve gotta do.  So unless you wanna do it for me, I think we oughta keep it short and sweet.”

Limber fingers stretched over the keyboard, experimentally testing out the chords to Cassidy’s anthem.  “Seems like I’d be the sicko who would enjoy washing your unmentionables, but I’m disturbingly mainstream in that regard.  Be happy to buy you new ones, though.”

“Oh my word.”  He was the most incorrigible, unpredictable, unrepentant, rottenest man she’d ever met – also one of the funniest.  The laughter started way down low in her belly, where the coffee sat, then bubbled up like a fountain of caffeinated humor.  “Anybody ever tell you you’re plumb nuts, honey?”

“Not in those exact words.”

“Fucking moron he hears a lot.  I can vouch for that personally,” Obie threw in.

These men from New Jersey were going to be the death of her.  If they didn’t drive her as crazy as David first, she would ultimately die from laughter at their audaciousness.  Tonight, she appreciated that  more than she could express.

“Alright, alright.”  She wiped the tears from her eyes and swallowed one more chuckle.  “How about you get me outta here in two hours or less and I wash my own unmentionables?  Think we can do that?”

“Done,” David promised.  “And I’ll teach you how ‘In These Arms’ should really be sung.”

37 - Happy(?) Together

Cassidy stood quietly in the doorway of Studio H watching Jon, who was sitting with his legs crossed in one of the desk chairs at the soundboard.  His head was leaned back, his eyes closed and he strummed the same tune she and Obie eavesdropped on earlier today.  They weren’t at an idyllic spot in their “friendship” right now, but the way he mourned the fingerprints he’d left behind – on her – had ripped at her heart.

“Can I talk to you?” she softly drew attention to her presence before approaching him. 

Broad fingers immediately ceased their movement on the strings, but it took a moment for him open his eyes and spin the chair to fully face her. 

“I thought you went to eat with them?”

By them, he meant Obie and David.  After six hours of being unable to meet Jon’s unreasonably perfectionistic demands, they’d both loudly declared it time for dinner break and explicitly disinvited him with the assurance they’d bring back something for him to eat.  Each man had grabbed one of Cassidy’s arms and they’d shuffled her out of the “lion’s den” for her own protection. 

All the way to the car, she had allowed it because she thought maybe Jon could use some time alone.  But then she remembered the sullen despondence on his face that was so much like the man she’d first met, and how he’d found some measure of comfort in her.  In light of the past twenty-four hours, it was possible that he may no longer find her comforting, but she was compelled to stay on the off chance that he might.

Obie and David were climbing into Obie's rental car when she begged off by saying there were calls that she needed to make.  Her excuse was met with initial resistance from David in particular, who insisted that she needed a break.  As well meaning as it was, she had disregarded his opinion and, after requesting that they bring her back a salad, she had then turned on her heel and returned to the studio to find Jon.

“Changed my mind.”

With a nod, he sat up and leaned the battered guitar against the wall before gesturing to the empty chair beside him.  “Sit.”

Accepting the seat he offered, Cassidy noticed that the dimness in here was unkind to the man who had looked tired in full lighting.  The dark shadows cutting across his face ardently emphasized hollowed cheeks, purple under-eye smudges and deep creases in his forehead to illustrate him as a poster child for exhaustion. 

“You sleep at all last night?”

“No.”  He was looking past her, down the hallway or at some random point she didn’t bother trying to identify.

“That when you wrote that song?  The fingerprints one?”

“Yes.”

Cassidy was legitimately pleased to find that he’d accomplished something today because, as David had predicted, the studio had been a complete waste of time.  Jon’s patience was short, his physical exhaustion had taken a toll on his voice, and he and Cassidy just weren’t clicking.  In her opinion, they hadn’t recorded a single thing worth saving.

“It’s pretty.  Sad, but pretty.”

“Mm.”

The memory of their last time in this studio was still rich in her mind.  He’d used the same kind of brief responses that he was using now and she’d thought it was incredibly sexy.  Now it made her feel shut out, because they’d come so far past that.  Until yesterday.

So what did she do?  Confront him until he broke down and told her what was going on in his head?  Told her what had prompted his abrupt change of personality yesterday?  What had prompted him to intentionally lash out at her?

It might not be a bad idea since she truly was clueless, but that kind of badgering might not do anything but infuriate him further.

You want him happy, not a hot mess.

As twisted as it was, it was true.  Cassidy might be curious as to the rhyme or reason for yesterday but, in the grand scheme of things, it was as irrelevant as her injured feelings.  She’d brought that on herself by glamorizing their relationship and would work it out on her own.  For now, she was back to square one with nothing more than a desire to see him smile again.

Offering a warm smile to pave the way, she crossed her legs and let one ruby-clad foot dangle near his denim shin.  “Hey, guess who I ran into on Friday?”

His gaze darted back to her and this time it was awash with confusion.  “Who?”

“Clay Adams,” she relayed conversationally.  “You know, I never did hear what you two were puttin’ your heads together over.  What was that all about, if ya don’t mind my askin’?”

Again, he went back to his random point of focus and was now shaking his head.  “Cassidy, what are you doing?”

“Could you look at me, please, instead of starin’ off into space?”

Bleary eyes locked into hers.  “Okay.”

“Thank you.”  Cassidy uncrossed her legs and crossed them the other way, praying for patience and divine intervention.  “I am makin’ conversation.  I talk; you talk.  We exchange thoughts and experiences.  It’s what friends do.”

“Is that what we are?  Friends?”

 “I find it preferable to believin’ you don’t give a flyin’ fig about me, so yes.  We’re friends.  Now tell me about Clay.  Or Richie, if you prefer.  I hear you contacted him.”

Lord, please don’t go lettin’ this stubborn man cut his nose off to spite his face.  Don’t let him shut me out when he’s confided that I’m the only happiness he’s known lately.  Let him just be happy.  Or even content.  I can make do just fine with content, but I can’t stand to see him miserable.  In Jesus’s name, Amen.

What was it about this woman?  He knew that he’d been unjustly cruel to her yesterday, even if it was done as a rash act of self-preservation.  She’d verbally bitch slapped him over it twice, yet refused countless apologies.  Now she was simply ready to sit down and be friends?

