84 - Suspicion

“You don’t think Richie did it?” Lexi inquired from the depths of her walk-in closet. 

David was sitting on the edge of the bed, wrists dangling between his knees, waiting for his wife to get dressed.  They were going out to do some shopping for his birthday, even though it was a couple of weeks away yet.  She insisted that she wanted to find him something “nice” and apparently that required advance scouting. 

“Why?  Do you think he did it?”

He couldn’t say the thought hadn’t crossed his mind at least once a day for the last five days.  The feeling was so strong at one point that he seriously considered picking up the phone to ask Richie if he had spitefully divulged Jon and Sheridan’s news to the vultures as some type of revenge.  Then he remembered who he was dealing with. 

Richie Sambora was genuinely one of the nicest, sweetest guys in the world – certainly one of the sweetest to come out of Jersey.  His feelings might be hurt, and he might be bitter toward the lovely Siren, but he wasn’t vindictive.   And, like the rest of them, he was very close-mouthed about the off-stage lives of the group.

“Honey, I’m just asking.  You’ve known the guy for years.  I’d trust your instincts before mine.”

Instincts, huh? 

His instincts were alive and well, but they weren’t going haywire because of Sambora.  Miz Gracie was the one who was putting a bug up Dave’s butt.  It was all too weirdly coincidental. 

“Nah.  I don’t think he did it, but I’d sure like to ask him a few questions.”

Finally emerging from the closet, Lexi stomped one fashionably booted foot to jostle the leg of her jeans down where she wanted it.  She straightened the hem of the fitted turtleneck and tossed her faux-fur vest on the bed.

“Then call him,” she encouraged, fingers picking at the ends of her hair.  “I won’t be ready for about fifteen minutes.  That gives you time to do it right now.”

“Maybe I will.”  Withdrawing the phone from his pocket, he flipped through the numbers stored in its memory until he found the one he was looking for.  Tapping the number, he thought again how stupid this whole thing was. 

Why couldn’t people just mind their own business?  It was one of the biggest reasons they had such a tight circle of friends.  You just never knew who, with the slightest provocation, was going to be telling your business for a quick buck.

Fame isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be, that’s for damn sure.

“’Lo?”

David tempered his tone and words to be casual and light.  “Rich, baby,  How’s life on the Left Coast?”

“Doin’ alright, man.  How’s Jersey?”

“Can’t complain, can’t complain.”  He rose to stand in front of the window as he talked, staring through the sheers to his snow-dusted lawn.  “Listen, I guess you probably caught wind of what the rags are tossing around.”

“Yeah.”  The guitarists’ voice was neutral, offering no insight as to what he thought about the situation.  “I was surprised JB would announce the wife and the baby in the same breath.”

“He didn’t!” David countered with exasperation.  “That shit came outta left field on him.  That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

“If you’re accusing me of something, have enough balls to just come out and do it.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, you hyper-sensitive Polack.  But I do want to ask if Grace knew about this before it hit the fan.”

“Grace?  Are you still on that kick?  I told you she wouldn’t do that.  Not to me and, even if she heard me talking about Jon, not to him either.”

It wouldn’t surprise Richie if Sheridan had maybe been the one to go out and blab the information.  Anybody who could come into his house as a guest and play the media mole fit the profile suspect in his book. 

He frowned, annoyed that the betrayal still stung him.  She’d seemed like a nice enough woman.  He never would have suspected that she was skulking around and collecting tabloid fodder while she was under his roof.

You’ve been over this and over this, Sambora.  Sometimes you just have to accept that people aren’t as nice as you want them to be.  She’s just another heartless bitch in your life.

But she shouldn’t be.  Sheridan was his best friend’s girlfriend – now wife.  That meant they were unofficial “in-laws” and, even though Richie and Dorothea hadn’t been extraordinarily close, they still shared an undeniable bond because of Jon.  Admittedly, at the moment, it was more of a bond of aggravation than anything, but he’d still felt comfortable enough to call and commiserate with her over Jon’s questionable behavior as of late.

Maybe he was stupid, but he’d fully expected – at least hoped – to share that kind of relationship with any future Mrs. Bongiovi, too.  It was disappointing to say the least.

“Think about it Richie,” David was persisting in his ear.  “Grace is one of the few people that had access to both pieces of information.”

“And so is the trophy wife,” he snarled more bitterly than intended.  “Who’s to say she didn’t do it herself to find a slice of limelight?”

