66 - Beginning of the End

Rolling over, Cassidy found that light was peeking around the black drapes of David’s guest room.  It didn’t offer much clue as to the time of day, but she would guess it was closer to noon than daybreak. 

Jon hadn’t left until literally the middle of the night, sneaking out of bed about three in the morning.  He would have escaped without her knowledge if hadn’t been for the kiss he stopped to press against her forehead, but he wouldn’t let her even sit up. 

“Go back to sleep, Dix.  I’ll call you sometime tomorrow.”

She had been too tired to argue with him, burrowing back under the luxurious covers with no more than a murmured, “Be careful and text me that you got home safe.”

Now, having slept as long as her body required, she yawned and stretched one arm toward the nightstand to tap searching fingers over its surface on a quest for her phone.  Once located, she hit the button that would bring the screen to life and found that there were two text messages.

[11:15 PM]LIBBY:  Is it too much trouble to let me know you’re safe someplace?

Cassidy grimaced.  Once Jon had arrived last night, everything else had ceased to exist.  Getting all caught up in herself and causing Libby to worry made her a horrible sister. 

[11:02 AM]CASSIDY:  Sorry.  Everything’s quiet and fine.  Call you later.

The other text was the reason she’d sought the phone in the first place.

[3:22 AM]JON:  Safe. 

She smiled at the single-word message, unsurprised by the…  Well, the brevity of it.  That’s who he was unless he had a reason not to be, and she was very fond of who he was.

You love who he is.

Yes.  She did. 

Attaching that word to him wasn’t a step she had been particularly excited to take, because she understood it put her past the point of no return.  While it had been offered lightly, her suspicion that he would always have her love hadn’t been an exaggeration.  Falling blithely in and out was Libby’s mode of operation, not Cassidy’s.  This was it.  He was the man she would love in this lifetime – no matter how his feelings/choices changed.

It made her vulnerable yet, at the same time, she was filled with inner peace.

Lord, if it was wrong, it wouldn’t feel so right.  Would it? 

She wanted to believe that but was well aware that a person could justify anything they chose to.  Wasn’t she a prime example, after all?  Setting fire to her grandmother’s house had seemed perfectly reasonable – at the time. 

The Lord takes care of fools and babies, and I certainly qualify.

Shaking her head, Cassidy began to tap out her promised daily assurance of safety, even though Jon probably wasn’t expecting one while she stayed at David’s.  This morning, the contact was more to soothe her vulnerability than anything.

[11:08 AM]CASSIDY: Good.  Me too.  Thx for last night.

At the exact moment she tapped the button to send, the phone shimmied its alert of an incoming message. 

[11:08 AM]DAVID: U outslept me.  Coffee’s made when u want it.

[11:09 AM]CASSIDY:  Thx.  Be down soon as I shower  :)

He was an odd duck, but such a good guy.  Jon was privileged to have such a trustworthy friend and Cassidy was catching the overflow of that good fortune.  How was she ever going to repay David’s hospitality, discretion and friendship? 

Maybe there’s somethin’ I can do to help with party preparations. 

With that thought in mind, she threw back the covers to face the day. 

###

“Jesus, what time is it?” Jon muttered, scrubbing at his face with both hands and blinking to bring the chandelier over his bed into focus.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in his own bed until the sun was this high in the sky.  Mornings starting that late usually happened only during a tour but, after texting Cassidy and taking a shower, it was almost four before he got in bed this morning.  It was a little longer than that before he was able to drift off because his mind was in overdrive trying to formulate a set of schematics that allowed both Cassidy and the Titans to stay in his life.

The options were no different than they had been when this whole deal started.  He was going to fuck around on his wife and hope like hell she didn’t figure it out – or she turned the other cheek, despite her threats to the contrary. 

Scratching his head, he swung his feet over the side of the bed and was surprised to hear the muffled thump of something falling to the floor.  His phone. 

Jon frowned as he bent to retrieve it.  His usual custom was to leave it plugged in on the nightstand and he couldn’t recall doing anything different this morning.  Of course, he couldn’t recall not doing anything different, either. 

Maybe he’d checked the time and fallen back to sleep before returning it to the usual spot.  That must be it, since there was no other explanation. 

Flipping open the cover, Jon jammed his finger into the wake-up button to find that the time was just before noon and there was a message from Cassidy.  He tapped in the passcode and swiped to read the short communication without actually opening it, then flicked the cover closed without replying.  There wasn’t much point.  He had nothing to say beyond the fact that he would like to have woken up with her, and that was just pussy. 

“I see you’re finally up,” Dorothea remarked lightly as she came into the bedroom.  From the looks of it, she had been up for some time because she was fully dressed and accessorized with makeup and jewelry.  “You’ve got about an hour to get ready.”

Yawning, he vainly searched his mental schedule for some sort of activity today, but he came up with nothing.  “For what?”

“After you left last night, the boys asked if they could go to the New York FC soccer match today, and I told them you’d take them.  Three o’clock at Yankee Stadium.”

Okay.  It wasn’t exactly how he’d planned to spend the day, but time with his kids was always welcome. 

“Why aren’t you going, too?”

“I’m hosting the book club meeting this month.  That’s why the three of you are being sent off-site.”

He laughed as he stood.  “You realize we don’t live in a studio apartment, right?  There’s fifteen thousand fucking feet in this house, plus the other structures on the property.”

“Yet,” his wife informed him with a condemning eyebrow.  “One of you always manages to find me at the exact moment I want to be left alone.”

“Yeah, yeah.”  Scratching his chest, Jon strolled toward the bathroom.  “You’re probably talking about that fucking Fifty Shades of Grey and don’t want the kids to hear your kinky fetishes.”

Not that he cared.  The way she’d been trying to keep him under her thumb the last couple of days, a “guys only” outing would be nice.  It gave him permission to act like a teenage kid again and nobody would be suspicious when he slipped away to call Cassidy.

It was going to be a good day.

“You got me,” Dorothea admitted drolly.  “Except rather than just talk about them, we’re actually going to re-create the scenes.  Elizabeth is bringing the butt plugs.”

“Jesus.”  Her book club members bound and stuffed was a visual he didn’t need.  When was he going to learn to keep his smart-ass comments to himself?

###

After two months, Billy Jack was just about tired of all this shit. 

Yes, the girl was a felon and, as sheriff, he was bound to uphold the law of Coweta County, where the crimes had taken place.  He fully understood that.  He’d just prefer to do it from the comfort of his own office rather than chasing her all over the country like some sleazy bounty hunter.  

If he and Stanley hadn’t been friends since they were both knee-high to a grasshopper, Billy Jack would have put a stop to this nonsense before those two girls ever got served a notice to vacate.   

There was something fishy going on about this whole damn thing, if you asked him.  Ever since Stanley's mama, Orfamay, had passed, all of her living descendants had gone crazier than a hotel full of bedbugs.  Stanley waving around updated wills and buying guns, Glory torching the family homestead and taking off with Orfamay’s car, Liberty flipping him the bird every time she saw him, her boys throwing rocks at the police cruiser…  Truthfully, Gerald Ray might be the only one left of them with any wits.

