44 - Peaceful, Easy Feeling

Jon’s limbs were heavy with absolute relaxation.  His mind was quiet and tranquil.  His heart thumped comfortingly in his chest instead of racing like a spooked rabbit. 

He’d found his feelings and his happy place, and they didn’t need pigeonhole labels.  They were just… Cassidy.

In this idyllic afterglow moment, Jon lay on his back and was content to simply stare at the ceiling fan that lay dormant beneath the cabin’s exposed beams.  The woman who lay on her side next to him appeared to be similarly contented, and the only part of her that moved was the thumb that languidly stroked his stomach. 

Life is beautiful.

“You said ‘fuck’,” he softly gloated, recalling his promise to do so. “I made you say ‘fuck’ – more than once."

“Mm,” she droned without concern.  Pale eyelashes rested against her cheeks and one side of her mouth tried to smile, but the muscles wouldn’t contract enough to complete the act.  “It’s my greatest hope that every ‘lady’ has at least one orgasm that warrants un-ladylike words.”

“This lady hasn’t had her last one, I guaran-damn-tee it.”

He hadn’t realized the single syllable swear word could carry such a profound Southern accent and the discovery had amused him as much as it turned him on.  Her sexily moaned curse was still vivid in his mind, and Jon smiled at the memory of it.

“It’s so nice to see you lookin’ so peaceful,” Cassidy softly murmured, her now-open eyes regarding him with approval.  “And to hear you hummin’.”

“I didn’t realize I was humming.” 

Now that she mentioned it, there were fragments of a melody stirring in his mind, and it might belong to those lyrics out on the patio.  He was mildly surprised that it wasn’t more of a ballad, but carried an attitude that suited the proclamation of being someone’s man. 

“Mhm.” Her lazy thumb circled his belly button.  “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“How’d it go with Richie the other day?”

How had it gone?  It was the most significant non-event in recent memory.

“I sent him a text saying I hoped he was doing well.  He responded that he was and wished me peace and shit.  That was about it.”

An unhappy little sigh escaped her lips.  “So it didn’t really help.”

“Yeah, it did,” he contradicted.  “It was the apology I was never going to get and I accepted it – just like you suggested.  Now I can put it behind me, so thank you.”

“I hope you really do,” she said simply and he was grateful that she didn’t dwell on it.  “Goin’ home today or are you gonna stay and write?”

His hair scratched against the pillow when he turned his head to find her eyes closed again and her features serene.  By all appearances, it was a casually polite question that didn’t impact her one way or the other. 

She’s never expected you to do anything other than what you want.

Jon wasn’t sure how he felt about that.  It was liberating to not have expectations placed on him, but he was also… curious.

“You have an opinion?”

One eye cracked open to peer at him and her hand ceased its meandering.  “About whether you go or stay?”

“Yeah.”

“Not really my place to have an opinion,” she observed easily, fingers now dancing over the hair and skin of his lower stomach. 

“But do you have one?” 

It probably wasn’t a good idea to push her, but he couldn’t seem to keep himself from doing it.  In this kind of situation, a guy was supposed to be grateful for a woman who simply let him come and go at will with no fuss, so he was probably fucking up one more perfectly good thing this week.   

“I don’t know what you’re expectin’ me to say,” she sighed, withdrawing her touch.  “You’re thick in the head if you don’t know I enjoy your company.  Unless I tell you to get your sorry ass outta here, it’s prob’ly safe to assume I want ya to stay.”

She was perfect.  Perfect ass.  Perfect smile.  Perfect attitude.  Just… perfect.

Clingy women were about as desirable as herpes, and he sure as hell didn’t want one that played games, so Jon was grateful that Cassidy was far removed from either of those.  She lived life wide open – mostly – and had a no-nonsense attitude that made even the most complicated shit seem simple and straightforward. 

He really, really liked that.

Smirking with satisfaction, he reached for the dainty hand that had been removed from his stomach and knotted their fingers together.  “Since I haven’t heard the words ‘sorry ass’ directed at me, I guess I’ll stay and write.”

“Good,” she said simply, leaning up to lightly sweep her mouth over his.  “You write, and I’ll shower.  If you have any plans on eatin’, you might wanna put some thought into it.  I have a microwave and toaster oven that don’t allow for much cookin’, so figure out what you wanna do.”