The bark of disbelieving laughter startled him.  “You’re crazy, man.  They were at my house when the story broke and I’m here to tell ya, she had no fuckin’ idea.”

“Maybe she’s a good actress.”

“What kind of actress can break out in hives on command?  I saw that shit with my own eyes.  And the paps are working overtime, hounding the hell out of them to get an exclusive with the new Mrs. Jovi.  She keeps a stiff upper lip and all that garbage, but Jon said she has to use some homemade herbal relaxation goop before she can leave the apartment.  That sound like somebody who’s jonesing for the limelight?”

The reference to Sheridan’s herbal stuff brought a blurry memory to mind.  She had some kind of lotion with her that night he acted like an ass.  Even though he had offended her, she still massaged his back until he wasn’t writhing in pain. 

Could he have misjudged?

Shaking his head, he replied without replying.  “Grace isn’t a snitch.  Period.”

❧❧❧

“Where are you?”  Jon asked in lieu of an actual greeting. 

His voice brought a smile to her face, but this call also signaled the end of Sheridan’s reprieve.  It was time to get back to the real world.

“At my apartment,” she responded, rolling over in the bed that had just given her the best nap she’d had in almost a week.  “I guess you’re home?”

“Yeah.  My meetings ran way long.  What are you doing there?”

She had a valid reason for being here.  She also had a selfish one.  Which one should she give him?

“I originally came over to clean out the refrigerator since tomorrow is trash day.  Now I’m just hiding.”

He grumbled unintelligibly.  “I told you that you didn’t have to leave the house by yourself until this dies down.  We could’ve gone over together when I got home.”

Lovely in theory, but Jon was a busy man.  He had a very full life outside of her and she wouldn’t allow him to slight his Foundation meetings or his rounds at the Soul Kitchen.  She would get used to it all.  Eventually.

“Yes, but then I wouldn’t have gotten to take such a delightfully decadent nap in...”  In my own bed, was what she’d started to say, but that wasn’t applicable anymore.  She was married.  Beds were no longer a ‘mine’ and ‘yours’ kind of thing.  Consciously putting a little extra warmth into her words, she quickly dropped back and punted with, “...the middle of the day.” 

His soft snort carried a tone of amusement.  “You hate my bed.  I get it.”

“What?  I never said that!”

“You didn’t have to.  You’re dog-tired, but you don’t sleep when you come to bed.  When I found you sacked out on the couch last night, snoring, I put two and two together.”

She wrinkled her nose and wanted to deny it, but her bed was more comfortable.  “I told you I fell asleep reading.”

“Whatever.  I like your bed just fine.  We’ll have it moved over here tomorrow.  I can’t have you dying from exhaustion before we close on the new house.  All you hadda do was say something and it would already be here.”

And have the sleazy men that were left in the dwindling pool of photographers in front of the building take pictures of her bed?  And caption those pictures with even sleazier innuendo?  She’d already worked through that scenario and didn’t like the outcome.  The mere thought gave her hives.

“I don’t want pictures of my mattress in the National Enquirer, accompanied by the speculation of what we’ve done on that mattress.”

His chuckle had her rolling her eyes.  “Now you know how I felt about that damn Cosmo thing.”

The bright pink cover of the latest installment of ‘that damn Cosmo thing’ was staring at her from the dresser.  It hit the stands yesterday.  Bridget had sent her an advance copy, but she hadn’t picked up her mail in a few days.  This morning was the first time she’d seen the printed piece.

“Speaking of which, the new edition is out.”

“Next topic,” he muttered shortly, still not ecstatic over his sex life appearing in black and what for ‘all the horny women of America’ to read. “Are you going to Jake’s concert with me tonight?”

She rubbed her palm over the front of the yoga pants that were already more comfortable than her jeans, even though it was probably just a psychological thing.  Her waistline seemed to be accepting this pregnancy much more easily than she was.  Absently, she wondered if this might be an ovarian cyst gone wild rather than a baby.

He asked you a question, Sheridan.

Right.  Jake’s concert. 

She had no desire to plunge herself into his kids’ school functions.  Their mother would be there and probably be unimpressed with Sheridan’s presence.  Other parents would undoubtedly be curious about Jon’s new wife, even if they hadn’t been subjected to the sensationalist crap that had been thrown around all week.

Unfortunately, her wants and desire had no place here. 