With a sigh of disgust, he checked the number carved into the stone gatepost and then glanced back at the printout lying on the passenger seat of his rental car.  Both read 744, so he presumed that this was the right place. 

His foot shifted from the brake to the gas pedal, and he briefly wondered if he’d had it wrong about celebrities all these years.  People Magazine and all those other publications always talked of them hiding away from the world, but this guy wasn’t hiding himself in a castle behind sky-high locked gates.  His gates were wide open, welcoming the world inside the wrought-iron fence. 

It was with a law-enforcement professional’s eye that Billy Jack noted at least four other buildings on the property as he crept his way toward a huge house that held as much appeal for him as a park bench.  There might be millions of dollars tied up in this rock star’s mansion, but the stark outside didn’t suit his taste at all.  The Bass Pro Shop store was warmer and more inviting, in his personal opinion, but what other folks did with their money wasn’t any concern of his.

To each their own.

The concrete pad in front of the house was bigger than the Coweta County Sheriff’s Office parking lot, and he pulled the Chevy Impala in alongside another vehicle along the left side.  Pushing the gearshift into Park, he turned off the ignition and admired the black BMW.  Foreign cars weren’t his favorite, but this one was a sporty model and had been waxed to a high sheen that reflected the sunlight.  He might be an unsophisticated country fellow, but he could appreciate an immaculately clean car, even if it was of German descent.

Grabbing his hat, he patted his shirt pocket and thought that, if there truly were a merciful God, Jon Bon Jovi would tell him where to find Glory and put an end to this whole mess.   He didn’t feel the photo in his shirt pocket, so he flipped through the folder that had the address until he located it.

“Damn,” he muttered to himself, tucking the picture where it was supposed to have been in the first place.  “Havin’ a sugar daddy done her good, because she wasn’t nothin’ to look at before.”

Billy Jack exited the car, scuffed boots scraping the concrete as he settled his Stetson on top of his head.  He was ready to get this over with.

It didn’t take long to receive an answer to his ringing at the tall, white front doors.  He’d only stood there about thirty seconds when it was opened by a woman in her late-forties to early-fifties.  His sheriff’s eyes noted a sizable diamond on her left hand, additional jewelry that was understated yet of the finest quality, and a pair of dressy boots that probably cost as much as his truck back home.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he greeted with a cordial smile, sliding a hand into the back pocket of his Wranglers and extracting a leather wallet that he flipped open to display his badge.  “I’m Sheriff Matthews from Coweta County, Georgia.  I’d like to speak to Mr. Bon Jovi, please.”

Professionally groomed eyebrows knit together and she tucked long, chestnut locks behind one ear.  “My husband isn’t home this afternoon, Sheriff.  Is there something I can help you with?”

Just as he’d hoped when the door swung open, she was Bon Jovi’s wife.  This would be his best shot at getting information, because chances were that this woman was pissed about a beautiful, younger piece of tail worming into her husband’s life.   She would be a whole lot more forthcoming than the man who was banging that tail.

“Then you’re Dorothea Bon Jovi?”

“I am,” was her aloof affirmation while crossing the flowing sleeves of a white blouse over her chest.  “What is this about?”

“Well, ma’am,” He tucked two fingers into his shirt pocket, extracting one of the photos that had been on the internet earlier this week and passing it to her.  “I’m here about this woman, whom he apparently had contact with a few days ago.  I was hopin' that he might be able to give me an idea as to her current whereabouts.  Or perhaps you have some information?”

The coldness in Mrs. Bon Jovi’s eyes and the flatting of her mouth told Billy Jack that he’d hit pay dirt. 

“Why are you looking for her?”

“She’s a person of interest in an arson investigation.”

Whether Glory Cassidy was screwing this woman’s husband or not, the little missus’s body language said she believed it to be true and was none too happy about it.  Dorothea pushed the picture back at him with squared shoulders and levelly met his gaze.

“She might be staying with a friend of ours.  David Bryan.  I have the address if you want it.”

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and law enforcement hath no greater friend.

“Thank ya, ma’am.  I’d appreciate that.”

***** New posting schedule is now in effect.  Every other day from now until the end, which should be August 30th.  At that time, I will have a start date for my new story.  Hope you enjoy the rest of the ride!!  xoxo *****

65 - The Landing's a Bitch

“Damn you.”  Cassidy pushed herself upright in the bed, thumping a closed fist against his shoulder as she sat up.  “No, it wasn’t a good idea!”

“Hey!”  His forehead puckered with bewildered surprise and Jon followed her lead, shoving himself up against the pillows so that he was on the same level as she.  “I thought…  Well, fuck.  I thought we were having some kind of moment.  Ever since I got here tonight…  I…  Shit.  Am I that far out of touch with reality?”

God help her, but she wanted to cry.  He had given her a moment that most women would dream of and it was all she could do not to sob over her shattered fairytale.  This was why she didn’t indulge in such tomfoolery.  The flight from Fantasy Land to Reality was a bumpy one, and the landing was a bitch. 

In the morning, she would’ve been prepared for that crash landing with her flotation device, oxygen mask and all that other paraphernalia.  She would have braced herself for impact and been just fine.  But now, as unprotected as a turtle without its shell…

She dug hard fingertips into corners of her eyes and slumped against the headboard.  The chill of the leather-like surface sucked away the remaining warmth of her fantastical sunshine and that, too, made her want to cry.

“Tell me what’s wrong, goddammit!”  He was understandably frustrated, and she couldn’t even blame him.  She was equally frustrated and had no idea how to tell him why without sounding psychotically delusional.

“You ruined perfection,” she murmured from behind eyelids still locked down with her fingertips.    

“How the hell did I do that?”

Hands falling to her lap, she pinned him with a narrowed glare.  “Stop swearin’ at me.”

“Make some fucking sense, and I might.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!”  She flicked the covers back in helpless exasperation and her feet slid to the floor so that she might circle around the end of the bed and unzip her suitcase.  What she was looking for, she had no idea, but it was something to keep her hands busy and her mind free of irrational tears.  “We both knew what we were feelin’ a week ago.  Why did you have to say it and ruin everything?  Tonight of all nights, when everything was picture-perfect beautiful?  Why?”

“Cassidy, stop.”  Having also risen, his voice came from directly beside her and Jon reached to still hands that agitatedly rifled through her clothes without purpose.  Taking them gently in his, he guided her into his chest and folded strong arms around her to whisper, “Nothing is ruined.  Everything is still picture-perfect.  The only difference is that I’m owning my feelings – all of them.”

“No, you silly man,” she disputed and her forehead fell dejectedly against his shoulder.  “The difference is that we now have to deal with the reality of what those feelin’s mean.  It’s no longer a matter of me doin’ what I do for the pleasure of seein’ you happy.  It’s no longer a matter of casual comin’s and goin’s or bein’ together just because it feels good.”

“Sure it is.  A couple of words don’t change any of that.  Not really.”

God bless his optimistic heart.  His visions might not be colored with flower-filled meadows and mythical beauty, but he was still claiming his own idyllic indulgence.   

“The words change everything, Jon.  Now I have to start worryin’ over what my place is in your life and figure out how to live some damn secret existence if I want to keep that place.”  Lifting her head, she looked up to meet his eyes.  “I have to wonder which mornin’ you’ll wake up and choose not to love me, like you did your wife.”