“I don’t know what the hell to think about you.”

“I believe men have been sayin’ that very thing about women since Adam and Eve,” she chuckled, leaning forward to pat his knee.  “Don’t think, baby doll, just talk to me about somethin’ that don’t matter so you can get out of your own head.  Life is beautiful.  Make an effort to see it.”

Damn if he didn’t feel the rumble that foretold of another emotional earthquake.    

Ignore the sonofabitch and do like the lady suggested.  Get out of your own head.

“Clay offered to sell me his part of the Titans.”

“That’s good, right?  You want a team?”

Why was he so damn surprised to see that her face alight with genuine delight?  It was a startling contrast to Dorothea’s polite interest when he talked about football teams, and he found it a bit dumbfounding to realize Cassidy was pleased simply because she believed he was. 

It was… nice.

“Oh, I want a team, all right.  I got too excited too soon, though.”  Heavy eyelids fell closed and he shook his head.  “Remember the second night you came to the hotel?”

“You’d had a very bad day, as I recall.”

And sought to take it out on Cassidy, who had then gone out of her way to put his “bad” day in perspective.  The very same night he decided that his want for her had become a need.

You think that’s changed just because you got spooked by your own feelings?  Isn’t she making things seem better just by being your “friend”?  Just talk to her for Christ’s sake.

“You got pulled over that day.” It was one of the things she’d told him to be grateful for – that he hadn’t been pulled over by the police – and he forced curious eyes open to ask, “How come?”

The frown pulling at her mouth was nothing more than a mild annoyance.  “Busted taillight.  He let me off with a warning.”

He’d suspected something minor, but now he knew. 

Pillowing his head against the high chair back and Jon revealed, “I met with Clay and his family – the other owners – that day.  Two aunts own two-thirds of the team and he, his brother and mom split the other third.  Four out of five of those people were fine with the deal.  One of the aunts, Amy, said no and hell no.  Under no circumstances would they sell part of her daddy’s team to a stranger, much less someone whose family wasn’t even here for the Civil War.”

“So much for Southern hospitality.”

Southern hospitality was about as far removed from that woman as Pluto was from the sun.  The moment he walked into that meeting, she’d regarded him like something on the bottom of her shoe and it had gone downhill from there.  Clay hadn’t fared much better, having been treated like an unruly child instead of a grown man who wanted to sell his personal investment.  Jon had been almost as angry on Clay’s behalf as he was his own.

“She was a royal bitch about the whole thing.  I get pissed just remembering it.”

Cassidy uncrossed her legs and twisted to look out the doorway, then turned back to reach for his hand.  Her caution drew his interest, and Jon lifted his head to connect with sapphire eyes brimming compassion and sincerity.   

“I’m still willin’ to help you forget your bad days, baby doll.  Includin’ this one.”

“Why?”  It was a pussy thing to ask and he blamed it on exhaustion, but he couldn’t fathom what might make her say that.  Not now. 

Dainty fingers squeezed his before she allowed them to slip free and Cassidy reclined in her chair to assume a more physically neutral position. 

“You prob’ly remember hearin’ that I care about you.”  She shrugged.  “Might make me a naïve fool, but that didn’t go away because of some misunderstandin’.”

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He cursed because she tempted him.  He cursed because she was an extraordinary woman that shouldn’t be reduced to soothing his neuroses.  He cursed because she could. 

He cursed because he still cared, too.

“I’m too tired to get it up,” he weakly declined.  While it was probably true, Jon offered it because he was half-afraid to have sex with her again. 

“You still got those little blue pills?  One of them would prob’ly do the trick.”

What the hell? How does she know about that?

He’d never used the damn things.  Not once.  The only reason he even had them was…  Well, his recent history had affected many things and Jon hadn’t tested that particular thing out yet when he’d had the first stirrings of his Cassidy craving.  He’d wanted to be prepared if the occasion called for it.

“I apologize for bein’ nosy,” she murmured, clearly reading his displeasure and taking steps to temper it.  “Your shavin’ kit was open that first mornin’ and I happened to see your medicine.”

My medicine.  Including the anti-depressants.  Tremendous. 

“Were you nosy enough to see that there weren’t any missing?”

She batted her eyelashes and unabashedly stated, “Yes.  I also noticed it was filled the day after we met.  That a coincidence?”

“What do you want, Dixie?” he sighed, lack of rest making him grumpier than usual at having to explain himself.  “You want me to say I wanted you the minute I saw you bent over that fucking table at Tully’s?  I did.  And if I got the chance to have you, I was making sure neither of us damn-well left disappointed.”

Her face was nothing but soft affection when she assured him with equally soft words. “Nobody left disappointed, baby doll.  Not one time.”

Christ, he wanted her.  He didn’t want to fuck her, he wanted her – to wrap herself around him while he slept and infuse him with her happy.  He wanted it so bad he could practically taste it.

Why?  So you can be scared shitless again when she pops that cork on your feelings?  Go home and… just go home. 

“I think you’ve had enough today,” Cassidy suggested gently.  “Why don’t you go back to the hotel and crawl in bed?  I’ll offer your apologies to David and Obie, then come by later and join you.”

Fatigue.   Lack of sleep.  Tiredness.  Mental instability.  All of those were inviting the emotions to run loose with a red flag high in the air.  Everything seemed so fucking overwhelming right now that he couldn’t think. 

Jon rubbed at both eyes as they prickled with… exhaustion. 

“I have to head back to Jersey tonight,” he muttered, kicking himself in the ass as he did it.  “Not sure when I’ll be back.”

Jon wasn’t watching her face – couldn’t – so he had no idea whether she was placating him or politely begging him to stay with her when she said, “Honey, you’re too tired.  Get some sleep and go in the morning.”

He was too tired. 

He was so tired that, if he stayed, Jon might do something stupid – something he would end up regretting.   There was no way he could trust himself to stay.

“I have to leave tonight.”

36 - Fingerprints

Jon’s heel slowly lifted and fell against the bottom rung on the recording booth stool, setting the beat as mindless fingers ran up and down the strings of his Takamine.  The music wasn’t complex.  Just a simple rippling melody that he’d developed to accompany this morning’s new lyrics, and he was quietly checking the fit.