It was her job to go and stand by her husband.  To show her support for the little boy whom she didn’t know very well, yet, but that was now a part of her immediate family.  It was the right thing to do.

“Of course.  What time do we need to leave?”

“About five-thirty.”

Her eyes found the red numbers on the bedside clock.  It was just after three now.  She’d better get her lazy backside out of this bed so she would have time for a shower before she changed. 

“Guess I should head home then, huh?  I’ll be there in just a little while.”

“You want me to come get you?”

“No,” she assured him, standing in front of the dresser mirror and pulling her ponytail loose to refasten it more neatly.  “That’s silly.  I’ll just grab a taxi.”

“Okay, if you’re sure?”

She took a deep breath a nodded at her reflection.  “I’m sure.”

“Alright.  Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Hey,” he caught her just before she disconnected the call.  “If you hurry, we’ll have enough time to bid my bed a bon voyage before Jake's concert.  Ya know what I mean?”

The sexy drawl had her skin tingling and Sheridan trotted down the stairs, anxiously seeking out her shoes.   In midday traffic, walking was probably faster than a taxi.  She could be there in ten minutes, tops.  Her comfy boots laced up easily as she mused that powerwalking was probably good for pregnant women, anyway.  She would look that up later.

“I know exactly what you mean, baby.  I’ll be home in ten minutes.  Maybe five.”

83 - Barbie Dreamhouse

When her phone rang on Sunday morning, Jeri Daniels’s gaze immediately zipped to the kitschy Felix the Cat clock her Grandma Evelyn had given her for her twenty-fifth birthday.  Felix’s eyes darted left and right, mirroring the ticking swish of his pendulum tail.

Nine o’clock.  He waited longer than I expected him to.

Knowing her employer, he might as easily have called at six or seven o’clock, dragging her out of bed and belligerently demanding answers.  He would be well within his rights to do so.  Security had been breached and she had been the one in charge of security this time around.  Her ass was the one on the line and it was hanging on by a bare thread today, because she still didn’t know how TMZ had gotten their information. 

Taking her glasses off and placing them on the kitchen table – her makeshift desk – she stole another gulp of Ken’s sinfully good coffee before answering.

“Good morning, Jon.”  Her tone was crisp, but deliberately upbeat and optimistic.  There may not be any headway on the mysterious leak in the Bon Jovi camp, but she did have something positive to share.

“Is it a good morning, Jeri?  Do you have the information I want?  Because I’m thinkin’ if you did, you would have called me already.  So what’s the story?”

Taking a deep breath, she shrugged away any trepidation.  He was a reasonable man.  Most days.

“As of right now, we don’t have an ID on the informant.  TMZ has their lawyers screaming First Amendment rights, protecting their source and all that.”

“I have lawyers who can scream, too, goddammit!”

Two fingers dug into her right temple and she slowly rotated them, hoping to alleviate the headache threatening to bloom.  “Scream what, Jon?  As long as it’s true, they can say whatever they want.”

The noise that found its way over the line resembled something that might come from a wounded wild animal.  It wasn’t one she was familiar with from her boss, and she hoped it was a one-time deal. 

“You realize the vein in my forehead is as big as my dick right now, don’t you?  I do NOT like having my hands tied and I fucking DESPISE having a snitch in my inner circle.   What are our options?”

This was the part she dreaded more than anything. 

“Our options are very... limited.  As in non-existent.  Unless we can find someone who is willing to leak TMZ info, there’s nothing to be done except wipe the egg off of our faces.”

“That’s not the answer I was looking for.”

“I realize that, sir, but it’s the only answer I have that will hold water.”

Felix the Cat’s tail swung back and forth three times before Jon gave his response.  “Sheridan has a friend.  I’ll see if she can find out something.  Call me if you get anything – anything at all.”

“Wait!”  Knowing his tendency to end calls abruptly, Jeri had to catch his attention before he disconnected.  Maybe this information would give him a positive lead to follow. 

“Yeah?”

“The realtor faxed me over some houses you might want to take a look at.  One of them meets your specifications almost to the letter.”

“Where’s it at?”

“About a mile and a half down the road from the Navesink property.”

“And the kids,” he added on.  “And my studio.  Damn if that wouldn’t be handy.  If...”

Jeri frowned, wondering what the problem could be.  There were enough bedrooms, enough baths, it was a riverfront property, it was set back from the road and had a gate.  The photos were gorgeous and it was currently unoccupied which advanced the possession time considerably.