When he had vague feelings for her, she didn’t have to wonder whether they would someday fade away.  It was assumed that they would and that was okay.  They’d still be fond friends who shared a meal every couple of years. 

The “L” word implied something more permanent – like forever.

In her mind, it did, anyway.  There was only one occasion in which she had directed that word toward a man and she was a foolish sixteen year old girl at the time.  Ever since then, she’d given that simple four-letter emotion the respect it deserved, even while the rest of the world was throwing it around like confetti.

She deserved the same respect.

Jon’s sigh was bone-deep and weary.  “Come back to bed and we’ll talk.”

“I don’t want to talk,” she refused bitchily, hating the way she sounded, but knowing it was the only way to combat the tears that were trying to build again.  “That was the whole friggin’ point.  I just wanted to lay there, basking in the damn afterglow of makin’ love, and dream things that only little girls have a right to dream.  For one damn night I didn’t want to be the responsible adult.”

Jon had no idea how in the hell a confession of his feelings had turned into this logic-defying clusterfuck.  He’d thought she would be… happy?  Maybe?  He’d even entertained the idea that she might return the sentiment, yet here she was all bent out of shape because he ruined some kind of daydream?

It made no fucking sense to him because, Jesus Christ, he was bad with this touchy-feely shit.  That’s why things had gone south when he first discovered those unlabeled feelings. 

No, Jon was the guy who systematically worked his way through a problem one step at a time until a solution presented itself.   Emotions weren’t part of the deal and he personally thought they made most problems more complicated.   He had no idea how to maneuver around them to find rationality.

However, Cassidy wasn’t the kind of woman who had an undue flair for the dramatic.  Hell, she was the polar opposite of that, never displaying anything other than a calm serenity or down-to-earth common sense.  That made her anxiety a big fucking deal here, and he couldn’t gloss over it. 

Even if he wanted to, she had repeatedly opened her arms and offered him unconditional sanctuary from his demons.  He owed her and Jon took that shit very seriously, so he was going to step up and give her what she seemed to want.  He would put aside his problem solving, hard-ass personality and be softer than life had made him.

“Come to bed, baby,” he coaxed, pressing his lips tenderly to her forehead.  “We’ll pretend I didn’t say anything and be two smitten kids building castles in the clouds.  No responsible adults in sight.  We’ll dream out loud and love without reservation because tomorrow will never come.  Tonight is infinite.”

“You’re makin’ fun of me.”

“No,” he disputed the muttered accusation.  “I’m trying to make it better, because I fucking hate it when you’re not happy.”

Arms that had been hanging at her sides snaked around him to squeeze tight, and she buried her face in his bare chest without saying anything.  That was fine.  He was content enough to hold her like this for a few minutes if that’s what she wanted. 

Jon gently propped his chin on the top of her head, wondering how long he could stay before Dorothea caused problems.  She had finally been agreeable enough to his coming out tonight, but when he’d suggested it might be an all-nighter…  Basically, she’d issued a silent “it better not be” with her eyes. 

He figured he had a few more hours, anyway, he decided as Cassidy sniffled.

Sniffle?

He pulled away to find that her eyes were watery – not really crying, just teary.  “Now what?”

Sniffling again, she shook her head.  “It’s nothin’.  Clearly, I’ve been under more stress than I realized, because your… kindness hit a tender spot.  That’s all.”

Kindness.  Had he been such a selfish prick that a nice gesture was so momentous?  Or…

“In woman-speak, does that translate to you realizing I might actually mean those words you didn’t want me to say?”

Cassidy sheepishly ducked her chin, embarrassed that his simply-stated wish for her happiness had been what validated his profession of love.  There hadn’t been a man who went out of his way for her happiness… ever.  None that mattered, anyway. 

“Yes.”

A masculine knuckle tucked beneath Cassidy’s chin, angling her face so that she was looking directly into earnest blue irises.  “Baby, I’m not a romantic guy but I’m also not a bullshitter, and it’s been years since I had any interest in blowing sunshine up anybody’s ass.  Anything I say, I mean.  Now, get your ass back in the bed.  We have castles to build.”

The rays of Utopian sunshine once again warmed her bones. 

She would slay dragons for this man.  The need to protect him from himself had been there from that very first day, but now that he…  Now that…

Cassidy couldn’t even finish the thought.  It was too overwhelming.

“What kinda castles we gonna build?” she inquired, crawling on hands and knees to her half of the bed, where she flipped onto her side so that they faced one another when he joined her.

“Any kind you want.  Big ones, little ones, jewel-encrusted ones.  You like diamonds?”

Shamelessly indulging in the comfortable intimacy and the languid fingers working through her hair, Cassidy hummed with contentment and mentally locked out the rest of the world.  “They’re okay.”

“You like rubies better?  Emeralds?”

She couldn’t say she’d ever been the type to go google-eyed over any kind of jewelry.  That didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate a beautiful piece, but diamonds weren’t this girl’s best friend.

“I’m more particular about the sentiment than the stone.  Necklace made outta gum wrappers, pop top ring, aluminum foil Wonder Woman bracelet – I have all those in my jewelry box at home and they’re more precious than anything Cartier has to offer because my little girl made ‘em for me.”

Brushing a floppy lock of hair away from Jon’s forehead, she pressed against the lines of concentration there and smoothed them away while he silently watched.  His eyes glanced up to the mop of hair that was probably a fright, and back down to her eyes, where he divided his attention by focusing on one and then the other. 

“I’d like to meet Calliope and Libby.” 

Cassidy’s hand stilled on his forehead.  That had nothing to do with jewel-encrusted castles.  In fact, it sounded a whole lot like the reality that she was shunning for the night.

“Stop,” he ordered quietly, retrieving her still hand and pressing a kiss to the knuckles.  “I’m talking some vague day in the future, when the planets come into perfect alignment.  Not tomorrow.”

“In that case, I’m sure they’d like to meet you, too.”

Libby would, for sure, if for no other reason than his celebrity status.  Calliope wasn’t old enough to be overwhelmed by who Jon was, but she would be curious about any man whom her mother introduced because there had never been one before.  Cassidy had purposely sheltered her daughter from the handful of men she dated, but Calliope was an adult now and didn’t need that kind of protection.

I’m the one who needs protectin’.

“So this castle,” Jon tangled his legs with hers and carried on their round of make-believe while he stroked a toe along her calf.  “I get that we’re building it on a cloud, but what state is under that cloud?  Georgia?  New Jersey?”

Pulling her mind away from weighty things like the man she cared for asking to meet her family, Cassidy thoughtfully pet the coarse silver hair that blanketed his pectorals.  “It’s just a cloud, floatin’ around in the sky.”

“Would you mind if that cloud settled over New Jersey?”

One side of her mouth kicked up with amusement.  He sucked at avoiding reality. 

“In the interest of there bein’ no misunderstandin’,” she drawled.  “Are you askin’ me to move to New Jersey when my family matters are resolved?”

“Yes.”

Damn.  He could do more to her with a single word than any other man could with enough words to fill War and Peace.

“And you’d like me to move so that things would be more convenient for you.”