“I gave you my fingerprints.  Left them all over you.  Tangled up in your sheets.  This heartache’s the only proof.  I gave you my fingerprints.  Now just like you, they’re gone.”

“Have you talked to her?” Obie popped into the booth.

The uncannily timed question would have startled Jon if it had come out of the blue, but it was the third time Obie had questioned Cassidy’s whereabouts since the clock hit noon.  That was fifteen minutes ago, and his friend seemed to be getting more agitated as the minutes ticked by.

“No.” 

In no sense of the word had he talked to her, beyond the apologies that were as repetitive as the notes he currently strummed.  They’d worked for a very long time last night but hadn’t talked, and she’d been gone when he returned from the hotel gym.  That’s when he had started thinking nobody but her would ever know she wore his fingerprints, and that he might not be leaving another set.

Because, in that maddeningly unkind way that life had, Jon’s mental release of Richie yesterday hadn’t cleared his fucked up head.  It had only made room for different things to fuck it up.  Namely, Cassidy and the goddamn feelings she’d cajoled into running loose.  The little sons of bitches had been rudely crammed back into their defective vault for the most part.  There was only a slight lingering of melancholy left, but he thought it might be a good idea for him to head back to Jersey for a while and maintain some distance until he was sure he had his head screwed on straight.

There was something that baffled him, though, other than his inclination to cling to a woman he'd known for such a short time.  When his head had been fucked up before, he hadn't been able to compose music.  This time, with Cassidy as the one fucking up his head, he maintained that ability.  Or at least he assumed he did, since this particular piece of music had come to him after she left this morning.

Jon chose to interpret that unmitigated irony as another reason to go home.  If he didn't need her as his muse, he should be able to finish the album in New Jersey while she remained in Tennessee.

You’re running like a pussy, just because she made you feel something. 

His fingers moved more persistently over the guitar strings as the stubborn Italian in him refused to concede that thought.

In a rare moment of awareness in his surroundings, Obie pointed to the guitar and demanded, “What is that?  Something new?”

“Maybe.”

“Good.”  Then he was gone to check the hallway for Cassidy.  Again.  “Ah!  There she is!”

Jon didn’t bother lifting his head from the Takamine, knowing that she would be smiling and radiant, as always.  He knew it as well as he knew how that radiance affected his body after an absence of minutes or hours, so the budding melody held his undivided attention until a voice demanded his attention.  It wasn’t her voice that had him peering through the glass with scrutiny, but another very familiar one that he hadn’t expected to accompany her arrival.

“After you, lovely lady,” David’s brown-nosingly polite voice carried easily through the booth’s open door.  He removed his arm from Cassidy's shoulders to usher her into the outer sanctuary of the studio, but not before Jon noticed how familiarly that arm had been draped.  “Thank you for allowing me to be your escort from the parking lot.”

He then mumbled something that was deadened by the soundproof glass and Jon was prevented from hearing what it was.  Cassidy had no such problem, however, because she was now lifting her face to David’s as if…

Goddammit if David Bryan didn’t bend over and deposit a clinging kiss on her lips. 

“I’m not paying for studio time so you can fuck around, Bryan,” Jon barked loudly.  “She’s late and I’m blaming you.”

“It's not his fault,” Cassidy interjected with a sweet smile as she glided away from David, who inconspicuously threw Jon the finger.  “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, so my ass is draggin'.  If I can just refill my coffee cup, I’ll be ready.”

She’d gotten more than he had, since Jon hadn’t slept at all.  However, considering that coffee was the only reason he was upright and functional, he couldn't very well deny her the same opportunity.

“Don’t take all day.”

Obie's  knitted eyebrows and narrowed eyes clearly enunciated, "What is your problem, asshole?" The roll of Dave's eyes abbreviated that thought to just, "Asshole," but his revived middle finger added an exclamation point.  

In hindsight, a little sleep may have made this day go a lot smoother.

“Take your time, Cassidy,” David contradicted, patting her lightly between the shoulder blades before moving toward the booth.  “I need to talk to Jon before we start.”

When the door closed behind his friend, it effectively created a soundproof seal around them.  Jon's hackles immediately rose at the knowledge that's what Dave wanted.  He knew that no one would know what was being said in the booth without flipping the mic switch or the ability to read lips. That meant Dave didn’t want anyone to know. 

That belief was validated when his keyboardist skirted around the actual keyboard to put his back to the outer studio and say, “You might want to let me know if Obie gets near the mic switch.”

“What do you want?”  Jon wasn't proud of the surly belligerence that came spilling out but it wasn't possible to call it back, so he stuck out his chin with coordinating belligerence.

“Woww...  I would’ve thought you’d be Mary fuckin’ Sunshine, but working through your mental baggage obviously makes you a prick.”

“Obviously.”  Jon’s eyes slid from David as he gave himself permission to finally look at Cassidy while he absently plucked at the guitar.  Fatigue was evident in her features, but she was no less beautiful for it with hair, makeup and smile all in place to detract from the slight lines and puffiness around her eyes.  The red bandana in her hair matched her t-shirt, and he would bet she was wearing the shoes he’d gotten her to round out the color scheme.  He kind of hoped she was.  “Get to the point, Lema.”

“The point is, asshole, that she kissed me because I asked her to help me yank your chain.  Mission fucking accomplished, I’d say.”

I'm about to choke you with that chain.

“Not interested in playing games today, Dave.  I’m here to work.”

Still watching the woman who was now pouring a second cup of coffee, Jon braced himself for the backlash of sarcasm that was undoubtedly ready to be unleashed from David's acerbic tongue.  Or the righteous indignation on behalf of Cassidy, or whatever other verbal retribution was brewing under those Goldilocks curls.  He'd known the man too long and would bet every song royalty he owned that Dave was chomping at the bit to lambast him with some type of scathing commentary.

Yet he didn't.

For whatever reason, be it pity or common sense, his long-time buddy opted to let Jon off the hook and keep the scornful sermon to himself.