“If what?” she was forced to prod when he didn’t finish the sentence. 

“Nothing.  Never mind.  We’re taking the kids back to Dorothea’s house in about an hour.  See if you can set up a viewing for noon, would ya?”

“Yes, sir.  I’ll email a link to the property listing so that you can take a preliminary look.  Then, when the listing agent confirms the appointment, I’ll text the address and her contact information.”

❧❧❧

“How do you feel about looking at a house?”  Jon asked casually as he checked for traffic on Navesink River Road.  Finding the somewhat quiet roadway clear, he turned left, heading back toward the heart of Red Bank.

After a breakfast of pancakes for the kids and vegetarian omelets for the adults, they had all managed to wade through the small group of determined media hounds lurking in front of the building relatively unscathed.  The ensuing trip out to New Jersey to return his kids to their mother had been a bit subdued in the wake. 

On a brighter note, Dorothea had been cordial, if formal, at the door and even nodded politely toward the car and Sheridan.  She reminded him about Jake’s choral concert on Thursday evening and confirmed that he would take the boys next weekend before wishing him a good day and closing the door.

She still wasn’t happy by any stretch of the imagination, but she had gotten her act together.  He at least recognized her as the woman he’d been married to, unlike the woman who’d been screaming like a crazy person in his apartment Friday evening. 

You wouldn’t find him complaining about polite formality.  Did he wish they could be friends again, the way they used to be before Sheridan?  He did, with all his heart.  It would be undeniably better for the kids and easier on the grown-ups. 

One step at a time, he supposed. 

“A house?” Sheridan asked with a quizzical expression, shifting in her seat to better see him.  “I didn’t know that’s what we were doing today, but sure.  What do you know about it?  Where is it?  How many bedrooms does it have?”

Considering that they were rapidly approaching the turnoff, he addressed location first.  “It’s right up here.”

“Oh.”

He pulled the car up to the open wrought iron gates without pulling through.  Switching off the turn signal, he put the car in park and glanced out the windshield.  A silver Mercedes was parked in front of the house, but the realtor was going to have to wait a minute.  There was no point in looking at this thing until he found out if a mile and a half was enough distance between his wife and his ex-wife to suit Sheridan. 

“You don’t like the location?”

She didn’t speak at first.  Her eyes were too busy scanning the stone courtyard, lawn, surrounding brick wall and, finally, the front of the oversized New England-style house.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

He flipped his palm over in a modified shrug.  “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it, so I didn’t bring it up in front of the kids.”

“You couldn’t find that out before you dragged a realtor out here?”

Shit. 

“Didn’t you tell me you’d like to move as soon as possible?  It’s available for immediate possession.  Besides, it’s been a rough couple of days and I thought maybe looking at a house might be fun for you.  This place fit the criteria we gave Jeri, so I had her set it up. ”

She returned her attention to the view from the front windshield, this time investigating the landscaping around the front entrance.  Not that you could tell much in January, other than that there was a nice assortment of evergreen bushes.

“It would be close to your kids,” she remarked neutrally.

“And my studio.”

That had her French braid bending in half when she swiveled her head curiously toward him.  “Where is your studio?”

“It’s the gate right before Dorothea’s driveway.  I had it built right after the house was finished.”

“I didn’t realize.” Her face creased into a delicate frown.  “And you’re still using it?”

“Haven’t had much need to since the divorce, but yes.  That was part of our agreement.  I would continue to use the studio until I found or built another.”

Her eyes went back to the house, roaming its three stories, multitude of roof peaks and multi-car garage.  “Does this place have room for you to build?”

“Jeri says there’s a huge space above the garage that might work.  If not, I think there’s a decent sized piece of land behind the house.”

She bit her lip thoughtfully, with a slow nod, not giving anything away.  Jon honestly didn’t care what the answer was.  It wasn’t like he had his heart set on the place.  Yes, it would be convenient and it looked nice enough from here, but if she didn’t want to be here…

“Baby, if you don’t want to be here, it’s no big deal.  I’ve got no vested interest in it other than the location, but I understand that might not be a selling point for you.”

“Not necessarily,” she admitted slowly.  “But it’s not a strike against the place either.”

He waited for more, but it didn’t come.  Jon was finally forced to confess, “I’m just a guy, here.  Can you translate that from woman-speak into man-speak and tell me what that means?  You wanna look or not?”