“Okay.”  He watched that perfect backside sway alluringly when she glided from the bed toward the back door and, ultimately, the bathroom.  “Hey…”

She paused with one hand on the doorknob to glance over her shoulder.  “Yeah, baby doll?” 

“I’m always gonna be partial to your ass.”

Her smile was awash with indulgent humor.  “And I’m always gonna be partial to your belt.  Now go get that tune worked out before you forget it.”

One of the benefits of living in the middle of nowhere was walking outside bare-ass naked.  That was Jon’s perspective as he watched Cassidy step outside and across the little footbridge into the “outhouse”. 

“There’s no finer ass to be bare,” he mumbled to himself and swung his feet out of bed to reach for his pants. 

The pornographic belt had just been threaded back through the loops at his waist when his phone rang to life on the bedside table.  Grabbing up his t-shirt, he leaned over to check out who was calling.

Clay Adams.

The last time he’d seen the man, things hadn’t gone well – at all.  Clay wasn’t guilty of anything but optimism that his aunt would be a civilized human being, but Jon was still hesitant to take this call.  There had been enough crap in his last few days.  He wasn’t particularly interested in more. 

Then keep it superficial.

He jerked the shirt down over his head and stuffed his arms through the holes before scooping up the phone. 

“H’lo.”

“Jon,” the jovial Southern voice came over the line.  “It’s Clay Adams.”

Time to put on your social persona. Let ‘em hear you smile.

It was a necessary evil from time to time, pretending to be thrilled about talking to people when he’d prefer to be a recluse.  He really preferred to be a recluse right now since there was a melody digging at him and a beautiful woman whose company was far more interesting than the rehashing of a lost NFL opportunity. 

“Clay, how are ya man?  What can I do for you?”

“I’m doin’ right well, thanks.  Just wondering when you thought ya might get back to Nashville?  I’ve got something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Jon bit off an immediate refusal.  Maybe this had nothing to do with the Titans or Clay’s aunt.  There was always a chance Clay was going to ask for a favor rather than offer another proposition, and favors weren’t usually a problem, as Jon tried to be generous with his time and resources.

“I’m actually in Nashville now.”

“In that case, how about dinner tonight?  Or drinks?”

Did he want to screw up his evening that way?  Was he even technically free?  He hadn’t heard from Dave and Obie yet today, but they might be irritated enough with him to head for Jersey without a word.

Dumbass, you left for Jersey last night.

Ah, yes.  So he had.  Now Jon had no legitimate excuse to dodge the invitation, but he could delay it.

“Later is better.  Say seven?”

“That’s fine,” Clay agreed and offered the name of a downtown bar. 

Knowing that he may not remember the name of the place in ten minutes, Jon took a quick glance around for pen and paper, but his eyes snagged on ruby slippers that were toppled at the bedside. 

She said to figure out what I want to do about dinner.  I wonder if she wants to go out.

A traditional date with Cassidy was never going to be possible, but she knew Clay.  There was no reason she couldn’t join a professional acquaintance, such as himself, and their mutual friend for dinner. 

The idea was unexpectedly appealing appeal for Jon, who had a sudden and voracious desire to see her in a setting that didn’t involve a bed or studio. 

“You know,” Jon speculated, prepared to recant his earlier stance.  “Dinner could work.  I’m meeting Cassidy downtown later to go over our studio session.  It may take a while but, if you don’t mind her joining us, we can take a break and meet you.”

“Sure.”  If he was surprised at the request, Clay didn’t make it evident.  “I’ve missed seeing her my last couple times in Tully’s.  They said she was on vacation, but I didn’t realize she was working with you.”

“Yeah.”  Jon didn’t elaborate further, sticking to what Cassidy referred to as brevity.  Personally, he called it keeping his foot out of his mouth.  “I trust you have a restaurant recommendation?”

“Uh, yeah.  I’ll get us a reservation upstairs at Merchants.  They have a couple tables in a corner alcove where we shouldn’t be disturbed.  Seven still work for you?”

Corners were perfect.  If he could slip into the building without notice, Jon would sit with his back to the room and possibly avoid anyone realizing he was even there.

“Sounds good, man.  I’ll see you there.”

He was feeling pretty good about the prospect of an outing with Cassidy as he reached for his Takamine case.  Taking it from where he’d propped it beside the armchair last night, he slipped out the door and back to the patio to document his latest melody.