A warm palm followed the swell of her curves, coasting from waist to hip as he charmed her with a smile.  “You say ‘convenient for me’, I say we get more nights like this.”

More nights that he was watching the clock, counting down the hours and minutes until he had to return home to his wife and family.  His wife and family did not belong on their cloud.

“Tennessee would be a good spot,” she diverted.  “Say, right over a professional football field.  How’s that comin’ along?  Any more progress?”

His bright, dancing eyes were Cassidy’s reward for compromise.  “It’s pretty much a go.  The lawyers are going to draw up the papers and we’ll likely sign by the end of the week.  I’ll be a fucking pauper, but I’ll be a pauper with a football team.”

“That’s just a temporary setback, baby doll.  It won’t take more’n a year or two before you recoup your money and starting multiplyin’ it.”

“That’s the plan.”

Companionable silence fell gently over the two of them as he presumably contemplated his reign as Titans owner, and she…  She lived in the moment, drinking him in and savoring both the physical and the emotional connection that had been forged tonight.

“She didn’t want my love.”

Confusion brought Cassidy’s eyebrows down low as she tried to correlate that thought to football.  “Excuse me?”

“My wife,” he clarified softly.  “She loves my house, cars, kids, money… her volunteer work and maybe the guy down the street for all I know.  But she lost interest in loving me, or having my love, a long time ago.  That’s why I stopped choosing to love her.”   

It was all delivered very matter-of-factly, without a hint of sadness or remorse, but how could he not harbor some type of sorrow?  With that piled on top of everything else he’d been dealing with in the past couple of years, it was no wonder the poor man had been depressed.

But he’s not now.

Cupping his cheek, she relished the prickle of his evening whiskers against her palm as she caressed his face. 

“I’ve waited almost forty-two years to give a man my love, so I suspect it’s gonna belong to him for the rest of my life.  You can damn sure bet I’ll want his for that long, too.”

Brilliant white teeth bared in a grin as wide as his face and his voice lightly sang with pleasure when prompting, “In the interest of there being no misunderstanding…”

“In the interest of there bein’ no misunderstandin’,” she parroted through her own grin and leaned forward to softly touch her lips to his.  “I love you, Jon.”

*64 - Fairytale Dreams

Her easy damn smile topped with dancing blue eyes were exactly what he needed.  They punctured Jon’s bloated ball of stress as effortlessly as a pinprick, allowing today’s anxiety to hiss silently away and leaving just… Cassidy.

“Your sister scared the shit out of me today,” he murmured as his hand fell away from her face so that they were no longer touching.  It created what could be considered a respectable distance between them – six inches, at least.

“I’m sorry ‘bout that.  She gets a little wound up sometimes.”

Somebody had needed to be wound up because Cassidy sure as hell hadn’t shown any concern for her own safety.  He appreciated her hair-trigger sister and, feeling as though he’d found an ally in the woman, Jon had invited Libby to contact him for help or anything else when her sister didn’t have the good sense to do it. 

“I’m glad she called.”

The bubble encapsulating their private world was popped by the subdued ruckus of David sliding back the piano bench to gather a glass and his phone as he stood.  “Clearly I don’t need to be here for this shit.  Cassidy, take the third room on the right upstairs and make him carry your suitcase like he’s got some fucking couth.”

His abrupt and colorfully commentated departure wasn’t sitting well with the Southerner, who turned away from Jon to frown prettily at the keyboardist.  “Now don’t go runnin’ off just because we’re rude, makin’ you feel out of place in your own livin’ room.  If you wanna stay, I promise we’ll behave better.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jon muttered under his breath, leaning one hip against the piano and crossing his arms.  He personally couldn’t wait to be alone with her so that he could…  Hell, it wasn’t even like he had a raging hard-on for her.  He just wanted to lose himself – to crawl inside her and hold tight until her presence drove away everything inside him that shouldn’t be there.

His friend patted Cassidy’s hand and kindly removed it from his arm.  “That’s very sweet, but I’m gonna go watch Fifty Shades of Grey and see if I can pick up any pointers.  If there’s anything good, I’ll send him a text.  You can thank me in the morning.”

Cassidy’s jaw went slack as she tried to decide whether he was kidding, and result was so animatedly comical that Jon couldn’t help but laugh.  He’d like to tell her it was a joke, but he really didn’t know if it was. 

“You’re a crazy fucker, Lema, but I still love ya.  Sorry about giving you hell earlier.”

His friend’s mouth wound into a smirk.  “You’re not sorry, you’re just playing nice for company, but never fear. I’ve already forgotten it.  Cassidy, I’m not a morning person.  If you are, help yourself to coffee or whatever.  My family will start descending for Lily’s birthday party about two.  You’re welcome to join us or hide from us.  Whichever.  Later, kids.”

With that and a careless wave, he strolled from the room. 

She was still watching his retreating back when Jon eased up behind her to work both arms around her waist.  With a gentle tug, she was completely enveloped in the embrace and her back flattened against the wall of his chest.  That nearness was exactly what he’d been searching for and Jon dipped his head for more, using lazy lips to nuzzle the curve of her neck.

 “Looking for some sanity, baby doll?”

The tender, knowing words prompted him to hold her tighter.  Sanity wasn’t precisely the right word tonight, but it would do as a synonym for what he was really after. She was the only one who could give him either.

“Yes,” he murmured against the fragrant flesh that carried no scent other than her own.

Ever so gently, she pushed at his forearms, urging him to break the embrace so that she could slide a palm against his and intertwine their fingers.  “Reckon we should go upstairs and see if you can find some, then.”

When she would have used their clasped hands to pull him along behind her, Jon dug in his heels.   

“Dixie.”

A fiery cloud of hair swished over her shoulders when Cassidy’s head swiveled in his direction, and whatever he’d been about to say was immediately lost in the bottom of wide, guileless eyes that met his.   Her hair was a mess, her makeup had all but faded away and the worn jeans and t-shirt she had on were hardly haute couture – but damn if she wasn’t still more beautiful than anybody he’d ever met in Hollywood. 

Inside and out.

Jon used their knitted fingers to draw her gradually forward until ruby shoes were sandwiched between his feet, and then slid his hand free to lightly cup her jaw.  Her pupils dilated with the realization of what was coming, but she didn’t realize.  Not really. 

Rather than delivering the expected kiss – one that crashed down on her with the full intensity of his need – Jon’s chin dipped so gradually that it felt as though he wasn’t moving at all.  They were suspended in time and space, and an immeasurable eternity of anticipation passed before his lips fluttered softly against hers.

The yearning feminine sigh flooded his gut with warmth.  It was without words yet sweetly begged for another pass of his lips, which he delivered and embellished with the slow swipe of his tongue.  The perfectly bowed mouth had scarcely parted with another sigh when he slipped inside with his own sigh – one of fulfillment. 

He only got this feeling with her.  Only she could bring sunshine into the dark corners of his soul, sweeping away desolate cobwebs with a cleansing peace. 

Only her.

He drank of her as he would the finest wine, slowly sipping and swirling her flavor on his tongue to appreciate the captivating individuality of it – and the woman in his arms.  The headiness excited him and well-placed pressure coaxed her to open wider so that he could guzzle like a wino deprived for far too long. 