She dropped her chin into her chest with a chuckle before turning a beaming smile in his direction.  “Sorry, but I didn’t think you’d need a decoder ring to figure it out.  Yes, I wanna look.  It’s preferable to going back through that media mess on Mercer Street and, besides, houses are shopping on one of the grandest scales.  What girl could resist that?”

“I guess not my girl,” he chuckled and righted himself in the seat so that he could put the car in gear.  “Let’s go see what’s what.”

In the next hour, Sheridan was awed and overwhelmed by the 14,500 square-foot, eight-bedroom, ten bath home.  Throughout its three stories were balconies upon balconies that looked out onto the Navesink, and the entire back side of the house was nothing but a wall of windows.  Some were arched, some were French doors, some were merely floor-to-ceiling, but they all let in the pale winter light, brightening the empty space considerably.

“So what do you think?” Jon asked after the realtor stepped into another room to take a call. 

“The master bedroom paint is awful,” was her first reaction.  It was an unappealing shade of avocado that turned her stomach.  In fact, all of the walls were painted in bold colors.  Pumpkin, teal, avocado…  There was nothing subtle about the décor.  She couldn’t imagine wanting to be smothered by such overwhelming shades.

“Ugly as hell, but easy enough to fix,” he chuckled.  “I like the pub.  Makes me miss the one I had at the other house.  The gym space on the ground floor is pretty sweet, too.”

She could see why he would love the media room/pub.  It was every man’s dream with the cherry bar and big screen projection system.  The cherry-fronted gas fireplace was also a nice masculine touch. 

“Did you see anything you like, Kitten?”

Goose pimples danced down her back.  As a matter of fact, she had. 

The French country eat-in kitchen had an island that would be a perfect spot for a high chair.  The sitting area of the master bedroom would be the picture-perfect place for a makeshift nursery the first month or so after the baby was born.  The bedroom right next door would be an ideal nursery if they painted the walls a sunshiny yellow.  The color would amplify the light from the bank of windows, making it seem even more vibrant. 

Sneaking a surreptitious look over her shoulder, she smiled.  Sheridan could imagine Jon’s boys trying to slide down the curved railing of the grand staircase.  For that matter, she could see David trying it. 

“That grand staircase is stunning and those antique glazed cabinets in the kitchen are gorgeous, but it’s the glass that I’m wild over.  I  love natural light and all those windows and French doors looking out over the lawn.... and the skylights...  They’re heavenly.”

“That’s a lot of glass to keep clean with a baby running around,” he teased.

“It’s all a matter of placement,” she informed him without really thinking about it.  “The family room, for example... If we put the an armoire on each wall – or a bookcase on one and armoire on the other – and the sofa in between, then all we need are a couple of baby gates and the windows are a no-baby zone.  We’ll need baby gates at the tops and bottoms of the staircases, too.”

She didn’t even notice the surprise on his face, or the first hint of his tentative smile.  “You’ve already got that all planned out, have ya?”

Yes, as matter of fact, she did.  That’s what mothers were supposed to do, weren’t they?  Protect the young that they managed not to eat?  “We have to plan for the baby, Jon.”

Chuckling, he slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in to plant a lingering kiss against her temple.  “Yeah.  We do.  So does that mean you like the house?”

“I do, but we shouldn’t buy the first house we look at should we?”

“I don’t mean to intrude, but...”  The realtor did just that, anyway.  “The information hasn’t been updated in MLS yet, but the owners have just reduced the list price by twenty percent, if that helps your deliberations.”

His eyes locked into hers plainly asking what she wanted to do. 

What did she want to do? 

It was a Barbie Dreamhouse waiting to come to life.  It was the perfect mixture of elegant and breezy, classic and contemporary, dark and light, comfortable and formal.   A good paint job would obliterate all the ugly walls and elevate the house from lovely to dazzling.  She could see them living here quite easily.  This could be their home. 

“I really want it,” she admitted, turning into him and searching out his eyes.  “Do you?”

He smiled tenderly down into her face.  “I just watched you find your inner mommy because of this place.  Hell yes I want it.”

82 - My Life Is Not My Own

“I’m sorry,” Jon breathed into her ear after his arm was snugged tightly around her waist.  She’d been standing in front of the bathroom mirror brushing her hair, and the Aerosmith concert tee she was wearing only came about mid-thigh.  It was most enticing and Jon slipped his other hand under the hem to cradle her hip while gently swaying against her back. 