“What’s that?” Dave nodded toward the guitar to indicate the “Fingerprints” melody that still flowed from Jon’s guitar strings. 

“New song.”

“Courtesy of the muse?”

“Yeah.”

“Lemme hear it.”

Jon gave up ogling Cassidy and returned his attention to the man inside the sound booth.  The man who, knowing what he did about the woman they referred to as "the muse", would effortlessly read the subtext in these lyrics.

Was Jon ready to put himself out there that way?

That’s what musicians do, dumb fuck.  If it’s going on the album, he’ll hear it eventually.  Now or later, what difference does it make?

“Melody’s brand new.  Lyrics aren’t finished, so it’s rough,” was the only consent he gave before taking up the the hauntingly poignant tune and locating a focal point far away from David’s face.  “I’ll give ya the first verse and the chorus.”

“I gave you my fing-er-prinnts

Left them all oo-ver youu

Tangled up in your sheetss

This heartache's the on-ly prooof

I gave you my fing-er-prinnts

Now, just like you, they're goone

The man in-vis-i-ble

I'll be him from now on

The laast tiime that I saww themm they were runn-ingg throughh your haair

You heldd onne bee-tween your lipss

And brouught aa-no-ther there

The last tiime that I saaw themm I haave-n't seen them sinnce

No matter whoo or what II touch

I leaave no ev-i-dence

I. Gave. You. My finnn-gerrr-printss”

“Well.”  David stood upright, turning to look over his shoulder, and Jon’s gaze followed.  Obie must have hit the mic switch since he and Cassidy both were silently staring into the booth.  “That’s depressing as hell, but I hear there’s a market for that.  Emo is still a thing, right?”

There was no reason to dignify his friend’s psycho brand of satire with an answer, nor was he acknowledging the deep contemplation defining that same friend’s features.  And if he wasn't acknowledging David's contemplative pose, he sure as hell wasn't addressing Obie's.

And Cassidy...

She knew as well as Dave did who the players in those lyrics were and had absorbed a fair dose of Jon's anguish for herself.  Her eyebrows had drawn together in distress, her mouth had pulled into a tight little frown and he didn't even want to speculate on what thoughts might be churning behind those darkly troubled eyes.

They both needed to think about something else - immediately, if not sooner.  If they didn't, this whole scene was about to become embarrassingly maudlin.

“Cassidy,” he summoned, shifting into business-mode.  “You wanna join us in here and get to work?  Time’s a wastin’.  Obie, you’ve seen the song list.  Suggestions on where to start?”

“Uh.”  Obie snapped out of his eerie silence to survey the room as though aliens had just dropped him there, until he came across the informal list that Jon had scribbled out earlier.  His eyes skimmed it up and down before asking, “I see ‘Who Says You Can’t Go Home’, but is there a reason your other actual duet isn’t on here?  ‘Strangers’?”

Jon had thought of it, very briefly.  When he’d run the first verse through his mind and imagined Cassidy singing the second… Nope.  Not today.  If things went well, maybe sometime in the future, but not today.

“My voice is too far out of shape,” was his answer to Obie as Cassidy stepped into the booth with her coffee and began humming.  “That range ain’t gonna happen.”

“Change the key,” was Dave’s suggestion, the evil fucker.

Thank God that Cassidy interrupted her soft “Amazing Grace” warm-up to put an end to the discussion.  “Sorry, but I don’t know that one.” 

Whether she did or she didn’t, Jon didn’t much care.  She’d gotten him out of an awkward spot and he was grateful. 

“What bout ‘What Do You Got?’” Obie prompted.   “There’s another one that could easily be a duet.”

“Yeah, it could.”  Again, not today.  Everybody needs just one someone to tell them the truth?  If you ain’t got someone you’re afraid to lose?  After a full night’s sleep, it was a possibility, but right now he wasn’t mentally capable of pulling that one off either.  “But we didn’t rehearse it.  Cassidy?”

She shook her head in the negative to indicate it wasn't in her repertoire.

“So.”  He nodded toward her as she picked up volume to sing of being lost, then found. “We’ll stay in church.  ‘Lay Your Hands on Me’.  Lema, hit your usual part.  Cassidy’s got Richie’s and I’ll cover the middle.”

David picked up a set of headphones and dropped to the seat behind they keyboard, murmuring, “I don’t know what the hell is going on around here, but if somebody doesn’t fix it, this is going to be a wasted day.”

There was no damn problem.  He was a little tired and a little...  There was no damn problem!

“Obie?  Drum track ready?”  

“Whatthefuckever,” the man behind the keyboard sighed blandly and hit the first of the five prolonged chords that would bring them to the harmonized intro Jon had developed in recent years to save the strain on his voice.

Something’s always strained on you.  Voice, calf, knee.  Mind.  Heart.  One of these days you’re gonna need to roll over and die, old man.

Again, not today.

“One, two, three…”

35 - Are You Dead?

Cassidy took another deep swallow of coffee and checked the time.  The Jeep’s dashboard clock read five minutes past noon, which meant she was late for the studio. 

Wasn’t it peculiar how a week – a day – could change one’s perception of things? 

Last time she was parked in the lot at Blackbird Studios, she had been so very worried about being punctual so that Obie wouldn't have to wait on her.  She recalled hurrying across the pavement in her high heels and arriving breathless - but on time - to make a good impression.    

Today she wasn’t so worried about being late.  Today it was more important to be a civilized human being when she did finally get there and, until she drank at least half of this cup of coffee, it wasn’t happening.  Fortunately, she was now familiar enough with the men waiting inside to know that they would understand and wholeheartedly agree with that reasoning.    

Last night had been a very long night with Jon spending half the drive back to Nashville trying to apologize while she adamantly assured him there was nothing to be sorry for.  Cassidy was the only one who needed to be sorry, for being senseless enough to indulging in a “special” feeling and for letting him make her think this “muse” setup was more significant than sex. 

All that was on her, not him, and she'd actually ended up issuing her own apology for the sarcasm she hadn't been able to contain.

Once he’d finally accepted both the apology and the idea that she wasn’t going to take him to task over his bout of brutal honesty, that was pretty much that.  They got to work – and when the man worked, he worked.