The glide of their tongues was akin to a velvety red vintage.  Her breathy moan was a sweet white.  Her seductive writhing held the same beguiling allure as his beloved Pinot Grigio.  The way she flared to life in his arms was more intoxicating than an entire fucking vineyard.

His body – his mind – reacted to her in a way he hadn’t realized he was capable of anymore, and it spurred him to drink deeper.  To swallow every drop.  To taste the every delectable recess, nook and niche of her mouth.  He became greedy, taking everything she offered and demanding more until she whimpered at the fierceness of his possession.

Prying their mouths apart, Jon’s forehead came to rest against hers, and he used widespread palms to cradle her skull while he caught his breath.  While he willed his heart to calm the fuck down.  While he tried like hell not to stick a label on his bottle of unlabeled feelings. 

“Not that I’m complainin’,” she whispered while running fingertips through the short hair over his ears.  “But we coulda done that upstairs.”

“We still will.”

Cassidy didn’t know what thoughts were churning behind those baby blues of his, but they were deep and, based on his spellbound fascination with her face, they were all about her.  If this was her first rodeo, she could be enticed into believing those thoughts included flowers, hearts and romance.  That they held promises and plans for today and tomorrow.  That she was his everything.

This wasn't her first rodeo, though – or even her first with him – and she couldn’t let herself indulge in such foolishness. He had a caring nature that she’d been privileged to experience, but that caring had never slipped beyond the “unlabeled line” they’d defined and she had no reason to assume tonight was any different. 

“What ‘cha thinkin’ ‘bout, baby doll?”  Not expecting an answer of any substance, she spoke simply to quell the inner voice urging her to assume tonight was different. 

“You don’t wanna know.”

‘Lub-dub’.

She heard the heartbeat pound in her ears, quickly chased by another.  It took only one more for Cassidy to decide that he was right.  Whatever made his eyes cloud to that particular shade was either very good or very bad, and she didn’t have the gumption to handle either tonight. 

Right now, there was only one thing that invited her handling and it was him.

“Alright.”  Her hands stroked down his shoulders and back up again, until worshipful fingers could feather over his throat.  “Let’s go find you some sanity, then.”

With nothing more than expectant silence filling the air between them, they passed hand in hand through the foyer to get her bag.  They scaled the stairs without speaking, and Cassidy mentally counted doorways until her hand could close around the knob of the third one and push it open. 

Dark opulence registered in the back of her mind – dark brocade wallpaper behind a white headboard, dark curtains, ornate black chandelier, plush black area rug beneath the bed – but she didn’t stop to study any of it.  Later, she might be interested in the details of her accommodations for the next couple of days but, for now, her attention didn’t veer from the man who was placing her suitcase on the zebra upholstered bench at the foot of the bed.

“How long can you stay?” Cassidy inquired, needing to know but not wanting to hear the answer. 

Her head tilted back as he came closer, because she was unwilling to look away from the sculpted cheekbones that lent boyish appeal to a face superbly marked by masculine maturity.  He was simply… gorgeous in both body and soul.  

“A while.”

His vagueness was irrelevant when the same fingers that could make a guitar sing so magnificently pushed into her hair, tunneling through the chaotic mess that it must be.  Then he came back for another try at tidying it, and another, repetitively finger combing her hair while intently cataloging each arch, angle and shadow in her face.

“I’d like to feel your skin,” she murmured and he took half a step back, allowing her to access the buttons running the midline of his torso.  Only four were fastened and they soon parted so that itching palms could skate over the downy plane that was exposed.

A single masculine shrug transformed his shirt to a navy puddle against the hardwood floor, and Cassidy furthered her survey to cover muscled shoulders.  She traced the cut lines of his biceps and touched reverent lips to the base of his throat, dragging soft kisses to his Adam’s apple, the chiseled angle of his jaw, the clefted point of his chin...

Splayed hands blanketed her ears and his thumbs exerted gentle, yet insistent, pressure until her chin was properly tilted to receive his kiss.  Like the one downstairs, it was slow.  Lazy.  Tender.  Indulgent.

They’d touched lips uncountable times by now, but each kiss had been a point of interest on the journey to another destination.  Tonight, wrapped tenderly in his arms, Cassidy felt like there was no place else he’d rather be than lost in this kiss.

Don’t be writin’ fairytales.

“My sweet Dixie,” he breathed into her mouth between gentle lashes of his tongue. 

To Hell with that. 

With his heart-melting endearment still warm on her lips, Cassidy stubbornly decided to write whatever she damn well pleased.  She was entitled to romanticize one night out of a lifetime and, until he left, she gave herself permission to imagine that nothing existed beyond the dark cocoon of this room. 

That everything she desired could be hers. 

That Jon was hers.

Dipping her toe into the pool of romance, she let rose petal droplets splash all around while wading from the banks of reality into the magical place where he made ceaseless love to her mouth because he couldn’t stand not to.  She put in a forwarding address to the fantasy land where their clothes slowly faded away until their bodies were as bare as their hearts and souls. 

As meticulously as he made love to her mouth, he made love to every other part of her body.  His hands cherished her, his breath warmed a spot deep inside that she hadn’t known was cold, his quiet hum of encouragement let her dream, his kisses… 

Oh, his kisses.

They were as ardently consuming in her most intimate places as they’d been pressed against her lips.  He ceaselessly laved, suckled, lapped and worshipped until she crested not a mountain, but a dreamlike knoll that rolled down into flower-filled meadow where the fairytale sun kissed her just as sweetly as he did when merging their bodies into a single… mythical… splendid… entity. 

And when he cajoled her into rolling down that knoll again, this time with him, they were so tightly and intimately entwined that there was no distinguishing where she ended and he began.  He inhaled, she exhaled.  His heart beat, she was the pulse.  He touched her, they both shivered. 

In the enchanted realm that she had created, there would be nothing less.

It was hours later that they lay spinelessly braided together in the dark bedroom while there was still full daylight behind Cassidy’s closed lids.  In her mind, it wasn’t a mattress that cradled them, but that flower-filled meadow, and the outlook from here to eternity was blissfully clear. 

Waking up in reality tomorrow was going to hurt like the dickens because she’d let herself take this trip, but she didn’t care.  It was simply too beautiful to regret and she wouldn’t trade her journey for all the common sense in the world.

“Dixie?”  Her imagination likened his whisper to a butterfly floating from one flower to the next.

“Hmm?” 

She hoped he didn’t want to talk about deep and necessary things.  The strength of him under and around her felt so decadent and heavenly that she longed to stay immersed in it a while longer, and she snuggled into his chest with that intention.

“You asked me what I was thinking about downstairs.”  There was something about his tone that had her going tense and he soothed her with a gentle stroke.  “I didn’t think it was a good idea to tell you.  Probably still isn’t, but hell if I can keep myself from doing it anyway.”

Her head lifted of its own accord, seeking out his eyes in dim light to find the clouded blue had overtaken his irises again. 

Please, Lord.  Please?

“I love you, Cassidy.”