“For what?”

She’d hardly said a word the entire way home and now that he was sufficiently soaked in wine, he was feeling a bit remorseful for the way he snapped at her.

“For losing control of my temper.”

The hairbrush was placed on the vanity so that she could place her hands on top of his and she let her head loll back onto his shoulder.  “I’d say you were justified.”

Bowing his head, he discreetly inhaled the fragrant cascade of hair that flowed down to the top of her breast.  Lime.  She seemed to be favoring the margarita smell again lately, he noted, slowly twirling her around.  When she faced him, Jon cupped her jaw and slowly tilted her face upward with one thumb. 

“I love you.” 

She melted into his kiss, her arms slithering up his bare chest to loop around his neck.  Sighing softly into his mouth, she tangled her fingers into the hair at his nape before whispering, “I love you, too.”

He sifted his own fingers through the silky curtain of gold that now trailed down her back.  She looked worn out, but he took a chance in asking, “Are you exhausted?”

“Close to it.  My afternoon nap wore off a long time ago.”

Touching his lips to hers again, this time he extended his tongue to lick at the seam of her mouth and coax it into opening.  At the first inkling of her submission, he voraciously pillaged the damp cavern until the sweet, minty toothpaste flavor dissolved into the unique taste of Sheridan. 

Courtesy of his wine-buzz, he was feeling far more philosophical than usual and Jon mused that maybe he’d been in love with her since that first night.  He sure as hell hadn’t gotten her out of his mind and the desire was as strong now as it had ever been. 

“I want you, baby,” he inhaled, stroking the edge of his thumbnail along the high ridge of her cheek.  Using the other hand to pull her hips against his, he drove the hard, hot evidence into her stomach. “Lemme have you.”

“Mmmm…”  Petal-soft lips parted so that she could take a lazy nip at the plumpness of his bottom lip.  “S’pose I could put my exhaustion on hold for a few minutes.”

That was all the incentive Jon needed to push the black cotton shirt up over her head and to the floor, allowing her voluptuous breasts to fill his hands.  He loved the way they felt spilling out of his palms and the way a simple flick of one nipple had her moaning with ecstasy.

“You sure as hell don’t sound exhausted.”  The words were muted against her collar bone as he nuzzled the flesh there.  A double-flick of both stiff peaks earned him a gasp before she restlessly arched against him.

Grinning, he skated around the soft globes’ circumference, balancing their weight in the crook between his thumbs and fingers and angling one toward his mouth.  His lips closed around the dusky tip and he used his tongue to flick.  When she purred with pleasure and held his head to her bosom, her hips swiveled with the expertise of a hula dancer.

“Suck,” she pleaded, fingernails scraping the back of his scalp.  They went from scraping to digging when he drew sharply on the tasty little morsel.  Jon kneaded the voluptuousness and sucked hard once again, his arousal becoming painfully stiff when she yowled like a cat in heat.

“There’s my kitten,” he breathed over the tip, satisfied when it drew into a rock-hard pebble.  “You want me, too, don’t you?”

“Mmm...”

Her scarlet panties were shoved unceremoniously to the floor and he hoisted her onto the vanity while dropping his own pants.  Her knees fell apart without hesitation and the vulnerable folds that made her a woman shimmered wetly in the light.  They beseeched him to get lost in their dewiness. 

“So pretty,” he approved gruffly as his fingertips glided into a secret valley of the softest, hottest flesh imaginable and found a tender bud of flesh throbbing with anticipation.  He pushed his thumb against it and rotated.  “You have the prettiest pussy and it’s just begging to be reamed by my cock.  What about you, Sex Kitten?  Are you begging?”

“Nnnhh...” She let her head fall forward and bit his collarbone – hard enough to leave a mark.  Damn if that wasn’t a turn-on.  “I don’t have to beg.”

Jon drew back to look down his nose at her, feeling sufficiently challenged.  She closed her eyes and whimpered when his middle finger circled that magic hot button and then traveled lower, lightly circling the entrance to Heaven.

“You don’t, huh?  And why do you think that?”

Hips rolling forward, she chased the finger that was drenched in the overflow of slick desire, yet refused to plunge into the pool that produced it.  Her satisfaction wasn’t on his immediate agenda, but her supplication was.