His original goal had been to get through two songs.  Those had come together so quickly and easily that he’d decided to do another.  And another.  And one more since it was only two in the morning.

The final setlist for their rehearsal was “Lay Your Hands on Me”, “I’ll Be There For You”, “Always”, “Amen”, “and “Who Says You Can’t Go Home”, and they wrapped it up about four this morning.  Exhausted, she had stumbled directly toward bed, leaving him to write because he said he was still wound up.  She wasn't entirely sure that was true, since he'd been somewhat distanced from her since they'd returned, but she was too tired to care.

When she’d awoken at nine after a restless sleep, it was to discover he wasn't there.  A note, accompanied by her pay for the second week, was on the table saying he was in the hotel gym and to order room service if she wanted.  

She hadn't wanted.

Cassidy had tucked the tainted money in her purse and taken the opening to leave a return note that said she was going home to shower, which she had done, feeling like little more than a zombie for the duration of the thirty-minute drive.  A leisurely, hot shower had helped, but only marginally.  She found herself dawdling over the bandana she’d fashioned to hold loose hair away from her face, dawdling over her makeup, and dawdling over getting dressed.

The slight crankiness from her poor sleep was taken to the next level when she discovered that she was down to her last clean pairs of panties and Levi's.  She was extra irritated to find that, after putting on the red t-shirt that perfectly fitted her curves, the only clean clothes she had were a Tully's t-shirt, a white blouse with a small stain on the front, and a faded black t-shirt with a huge hole.

Certain things could not be ignored and dirty laundry was one of those, so, in addition to a full day at the studio, she was going to have to find time to go to the laundromat.  That had her cursing mildly as she packed two garbage bag with the dirty clothes and towels and slung it into the back of Jeep.

When she very nearly rear ended Methuselah's older brother because he was going fifteen miles an hour in a fifty-five zone, she knew that a stop at the nearest Starbucks was in order.  It was a public service to herself and all those around her.  

With biggest available cup of Pike's Place Roast in hand, she’d finally arrived in Blackbird’s parking lot at five minutes before noon.  That’s where she still sat, with her head cushioned against the headrest while the first sips of pitch black coffee worked through her veins and ate away at her irritability.  

Lord, I reckon You’re gettin’ tired of hearin’ from me, but here I am again.  My thoughts are a chaotic mess and I could stand with a little direction, if You have the time or inclination to provide some.  I thought I was startin’ to let my heart open to this man – You know the one – since I thought that’s what he was aimin’ for.  I reckon’ he’s changed his mind about that, or I misunderstood.  One or t’other happened, anyway, and that’s all well and good, but I’m havin’ a hard time puttin’ things back the way they used to be in my head.  You think You might be willin’ to help me see him as a friend in need instead of anything else?  It would make things a lot easier today.  Please and thank Ya.  In Jesus’s-

“Are you dead?” 

“Hellfire and damnation!”  The loud question was accompanied by even louder knocking at her window and Cassidy’s eyes snapped open at the same time she jolted upright, splashing hot coffee over her hand.  Turning a disdainful eye to the man who had so rudely interrupted her prayer, she kicked up a condemning eyebrow.

“You reckon anybody ever answered ‘yes’ to that question?” she drolly quizzed David Bryan.  “No, I’m not dead and, if you’ll take a step back, I can get outta the car.   What are you doin’ here, anyway?”

“Oh, good.  I’d hate to see you dead when I’ve just decided to nominate you for sainthood.  Jon asked me to come help out today.”

Completely ignoring whatever nonsense he was spouting in favor of third-degree burns, Cassidy placed the coffee in a cup holder and found a wadded napkin to mop the coffee from her scalded hand.  When just the scent of Pike’s Place Roast remained, she put her arm through the straps on her purse and picked up what was left of the coffee.

“It’s nice to see ya, but what in tarnation are you talkin’ about?” she demanded, opening the driver’s door and planting the soles of her ruby stilettos on the asphalt.

As quickly as she’d lifted the coffee cup from the holder, she was relieved of it when David snatched it away and put it on top of the vehicle.  She was about to ask what he was doing when long arms wrapped around her for a hug.  It wasn’t one of those phony polite hugs, either.  The fierce embrace that literally swept Cassidy from her feet was filled with genuine warmth, and she was clasped firmly against his chest for so long that it was on the verge of becoming awkward. 

“David?” 

No more protest was required.  Her feet were immediately returned to solid ground and he took a quick step back.  “Sorry.  I get a little overexcited when I’m in the presence of a miracle worker, but that’s my way of saying thank you.”

If Obie was a Chihuahua, David was a squirrel, darting this way and that without warning.  Cassidy was going to suffer whiplash before all was said and done.

“Honey, you are the teeny tiniest bit difficult to keep up with at times,” she laughed, stepping to the side to lock and close her door.  “What in the world are you goin’ on about?”

He stretched out one long arm to retrieve the Starbucks cup from the top of the Jeep and waited for her to turn so that his other arm could settle comfortably around her shoulders.  The loose grip was used to gently guide her toward the studio entrance as he smiled down into her face and passed over the coffee.

“Put your arm around me and I’ll tell you.”

“You’re crazier ‘n a bedbug, but okay.”  Her free arm obligingly stole around his waist, and they found a mutually agreeable gait as they walked. 

“Once we get in here, it would be super if you could mention that I stuck my tongue down your throat.”

Forget the sanity Jon kept looking for in Cassidy.  The way David so casually uttered that bizarre request gave her serious reservations about his sanity, and her mind raced back to that semester of mental healthcare in nursing school.  He clearly suffered from some type of ailment, but what?  Bipolar?  Maybe, but not likely.  Borderline Personality Disorder?  Nah.  Schizophrenia?  That involved hallucinations and delusions, so maybe. 

“Honey, you are about thirty seconds away from me callin’ a psychiatrist to treat you.”

His blonde curls flew back along with his head and a boisterous laugh rang to the furthest corners of the parking lot.  “Wouldn’t be the first time, but there’s no need today.  My mouth can’t always keep up with my mind and it only spits out the most recent thought instead of the logic leading up to it.”