63- Better Now

Dinner at Dublin House was nearly complete.  In the middle of the table, the boys had accumulated a mountain of chicken wing stained napkins, Dorothea was down to her last bites of salad, and Jon’s tuna burger lay half-eaten on the plate while relative silence encompassed the room.  The restaurant was free of Celtic musicians tonight, which Jon found to be unfortunate.  Had the air been filled with the rollicking sounds of flute, fiddle, mandolin and bagpipe, then he wouldn’t have been expected to carry on a conversation – or to justify the excess attention to his phone.

“Jon, for the last time, put down the damn phone,” Dorothea instructed from across the table, where Romeo sat with her while he shared this side of the booth with Jake.  “Whatever it is can wait.  You haven’t been home in two weeks, so it would be nice if you actually paid attention to your family.”

He glanced at his sons whose faces were buried in their phones.  They sure as hell didn’t crave his attention and he had other things on his mind.

“You know I’m in the middle of this Titans thing.” 

His tone wasn’t quite as neutral as it should have been and it had nothing to do with the Titans.  Jon was on edge because he still hadn’t heard whether Cassidy had safely made it to New Jersey.  Theoretically, she should have landed at Newark two hours ago and gotten to Dave’s place about an hour after that, yet neither of them had sent a message to confirm her arrival and he was becoming irritable.

“You’ve waited fifty years for a damn team; you can wait another hour.”

He cut her a look, which she met with a hardness that told him she didn’t give a rat’s ass about the Titans or anything else that might command his attention.  She wanted him to act like the picture-perfect husband/father that the world had dubbed him and she wasn’t above kicking him in the shins to make it happen.

It struck him again how different that she and Cassidy were.  Dorothea was barely tolerating anything Titan related, whereas Cassidy had immediately asked about any progress on the purchase when he talked to her for the second time this afternoon. 

That was when she’d thrown around phrases like “crazy uncle”, “gun” and “looking to take it out on me”.  Phrases that made him crazy and fed the restlessness that was becoming unbearable. 

Closing the case on his phone, he pushed it back into his pocket and leaned forward with his forearms on the table.   

“I’m going to Lema’s later.  Lexi’s out of town and I want to take the chance to run some of the new material past him.”

Again, stony brown eyes connected with his. “No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Her maternal gaze slid over their sons, who appeared to be oblivious to their surroundings, but raising two other children to adulthood had taught Jon and Dorothea better.  Instructions to eat their broccoli wouldn’t even register as spoken words but, if Mom and Dad were going to argue, they would be able to give the post-game color commentary with exact quotes.

“We’ll talk about it when we get home,” was her way of not scarring the children as she dug into her purse for something.

“Mhm.”

It didn’t matter to him when they talked about it.  He was going to David’s tonight.  Period.

“Hey, Dad.  Can we stop by the cupcake place after dinner?”  His youngest child turned brown eyes on him that were so much like his mother’s when she wasn’t being a pain in the ass. 

“We’ll have to go another time, Romeo,” Dorothea informed him after looking at her watch.  “They close at seven and it’s five ‘til now.”

That was the perfect excuse for Jon. 

“It’s just down the block,” he contradicted, putting his credit card on the table.  “You stay here and pay for dinner and us guys will run for it.  Want anything?”

He was going to have to come up with a simile for Dorothea’s eyes.  Romeo’s were soft and brown, like chocolate, but hers right now were hard and brown.  Like…

Day old shit.

Coughing away the laughter that wanted to follow that romantic little thought, he slid out of the booth.  “C’mon boys.  Get a move on.  Dorothea, we’ll meet you in the car.”

“Get me a honey vanilla,” she called after the three of them. 

He raised a hand to indicate that he’d heard her and made a break for it, following his boys out into the cool April evening. 

###

“What do you have against staying home?”  Dorothea asked him for the third time, this go-around coming from the depths of their closet as she changed clothes. 

Jon thought it was a shame that the monstrous cupcake she ate on the ride home hadn’t sweetened her attitude toward him.  Outside the closet where his wife couldn’t see him, he stood with his feet spread wide and his fingertips stuffed into his pockets, shaking his head and rolling his eyes like a teenager.

“For the third fucking time, I have a goddamn album to put together and it’s been tough as hell to do. I need some input.”

“Well, run it by me,” she suggested, passing through the doorway from closet to bedroom in a pair of black yoga pants with a matching tee.  “I’ll give you some input.”

“While I appreciate the thought…”  He didn’t, really, but he managed to put acting classes to good use.  “…the input is more meaningful if it comes from someone who knows music.  You’re tone-deaf.”

Propping hands on her hips, she narrowed her eyes.  “You realize that if you actually want to stay married, it would help to act as though you can stand to be in the same room with me.”

Oh for Christ’s sake.

Of all times for her to decide to demand attention.  Of all… fucking… times.

Man up and then get the fuck out of here.

Stifling the sigh and the annoyance that wanted to breathe free, Jon slowly approached to loop his arms around her.  Looking down into her face, he assured, “I want to stay married, but my brain is in overdrive, I have a million things that need accomplished and it’s making me hyper.  If I stay home, I’ll drive both of us crazy.  Lema’s already crazy, so he won’t even notice.”

She studied him for a moment before visibly relenting and tilting her face up for a kiss.  It was to his credit that he didn’t hesitate, even though her silent request was now considered something out of the ordinary.  Jon simply dropped his lips to hers for a light but lingering touch.

It was about as arousing as kissing the back of his hand.  If she ever decided she wanted to have sex, Jon had no idea how he was going to get his dick up.

Don’t put that idea out there in the universe.

“When will you be home?” the woman in his arms asked with resignation.

Releasing her, he withheld his smirk of victory.  “Late.  Depending on how it goes, we may pull an all-nighter.”

###

“Jesus!  Why in the hell are you wasting time yelling at me?  Yeah, well fuck you.”

On the piano bench next to Cassidy, David tapped the screen to disconnect the call that had interrupted their talk disguised as a piano lesson.  After smacking the phone down onto the baby grand’s gleaming surface, he picked up his cocktail glass and took a grumbling swig.

“Um.  Is everything okay?”

His head swiveled to the side so that she could see the disdain staining his features.  “Your boyfriend is pissed because nobody told him you got here.  Hope you’re ready to deal with that shit, because he’s coming up the driveway.”

Cassidy laughed quietly and began to extract hairpins from the twist that was beginning to tug uncomfortably at her scalp.  Running a hand through her hair, she shook it and drawled, “Honey, Jon’s spent a good part of our friendship unhappy in one way or another.  It’s nothin’ new.”

“Why in the hell do you put up with it?”

That was a good question, she supposed as the highlight reel in her head began to roll.

The first night that he’d manhandled her, angry over the meeting with Clay’s family.  The time when he was unhappy about being summoned home and asked her to help him forget that unhappiness.  When he asked her to trust him that first time at the cabin.  Two nights ago when he’d woken up in a mood and immediately reached out, seeking solace in her body. 

“I like that he looks for me when he’s had his fill of bein’ unhappy,” Cassidy quietly confided, recognizing it for the truth that it was. 

Blonde curls shook along with his head.  “You two have a fucked up relationship.  You realize that, right?”

Did they?  She didn’t think so.  No more than any other man and woman, anyway.  People were complex and putting two of them together only compounded the complexities.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.  Woman enjoys takin’ care of a man and he lets her.  That don’t sound all that strange to me.”