“You like to fuck,” she rasped into his ear, planting her heels into his ass cheeks to urge him closer.  Sheridan’s hand slid down his stomach and her thumb dragged ever-so-slowly over the weeping tip of his erection, finding that she wasn’t the only one who was wet.  “Your cock is already aching to be wrapped up inside of me, so just do it.  Take what you want.”

“Beg for it, and I will,” was his stubborn insistence as he continued to work the sensitive creases of her womanhood.  The valley was flooded enough to float them both into a steamy ocean of sex if she’d just confess how much she wanted it.  Needed it.

“No.”

The tip of his middle finger skated around her dripping entrance, withdrawing when she tried to lure him inside with a subtle tilt of her pelvis.

“Yes.  One little ‘please’ and I’ll make you come until your eyes cross.  C’mon, baby.  Give it to me.”

He wasn’t sure why it was so important that she give herself to him this way, this time.  She’d always been an eager lover, never hesitating to submit to whatever he asked.  Why wasn’t it enough that she’d given up her entire life for him and their baby? 

Because I gave up my life, too.  I’ve done battle with nearly every single person I love for her.  For this.

Was a little reassurance too much to ask for?  He just wanted to know, after the last two hellacious days, that she was still in the same place.  That she still needed him the way he needed her.

He didn’t know if it was in the way he’d asked for her submission or if she felt a difference in him, but green eyes riveted to blue and it took Sheridan about two seconds to read his mind.  He could see it in the way the sharp edges of desire softened to something else – something deeper.

“Please,” she whispered, never looking away.  “Please,” she repeated again when he pushed into the softness that had started to feel like the other half of him.  Her thighs tightened around his waist, her hands covered his face, neck, shoulders and chest as he planted his palms on the countertop for leverage. 

Her lips dusted against his and Jon pounded into her with a brutality that was at odds with the tenderness that now glowed brightly in his wife’s eyes.  Hiccupping a stolen breath when a bracing palm settled in the small of her back, she moaned.  The vibration tickled his lips and he broke away to bury his face in her neck as he continued to pummel her.  As he took what she offered.  As he gave everything she pleaded for. 

“Please....  Always please!”

❧❧❧

A short time later, Sheridan was exhaustedly curled inside Jon’s arms, yet unable to sleep.  From the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back, she surmised that he didn’t share her inexplicable insomnia.

Lavender and chamomile always helped.  The combination of the relaxing scents generally soothed her enough to induce a restful sleep.  If she was at home, she would mix them into a body cream and slather herself in it.

You are home. 

Sheridan exhaled a soft sigh through her nose.  Yes.  She was.  But she still had none of her aromatherapy supplies, or a place to use them if she did. 

Carefully lifting the brawny forearm from her waist, she scooted across the fine cotton sheets until her toes peeked from under the comforter and subsequently touched the floor.  She slid her arms into the long, kimono-style robe that she’d picked up yesterday in deference to Jon's children.  Her shortie satin robe wasn’t exactly fit to parade in front of them.

Running a quick hand through her hair, she crept quietly to the kitchen as her husband flipped onto his right side and settled into the pillow with a contented huff.  He had an assortment of tea in one of the cabinets, she’d noticed.  Perhaps there was some chamomile tucked in there among the honey-lemon and orange pekoe.

She didn’t find any chamomile, but there was an herbal blend that might suffice.  Putting a kettle on the stove, she located a cup and some agave nectar to use as sweetener.  The water hadn’t yet boiled when her mug was ready and waiting, so she went to the living room to fetch her iPad.

Jeri was supposed to be contacting Jon’s realtor, but Sheridan thought she would at least take a preliminary look at some houses online.  If square footage and bathroom counts didn’t bore her to sleep, there was little hope for any rest tonight.

Propping the iPad on the counter between the stove and sink, she brought it out of sleep mode, keeping a vague ear out for the sound of boiling water.  One tap of the finger brought the internet up to her Yahoo home page and, out of habit, her gaze drifted to the trending news topics in the upper right-hand corner of the screen.

Kim Kardashian topped the list – nothing new or interesting there.  Then the Patriots, followed by the Giants who were both Superbowl contenders.  Coming in a number four was…

”Oh my word…”

Coming in at number four was ‘Jon Bon Jovi pregnant wife’.

Not Sheridan King.  Not Jon Bon Jovi married or Jon Bon Jovi’s new wife, but Jon Bon Jovi’s pregnant wife. 

Even knowing she would end up regretting it, she allowed an invisible force to coerce her into touching the bright blue link.  The window changed, filling with a list of options for more information on Jon Bon Jovi and his pregnant wife.