“Alright,” she indulgently accepted his peculiar explanation as they approached the entrance door.  Sort of.  There was no way she was going inside until she’d figured out what he was going on about, so she slid her arm free to take his hand and pull him aside.  “Now let’s go back to sainthood and work our way up to tongue, shall we?”

His grin was oozing sheer delight.  “You’re cute.  No wonder he’s into you.”

The squirrel also had attention deficit disorder, it seemed.

“I assume you mean Jon?”

“Naturally.”  Long pianist’s fingers were leisurely propped on both of his hips as he made himself comfortable for their chat.  “He said you told him to wish Richie well and get on with his life.”

Her chin dipped in a slow nod, relieved that he’d finally said something that made sense.  What he’d relayed wasn’t exactly verbatim, but it was close enough. 

“Yeah, more or less.”

“Well, I guess he completed the well wishing yesterday and now says he’s moving on.  Finally.  So thanks for that, since he wasn’t listening to anybody else.”

A slow smile ate up the lower half of her face.  Jon had contacted Richie?  He’d really done as she suggested?  Too bad he hadn’t told her about it.  She would’ve liked to know how his messed up head was faring since then.

He didn’t tell you David was comin’ either.  Y’all weren’t exactly sharin’ a lot durin' that work-a-thon last night. 

“I'm glad he's movin' on,” she said simply.

“I know, right?”  His grin went from delighted to mischievous.  “I was pretty damn happy about it myself and, when I found out it was because of you, my excitement may have led me to tell him I was going to express my appreciation with a big old sloppy kiss, complete with tongue."

"Well isn't that just charmin'?"

David was a nice guy, but she couldn’t imagine letting him kiss her.  Number one, psychotic wasn’t really her type.  Two, he was Jon’s friend and that screamed of a smarminess that she didn’t want to associate herself with.  Three, he was married, which carried a whole different brand of smarmy.  He probably wouldn’t think that would be a deal-breaker for a woman playing mistress, but he didn’t know her.

"I’d be damn delighted to carry that out," he assured her.  "But I assume you’re not interested in a quick game of tonsil hockey.”

“Good assumption.  I don’t need to be kissin’ married men.”

“Now, now.”  David dropped an exaggerated wink and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.  “Don’t you mean any more married men?”

Maybe it was the fact that she still hadn’t finished the coffee in her hand, or maybe it was her conscience eating at her, but the knowing tone of his voice hit her in precisely the wrong way.

“You got somethin’ to say to me, then say it outright,” she demanded sternly.  “I'm runnin' a little short on sleep and don't have the inclination to tolerate snide remarks.”

“Calm the fuck down.”  His hands went from his hips to being raised up in innocence.  “Despite my curiosity, Jon hasn’t told me shit about you and him, and that was just my way of being nosy.  No offense intended.”

Still think you wanna be a mistress?  It means you'll get to second guess comments like that all the time.  Won't that be fun?

“I didn’t intend any either,” she apologized.  “Forgive me for the snippiness, but if you find out anything about mine and Jon’s friendship, it's gonna come from him.  I will never have anything to say on the subject.”

David looked at her in a way that she’d only seen from her grandmother.  The most easily recalled instance was the day Cassidy had gotten her R.N., which also happened to be the same day Calliope graduated kindergarten.  She’d always assumed MeMaw was proud of her, but when seeing it shine from David’s eyes, she wasn’t wholly convinced it was the same thing. 

“I'll apologize again," he contritely murmured.  "You're obviously a woman of character, and that's all I need to know."

Then again, maybe it was the same thing, even if she found it a bit unexpected.  “Well, I… thank you.”

“Now,” he continued waving one hand.  “If you’re on the FBI’s ten most wanted list or the two of you sacrifice small animals together, my sick and morbid curiosity would love to be included in that loop.  So if you could keep that in mind...”

He's joking. Don't react, just distract the ADD squirrel.

Cassidy stepped close, stretching high on her tiptoes to lightly brush their lips together.  “There.  Now you can say we kissed.”

He studied her much as one would a bug under a microscope, searching in her eyes for the key to some unanswered question that he hadn’t even asked.  She was half-afraid he would, but Super Squirrel darted in a totally different direction.

“Word of advice.”  One long finger tugged at the neckline of her t-shirt to fully expose the spot where Jon had bitten her yesterday.  “Garlic necklaces keep vampires at bay.  Just sayin’.”

34 - Earthquake

Christ almighty.

Jon lay at Cassidy’s side, utterly wrung out and unable to move. 

When the sex was this good, the post-orgasmic wake often carried a hum of satisfaction with it – a buzz comparable to the relaxing tingle that followed a massage.  He didn’t experience it every time, but Jon had felt it often enough to know that the current buzz radiating from the center of his chest wasn’t that. 

This was vastly different than a simple “afterglow” that left his fingers and toes sizzling.  It was the very thing that had been missing from him for so long that he’d begun to dread its return. 

The figurative vault that had held his emotions more securely than Fort Knox for the past two years was rumbling with the aftershock of an emotional earthquake. 

He’d felt the warning tremors during his earlier talk with Cassidy but had pushed them aside, not realizing what they were.  The profound intimacy they had just shared, though, had easily kicked a seven on the Richter scale and had ripped the vault door off its hinges, encouraging his deeply stifled emotions to run rampant.

All of them.

At once.

To a man who had felt nothing for so long, it was overwhelming to feel anything.  To feel sorrow, joy, regret, hope, fear, happiness and every other color of the emotional rainbow of emotions at the same time was excruciatingly painful and was why Jon had been afraid to find out he still had feelings.  Like a broken bone that was set to heal correctly, his heart and mind were brutally contorting in an effort to restore themselves – and it hurt like a bitch. 

His chest throbbed.  An agonizing knot the size of his fist pulsed a violent cadence behind his sternum, and it ached so plaintively that the rest of his body had no choice but to yield to the same bitter ache.

He was loosely considering that medical attention might be required to get through this.

There was pain at losing his best friend.  There was grief that he’d been unable to do anything about it.  There was sorrow that multiple years of his life were nothing but a void.  There was agony in simply acknowledging those feelings.