Long, limber fingers danced over the ivory keys, making beautiful music out of a seemingly random pattern.  “Whatever you need to tell yourself.  He should be here any minute if you want to go wait by the front door.”

She twisted her torso toward him to curiously inquire, “What is it you’re expectin’ me to do?  Jump on him like a bum on a baloney sandwich?  Because, honey, you got the wrong girl for that.”

“You think so?”  One inquisitive eyebrow eked up his brow and his fingers never slowed over the keyboard.  He clearly had seen his fair share of women fawning over Jon.

“I know so,” Cassidy firmly asserted.  “My grandmother taught me that a Southern lady doesn’t throw herself at a man – ever.”

Besides, she had just seen him yesterday.  Give it another week and maybe she’d be a bit more eager, but tonight she wasn’t inclined to assault the man with an overzealous greeting.  It would be enough to see him.

“That explains why I didn’t like touring the South,” he observed dryly over the strains of Beethoven effortlessly drawn from the baby grand.  “I never got laid.”

He was such an interesting character.  Cassidy almost felt compelled to tell him the rest of her story, but ultimately decided that he was better off not knowing.  Thus far, he’d only learned that she was in possession of a family heirloom which an obsessive relative would like to have.  He didn’t know what it was or why she was hiding from said relative.

“You never got laid because all the women were after me, dumbass.”

Both she and David swiveled their heads toward the sound of Jon’s voice.

“Fucking lead singers,” David grumbled.

Despite what she’d said and rationalized, Cassidy was tempted to spring up and greet him with a tight hug, because David was right.  Jon wasn’t happy.  It wasn’t that he was angry, for there was no telltale muscle ticking in his jaw.  It wasn’t even that he was covered by the gray cloak of depression.  He was simply… intense.

Approaching on soft-soled shoes that were the same dark blue as his dress shirt, eyes that were several shades lighter studied her closely while his mouth didn’t quiver a fraction of an inch either up or down.  It was merely flat as he stepped close, and she rose to meet the hand that reached out to brush errant strands of copper away from her cheek.

“You okay?”

The blatant concern in his voice, touch and the furrows of his forehead struck a deep chord within Cassidy, making her feel… cared for.  It was a feeling that dug deep, seeking to plant itself with everlasting roots and she pushed aside the accompanying fear to produce a radiant smile that would mask it.  “I’m fine as frog hair.  How are you?”

He didn't crack a smile, but the furrows in his forehead smoothed when he gave a single nod and replied, "Better now.”

62 - Pat-a-Cake, Pat-a-Cake

“Motherfucker!”  David tossed the baking pan onto the counter and fiercely shook his hand in the air, willing away the third-degree burn that had just been inflicted on him by Betty Crocker’s minions – also known as a fun-fucking-fetti cake.  A very burnt one.  “Those directions are jacked up!”

The damn thing had very clearly read three hundred twenty-five degrees for fifty minutes, and he dug it out of the trash to get the number to the Pillsbury support line.  They were going to get a piece of his mind because that was exactly what he’d done and he used a few of his favorite Yiddish words to convey his exact feelings on the matter while scraping egg shells off of the box. 

“There!”  He stabbed at the baking directions with his index finger.  “Right there it says three hundred twenty-five degrees for fifty…  Well, hell.  Three hundred fifty degrees for twenty-five minutes.  Goddammit!”

Okay, so maybe that would’ve been a little clearer before his third Fireball mimosa.  Drinking and baking clearly didn’t mix, but how the hell was he to know that?  There were no public service ads for that shit.  “Don’t Drink and Drive” was everywhere, but when was the last time anybody saw a “Don’t Drink and Bake”? 

“Motherfucking never,” he muttered with disgust, letting the box slip from his fingers back into the trash can.  His foresight in buying three cake mixes was genius, at least.

He was just reaching into the pantry for victim number two when a phone call rang in the front pocket of his jeans.  Cramming a hand in there, he extracted it to find…  Jon’s number on the screen.

That was odd.  After the awkward in-flight chat yesterday, he didn’t expect to hear from that guy for at least a week.

“Yo bro.  Wassup?”  He nudged the pantry door closed with his bare toe and strolled to the island, climbing onto a stool and trading the cake mix for the mimosa glass that sat patiently waiting on the marble surface. 

“I need a favor.  Are you busy?”

That was short and to the point.

“Yes and no.  I’m baking, but I can take a break,” he offered and tipped back the champagne glass.

“Good, I-  What?  You’re baking?”

Damn those Fireball mimosas are the bomb.  Fire bomb.  F-bomb.  HA!  I kill me.

“Yeah, baking.  My youngest child has my sick sense of humor and it amuses her to have dear old Dad bake the cake for her birthday party tomorrow.”

“Oh, Jesus.  Is Lexi helping you?”

“No.  She’s at some holistic detox retreat or something.”  Hell, he was happy he’d remembered that much.  He’d gone two days not knowing where she was, just knowing that she was somewhere.  It was all perfectly logical yin-yang balance in his mind, whether it made sense to anyone else or not.

“So would you be interested in having someone else help you?”

The question was laid out like a rabbit snare for an unsuspecting little Thumper in the woods, yet the carrot within was so enticing that David simply couldn’t resist taking a nibble.

“You bake?”

A loud snort came over the line at the absurdity.  “Fuck, no.  But I bet Cassidy does.”

“Um.  Not that I dispute her culinary achievements, but that’s a long drive to whip up a ninety-nine cent cake mix.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the favor, man.  She needs a place to stay this weekend and I obviously can’t let her stay here.  Can she crash at your house until we hear back from the Tennessee Bar?”

The hamster wheel of David’s brain was woefully unmanned, seeing as the hamster was swimming in cinnamon whiskey, but he gave it a twirl with his finger and tried to make at least a couple of his brain cells click. 

“You want Cassidy to stay here.  With me.  For the weekend.”

“Yeahhh...  That’s what I said.  If it’s a problem, I’ll call Obie instead.”

It wasn’t a problem, per se, other than it made zero sense to him.  He just simply couldn’t see why Cassidy might want to come to New Jersey – for a weekend that was half-over already.

“Nah, she can stay, but why?”

The combination groan/sigh foretold of a story and David’s ears perked up with interest. 

“It’s a clusterfuck, man, and I can’t give you all the details.  Hell, I don’t have the details yet.  All I can say is this shit with her grandmother’s will necessitates that she lay way-the-fuck low so that nobody knows where she is.”

“You realize you’ve made it sound like she’s hiding from the Mob.”

Which would be pretty interesting from David’s standpoint.  Not that he wanted Al Capone knocking on his front door, but it would make a cool-as-fuck story to tell when it was all over.

“No, you dumb fucker.  She’s just staying out of her family’s way until the legal shit is resolved.”

That wasn’t nearly as entertaining, but whatever.  He liked Cassidy and would appreciate some Funfetti assistance.  Maybe he would even let her play his baby grand.  It could be like a small co-ed slumber party. 

“Yeah, whatever.  Where and when is she arriving?”

“Not sure what time, but there’s a charter at the Nashville airfield and I’ll have a car waiting at Newark to bring her to your place.  I’ll text an ETA when I have it.”