Jon was still making chord notations half an hour later when he heard a door open, followed by the tapping of high heels.  Lifting his chin, he presented Cassidy with a smile and took a quick inventory. 

Her hair was hanging free, sneaking forward to curve over one cheek and conceal a cosmetically enhanced eye.  The smile she gave him was wide and relaxed, perfectly matching her relaxed attire of faded Levi’s and an equally faded black t-shirt that she’d knotted at one hip.  Neither suited the bedazzled red heels, but he had learned that she didn’t care.  She liked her shoes and she was going to wear them.

It actually pleased him that she liked the damn things so much.

“David wants to know if I’m in the band yet,” she greeted him with a chuckle and waving her phone.  “I refrained from tellin’ him I was on the figurative ‘audition couch’ just before he texted.”

In the band.

He was going to have to make a decision about that sooner or later, but he opted for later.  

“Tell him you’re taking his place,” was his flippant suggestion, and it got a laugh from her. 

“That’s a good one.”  She immediately tapped out a text message, speaking as she did so.  “It has not escaped my notice that you’ve dodged that question twice, by the way.  Or how you’ve avoided expressing any opinion at all on my vocals.”

He accepted being called out on the band thing, but as far as his lack of opinion went…

“That’s a crock.  I’ve complimented your voice more than once.”

“David says to give me Bobby’s place.”  The phone was tucked into her back pocket and he was now the sole recipient of her attention.  “Only thing you’ve ever said to me is that I make you sound good – not that I’m insecure enough for it to matter.  I was just makin’ an observation.”

“Bobby plays guitar; you don’t,” he commented absently while running the various studio sessions through his mind.  Jon very distinctly recalled saying she had a good voice.

To Obie.  First in the car, then again at the soundboard.  Never to her.

“I guess I didn’t compliment your voice to you, now that I think about it.  Your voice is good and I’ll offer a more detailed opinion later, if you want.  We can walk through the tracks from last night.”

“I’d like that.”

Things were easy with her.  When was the last time things had been easy with anybody, much less a body of the female variety?  She was definitely not one of a million women, she was one in a million and he was willing to deal with complications for her.

“Now that we have that settled…  Would you like to go out for dinner this evening?”

She took the other patio chair and narrowed her eyes curiously.  When that evidently didn’t provide the answer she was looking for, her head tipped just a little to the side so she could study him.

“Obviously, you’re trying to figure out which question to ask first, so lemme save you the trouble,” he offered with a chuckle.  “Clay Adams just called to ask for a meeting with me and suggested dinner.  I initially declined, but then thought you might like to eat food that doesn’t come from room service.  Told him you and I would be working and, if he didn’t mind you joining us, then we would take a break and meet him.” 

The curiosity was appeased, but her features now spoke of something more subtle.  Something he couldn’t put a finger on, but he knew it wasn’t at the delighted end of the emotive rainbow.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” she assured him and shook her head to reinforce the answer.

He wasn’t buying it.

“I have no idea why you like the ‘brevity’ thing I do, because I hate it coming from you.  What are you thinking?”

The increasingly familiar sound of Mother Nature and all of her woodland creatures was the only reply he received for the longest time, but Jon didn’t prompt her again.  He could see the wheels turning as she obviously mulled over her response and, even though she usually said exactly what she thought without the need for mulling, he gave her the time she needed.

“You know what?”  She briefly lifted her hands in the air before dropping them in her lap.  “I don’t feel like obsessing over what your reasons are for asking or decipherin’ what an ‘appropriate’ response would be, so I won’t.  I’ll simply say I like Clay and I’m lookin’ forward to dinner with two very handsome men.”

Thank God for drama-free women.

“Dix…”  He reached out for her hand to squeeze it tightly.  “I want to take you out and I’m using Clay so we don’t stir up any unwanted interest.  It’s that simple, but I really do appreciate your practice of simplifying complex bullshit.”

“Folks create a lot of their own complex bullshit,” she observed with a shrug.  “I try and avoid it whenever possible.  Where’s dinner?”

She’s abso-fucking-lutely perfect. 

“Merchants, I think he said?”

“Talk about complicated,” she sighed theatrically and rolled her eyes before giving him a flirty wink.  “What in Sam Hill am I gonna wear?”

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