Then there was the opposite end of the spectrum.

Jon covertly turned his head just enough to get a glimpse of Cassidy’s face.  Her eyes were peacefully closed, her features were relaxed, she once again radiated her personal brand of sunshine, and…

His heart violently clutched.

Don’t fucking say it, don’t even fucking think it.  You’ve known her for eleven goddamn days.  You are not in love with her.

He enjoyed her company both in and out of bed, liked how she made him feel and thought he might be interested in extending it beyond two weeks.  But he wasn’t in love with her.  He wasn’t.  It was just the damn emotions messing with his head.  A man who had been confined in emotional purgatory could easily mistake mild affection for eternal love.

So what that he’d connected so intimately with her, caring more about her own pleasure than his?  That the catalyst for the great emotion spree was the trust she’d placed in him?  Who cared that she was the only fucking thing he cared about at this moment in time?

He did not love her.  He couldn’t.

“Bathroom?” he grunted, sliding away from her to escape before he did something colossally stupid.

Jon needed a minute alone to get this shit beaten back into submission and he was pathetically grateful when her languid hand gestured toward a door at the back of the cabin. 

“Across the bridge and through the kitchenette.”

Cassidy rolled to her side with a stifled sigh and openly stared at his bare, sculpted butt as he trekked toward what she referred to as the “outhouse”.  Something noteworthy had happened in this bed today.  Later, she might deny it with an unparalleled vehemence, but right now – until he returned – she was going to indulge herself in sheer fantasy.

When he’d asked her to trust him, she had been incredibly hesitant.  Cassidy wasn’t a fan of setting herself up for disappointment and didn’t ordinarily grant anyone enough power for it to happen.  He, however, had convinced her to take the risk and she was here to say that it had been worth that risk.

Jon hadn’t disappointed her.  Far from it.  The Dorothy shoes had carved his initials in her heart, but that was only on the surrounding armor.  The man and his chivalry had actually wormed their way through a chink in that armor to touch her in a way few others had.

It was enough to push against her ingrained morality and make her seriously reconsider his mistress proposition.

You are not gonna be that man’s mistress.

She might. 

There wasn’t anyone in her life that she felt accountable toward.  Calliope was grown, MeMaw was gone and Libby had to take care of herself sometime.  Cassidy was more or less on her own and that allowed her a great deal of flexibility to accommodate his schedule.  It would also allow her to accommodate a professional relationship with him.

If her own life weren’t already so blasted complicated.

You wouldn’t be satisfied as a mistress.  After what just happened, you’d want more.

More was never going to happen.  He was married.  Period.  That wasn’t going to change simply because he…

Because he what?  Made you feel special?

Yes.  Because he’d made her feel special in a way that no one had in a very, very, very long time.  Twenty-six years, to be exact, because the last time she’d allowed a man to affect her that way, he’d fathered her baby.

Derek wasn’t technically a man, though.  He was only a seventeen year old boy at the time and, like a boy, hadn’t wanted to live up to his responsibilities when he’d found out Cassidy was pregnant.  Rather than owning up to his actions, the popular high school quarterback had called her a liar.  He pointed out to his friends, and anyone else who would listen, that he could have any girl in school.  Why would he start anything with a mousy Bible thumper?

That had resonated as the truth with most folks in Moreland.  With long, dishwater blonde hair, outdated clothes and no makeup to speak of, she hadn’t exactly been a teenage beauty queen.  She may not have looked as nice as the other girls, but had shared one important characteristic with them – she’d wanted a boy to make her feel special.

Thank God her grandmother had been there for her and believed her.  MeMaw had also been the one who told Cassidy, “I know you’re still tryin’ to figure all this stuff out, but I’m here to tell ya special ain’t the same as love, girl.  Don’t be gettin’ the two confused, or you’ll find yourself in another world of hurt, just like this one.”

That had been a painful lesson, but one that Cassidy had learned well.

See?  There ya go.  Feelin’ special hasn’t ever gotten you anything but abandonment.  That what you’re lookin’ for from Jon?

The difference was that Jon wasn’t a teenage boy, he was a grown man.  The two of them went to great lengths to ensure there weren’t misunderstandings between them, particularly regarding intentions.  He had plainly indicated an interest in expanding their relationship.  Hours later, he had made her feel… special.  There was no reason to believe the two weren’t connected.

She’d neither said – or thought – anything about love and, if he made another request to extend their relationship, she wouldn’t avoid the topic.  Cassidy didn’t want to deny him when she wanted the same thing and, as he was a grown man, she was a grown woman who understood the situation.  There would be no expectations beyond anything he willingly chose to provide, they would keep their relationship free of misunderstandings and she would enjoy the ride as long as circumstances permitted.

If he asks again.

The back door opened and the man in her thoughts stepped into the cabin and bee-lined for his jeans, scooping them off the floor and putting one leg through.

“Thank you for sharing your family secret with me.”  The second leg went in and he fastened the denim at his waist before zipping up and buckling his belt.  “I think if we’re going to be productive at the studio tomorrow, we should run through a couple of songs.  Do you mind if we go back to the hotel and do that?”

“Of course not,” she agreed with an easy smile, sitting up and swinging her legs from the bed as her mind started to toy with her.

Still makin’ ya feel special?

Considering that he hadn’t actually looked at her since his return, and he was moving toward fully dressed faster than she’d ever seen him, no.  He wasn’t particularly making her feel special.  He was actually making her feel as though something wasn’t quite right.

Slipping into her bra and panties, she located the rest of her clothes and casually inquired, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.”  He still found a reason not to look at her, now sitting to focus on his shoelaces.  “You know how it is after we fuck.  I got my rocks off and now I’m ready to work.”

Her fingers stuttered over her zipper and Cassidy decided to abandon it in favor of her t-shirt.

Fuck?  Rocks off?

There had been more than one occasion that would be perfectly described by those descriptions, and they’d all occurred that first night.  Even at that, he’d never chosen to purposely be crude.  Jon had always used “sex” to describe what they did, and it had never bothered her.  Not once.

In the wake of her self-indulgent thoughts, his vulgarity bothered her.  Cassidy didn’t have such delusions of grandeur to believe they’d just made love, but it hadn’t been an impersonal exchange of bodily fluid, either.