This was all very strange, but it was a way to liven up a solitary Saturday night without having to go to the liquor store - again.  Who was he to complain?

###

Cassidy stared pensively out the window as the hired car exited the Garden State Parkway.  It was exceedingly awkward to turn up on the doorstep of someone you didn’t know all that well, and she was feeling a bit anxious about it.  David’s unpredictable behavior intensified that anxiety, particularly since Jon had told her David’s wife was out of town. 

Not that she thought David would be physically inappropriate.  It was just… It just made her uneasy.  Of course, that uneasiness could have a fair amount to do with Gerald Ray’s visit and his revelation about Uncle Stanley.  Before she knew of his gun purchase, this whole interrupted life thing was merely an inconvenience to get through.  Now it was something a little more sinister that was hard to laugh off.

Lord, I do thank You for puttin’ me on Gerald Ray’s path or vice-versa.  I guess it’s better to be armed with knowledge than to be ignorantly gunned down.  It leads me to believe that You share my philosophy about good things happenin’ to good people.  I find it very reassurin’ that we are on the same page, if You don’t mind me sayin’. 

I have no idea what to be prayin’ about right now.  Do I ask for Uncle Stanley to stay away?  Mr. Beasley to be found?  A definitive answer for the whole situation?  A hand in my more personal situation with Jon?  Lord, there’s too much goin’ on for me to be picky.  I’ll gratefully accept any input or intervention You’re willin’ to provide and if You could pass a blessin’ on to those that are givin’ me help and shelter just because they’re good people, I’d be mighty thankful about that, too.  In Jesus’s name, Amen.

“Here we are, ma’am,” the driver quietly announced before getting out to open her door and circle to the back of the car for her single suitcase. 

Cassidy had only brought enough for a few days, packing up the rest of her things and taking them over to Tully’s bar, where he agreed to let her store them in the back room for a few days.  Maybe that didn’t make the most sense, but it prevented her from having to show ID for a storage unit since she hadn’t wanted to leave everything in the cabin.  Gerald Ray knew approximately where it was, so it only stood to reason that Uncle Stanley did, too.  Who knew what could happen to her belongings?  She wasn’t taking any chances with her Wizard of Oz quilt.

Hiking her purse onto her shoulder along with her overnight/carryon bag, she looked to the top of the wide, exterior staircase to find David standing there.  Wearing jeans and a white t-shirt with some kind of intricate scrolls and skulls on it, he held a whiskey glass in his hand.  Six o’clock must be cocktail hour at the Bryan household.

“You’re not in Kansas anymore, baby,” he drawled.  “Welcome to Jersey.”

What could she do but shake her head and laugh?

“I’ll take that,” she told the driver when he started up the stairs with her suitcase.  After asking if she was sure, he passed it over and refused her paltry tip with a smile.

“It’s already been taken care of, ma’am.  But thank you.”

It was one more thing in the mental ledger of what she owed Jon when this was all over but, as her eyes roved over David’s “house” that was more like a mansion, Cassidy realized it wasn’t a drop in the bucket to these men.  Yes, she’d known they were famous musicians and that they had money.  Seeing the evidence of that in person, however, had more of an impact than some vague knowledge.

They’re still the same men.  Don’t let a house intimidate you.

Hefting her suitcase, she climbed the dozen or so concrete stairs to where her host stood. 

“Hello, David.”

“Hello yourself, Dixie Chick.”  With one swift motion, he relieved her of the luggage and gestured for her to follow him inside.  “Welcome to my humble abode.  You bake?”

“Uh.”  There was that unpredictability.  “I’ve been known to do a little.  Why?”

The big red suitcase was deposited in the foyer as Cassidy closed the door behind them, with David saying, “We’ll leave that there until I show you to your room.  Unless you want to take a nap or freshen up or whatever the hell women do?”

“No,” she chuckled, her eyes taking in the lavishness of the mansion’s interior.  “I’m fine.  So what’s this about baking?”

The ice cubes rattled in his glass when he drained it, and David gestured with his head for her to, once again, follow him.  “My youngest daughter turns fifteen on Tuesday and she’s requested that Dad bake her cake.  There was a miscommunication between myself and the box the first time around and the second time.  Well, I ate part of it and it tasted like shit.”

“What kind of cake are you tryin’ to make?”

The kitchen was full of dark wood, marble and black appliances with an island the size of a double bed that had a well-used bottle of Fireball on its surface.  Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink from his baking efforts, and there was a cake on the countertop with a David-size bite missing from the center.  From the look of the colorful dots inside, it was…

“Funfetti,” he intoned with disgust.

Leaning a hip against the cabinet, Cassidy reached to pinch another piece from that crater in the center of the cake and popped it in her mouth.  Her nose immediately wrinkled in mild disgust.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.  That’s just what those things taste like.  My daughter liked ‘em at that age, too.”

His eyebrows pitched into curious arches.  “Daughter?  You have kids?”

“Mhm.  Just one.  How many do you have?”  She nodded toward the bottle of Fireball.  “And why don’t you pour me a drink to sip while we’re talkin’ about it?”

A drink was the perfect accompaniment to David’s quirky personality and quirkier conversation.  When tinted with alcohol, she had no doubt that he would seem much more mainstream.

He poured her drink, they talked about kids, they baked a cake and she did the dishes while he drank enough to pickle the average liver.  It amazed her that he didn’t seem any drunker after finishing off the cinnamon whiskey and half a dozen tequila shots while Cassidy still sipped on her now-watery second drink.  David wasn’t any less lucid than when she arrived and she determined that he either had an incredible tolerance for alcohol or he’d been drunk as long as she’d known him.

To his credit, though, he’d shown a lot less surprise than Jon had when finding out that Calliope was in medical school.  David had merely said what a bitch med school was and that he was glad he’d gone the more flexible music route.

“You know,” he mused, when they were both sitting on stools with the completed cake on the island’s surface between them.   “I may owe Jon an apology.”

“Why’s that?”

“I gave him hell over falling for you, like he had a choice in the matter.  Even never having seen you naked, I can see now that he didn’t have a choice – or a chance in hell.”

The clouded look in his eyes had Cassidy squirming in her seat, uncrossing her ankles and crossing them the other way.  She truly hoped that he wasn’t drunker than she thought and about to make some kind of pass at her.  That would make things… uncomfortable.

“He just needed a friend.”

His quiet snort was unconvinced.  “He needed a helluva lot more than that, but I’m glad he found it.”

The moment of silence that followed had nearly reached the point of awkwardness when he slid from his stool and kicked it back with one foot.  Hooking a finger around the neck of the tequila bottle, clear blue eyes reflected nothing but friendliness when he invited, “C’mon.  You can tell me what you’re hiding from while I’ll show you what a real piano looks like.  It’ll pass the time until he gets here.”

Cassidy was a little surprised at the remark, but slid to her feet to follow him.  She hadn’t expected to see Jon tonight.  In their two brief conversations today, he’d never even hinted at it. 

“Did he tell you he was comin’ over?”

Blonde curls swung as David glanced over his shoulder and cocked a knowing eyebrow.  “He didn’t have to tell me.”