Properly covered by her shirt, she sidled by him toward the back door.  “I’m goin’ to the ladies’ room,” she said quietly, forcing congeniality and a friendly smile before she stepped barefoot onto the bridge.

Jon leaned his forearms heavily on his thighs and watched her pull the door closed behind her, silently swearing as she did.  He didn’t like the vibe between them right now.

You’re the one who set that vibe, not her.

He’d done it on purpose, trying to remind himself of the real situation here.   He’d actually spent five minutes in the bathroom telling himself on a continuous loop that she was just a disposable fuck – a willing woman to shoot a load into – even though he’d never thought of her that way. 

It was borne of sheer desperation to distance himself from the emotions she stirred in him.  His writer’s block had re-manifested and stole his ability to find the right words or come up with an approach that wasn’t cold and cruel, so he’d blundered forward with it and callously led her to believe that she meant nothing to him.

It had been a verbal slap to her face and she’d responded as such.  The hurt in her eyes was fleeting, but it had lasted long enough to make him feel like a royal dickwad.  Long enough that he forcibly fought the urge to pull her into his arms and apologize.

Standing, he pulled the brim of his hat down low on his nose and tucked sunglasses in the neckline of his shirt.

You need to handle your business and stop being a mental fucktard.

He did need to handle his business, he thought and opened the cabin’s front door to go sit by the fire pit.  Without a motherfucking doubt, he needed to handle it and the first order of business was scourging the emotion that had been lying dormant the longest.

When he got as far as the patio chairs, Jon withdrew his phone and sat in the one furthest from the cabin.  Crossing his legs with a sense of impending doom, he swiped his finger across the screen to search for contact information that hadn’t been used in a long time.  It might not even be valid anymore, but he was going to give it a motherfucking shot and take Cassidy’s advice to wish Richie well.

Maybe if he could release those festering emotions, he’d be better equipped to handle the others.

[5:34 PM]JON: Hope all is well with you and yours.

There.  Quick and painless, he’d done it and, strangely enough, felt as though a small burden had been lifted from his shoulders.  It wasn’t a lot but it was noticeable.  The lines didn't feel as definitively carved between his eyebrows and his neck muscles were no longer cast in granite, just hard-packed sand.

Jon would take whatever relief there was and be grateful for it and the Confederate fortune cookie that had prompted him.  Although she probably would be more interested in kneeing him in the balls than accepting that gratitude.

You can apologize when she comes out.

Since he was texting, he flicked his thumb upward to find Dave’s number.

[5:34 PM]JON:  Busy tomorrow?  If not, come to Nashville with Ob.  Could use your help in the studio.

One more, this time to Obie.

[5:35 PM]JON:  Everything still set for tmrw @Blackbird?

By the time he’d tapped the send button, there was an incoming response to one of the other messages.   Jon would bet it was from David.

He was wrong.

[5:36 PM]RICHIE: Outstanding!  Peace and blessings, brother.

And that, as they said, was that.  Jon had done his part and received indication that Richie was just being Richie and not a vindictive shit.  It was time to move on.

[5:37 PM]DAVE:  Sure y not?  Any new vampire bites?

Coincidentally enough, he’d left one behind less than an hour ago.  That wasn’t something he wasn’t going to share, although David mind find other recent happenings of interest.

[5:37 PM]JON:  Nunya damn biz.  Just texted Rich.

[5:37 PM]DAVE:  Y?

Jon deliberated that for a moment, trying to decide if he wanted to provide full disclosure or not.

He’s watched you suffer, don’t you think he’d like to know you’re trying not to?

[5:38 PM]JON:  Cass suggested I wish him well & move on.

[5:38 PM]DAVE:  AND?!?

[5:39 PM]JON: I did & I’m going to.

[5:40 PM]DAVE: Telling u now Ima kiss that girl when I c her. With tongue.

The pang of jealousy wasn’t particularly pleasant, but it wasn’t as bad as earlier.  He didn’t like feeling so raw and was going to have to fight harder against it.  Obie’s reply chimed in with a welcome distraction and Jon briefly scanned it before shooting another message to David.

[5:41 PM]JON: Ob just msg me.  Noon @Blackbird studios.

[5:41 PM]DAVE:  WTF? U threaten me 4 saying Dixie & no comment on tongue?

The cabin door opened, and a quick glance confirmed that Cassidy had just exited and was heading toward him.  Ruby heels clicked against the flagstone as Jon tapped out one final non-responsive response to his friend.

[5:42 PM]JON: C U tmrw.

“Ready to go?” she inquired cheerfully.

He stood, taking a good look into her face and found that she wasn’t as cheery as she wanted him to believe.  Hell, she looked about as cheery as when they’d been out here earlier.  That whole damn sexual encounter had been about nothing more than sweeping the clouds from her sunshine, and it had worked – up until he’d shoved them back in her face.

Fuck you and your emotional intolerance.  You don’t get to leave her that way.  She doesn’t deserve it.

“I was kind of an asshole a few minutes ago,” he sighed, pushing the phone and his hands into his pockets.  “It had nothing to do with you, and I apologize.  Forgive me?”

“Ain’t nothin’ to forgive.”  The right corner of her mouth kicked up in a smile.  “You fuck me so you can write music.  That’s been the agreement all along, and there ain’t no shame in callin’ it like it is.”

“Cassidy,” he called after the woman who hadn’t slowed her steps and was now sauntering down the path to leave him standing there.  She could move faster in heels than most people did in running shoes, and Jon had to jog a few steps to catch up with her.  “Cassidy.”

Her sassy strides didn’t slow nor did her head turn, but she did finally respond.  “Yeah, baby doll?”

She was doing her damnedest to keep things normal between them and, for the most part, was doing an admirable job.  If he didn’t have lingering guilt, he might have thought nothing was wrong.  As it was, he felt the need to take back the words he’d hurled because of frustration with himself.

“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

“Not worth quibblin’ over,” she amiably informed him over her shoulder.  “Now watch for snakes.  They come out when the sun starts goin’ down.”

Christ almighty.