‘Bon Jovi Does the Honorable Thing’, ‘JBJ Caught in a Baby Trap?’, ‘Who is the Fertile Femme Fatale?’ were among the “news” headlines clamoring for attention on the page.  Most of them were accompanied by thumbnail shots of the Santa Monica Pier photos.

Fertile femme fatale?  My mother is going to die.

To be honest, she wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t die herself as she continued to read her way through the links.  The articles themselves weren’t as bad as the comments that readers left on the articles. 

The worst was:  “JBJ should know better than to fly without his cape!  The new Mrs. Jovi *shudder* might have fine T&A, but this gold digger ain’t nothin but a nasty Social Disease!  Anybody that would get pregnant on purpose deserves a retarded baby.  Get a VD checkup and make her abort that thing before you end up doing a telethon for the kid, Jonny!!”

Sheridan pushed the button to blacken the screen and left it lying there like a vile creature that she was afraid to touch again.  Hands shaking, she turned the burner off under the kettle.  Tea wasn’t going to help her tonight. 

She dazedly found her way back to the master bedroom and found Jon still sleeping soundly.  The nice, calm, even breathing that personified a restful sleep sent an unwarranted jolt of fury through her.  How could he sleep when things like this were going on?  Didn’t he know she would be freaking out over this… public witch trial that she was being subjected to?

Tranquility, Sheridan.  You vowed to make your home a safe haven from the craziness outside these four walls.

Yes, she had, but didn’t she deserve a momentary lapse?  It wasn’t every day that someone became media fodder for the first time.  She’d never been subjected to such scrutiny or hurtful words by people who didn’t even know her.  Who weren’t supposed to know anything about her yet!

It was bad enough that she was carrying around this hitchhiking poppy seed, but shouldn’t she be allowed to acclimate herself to it before she was thrown to the wolves?  She wanted a do-over.  She wanted a chance to re-think this whole thing.  She wanted to put her life on pause until she could deal with it again!

Take a deep breath, psycho.  If you wake him up screaming like a banshee, he isn’t going to be very sympathetic.  Why would he?

Folding her arms somewhat defiantly over the poppy seed’s current residence, she took the self-instructed deep breath and drifted toward the window.   There, she stared out toward the city and willed herself to find the acceptance that was necessary to get through this. 

“Kitten?”  The sleepy voice startled her and she swung around to find him propped up on one elbow, watching her through the dim shadows.

“Go back to sleep,” she instructed on a murmur.  He would be better off to let her alone until she’d had a few more minutes to collect herself.

“Is something wrong?”

Wrong?  What could possibly be wrong?  I’m just awake penciling a note for you to see your physician about sexually contracted diseases.  At the advice of your fans.

“No.”

“Baby, I can hear you duck paddling all the way over here.”  He gave a pat to the mattress and enticed, “Come back to bed.”

“I will in a little while.”

She heard his sigh a moment before he appeared at her back, the muscular plane of his chest warming her through the thin kimono.  Broad hands settled on her shoulders with a gentle squeeze.   He didn’t ask her to talk, he didn’t order her to spill her guts so he could go back to bed.  He was just there, propping her up with the quiet strength of a boulder.

It was a significant step toward restoring Sheridan’s calm and it was only a moment before she was able to find words that weren’t accusatory or bitter.  Wading into the inner pool of tranquility that was more like a mud puddle at the moment, she mused softly, “My life is never going to be my own again, is it?”

“It will always be your own.”

“No it won’t.  From this day forward I’ll be the baby’s mother or your wife – or, better yet, the woman who trapped Jon Bon Jovi into marriage by sabotaging the birth control during a drunken fuck.”

He swore under his breath.  “You’ve been online.”

“Silly me, huh?”

“You can’t read that bullshit.  Ninety-five percent of what the media gets hold of is about five percent accurate.  That’s how they get it to add up to a hundred percent.”

“I know that.  I learned that from the Richie thing, but why didn’t you warn me how mean and cruel they were going to be?  Your fans are calling me everything but a law-abiding citizen.”

“My fans are good people,” he countered firmly.  “But a few of them don’t have a firm grip on reality.  Unfortunately those few are incredibly fucking loud.  Don’t form your opinion based on them.  I guarantee that most of them will be happy that I’m happy.”

“If you say so.”

Using his hold on her shoulders, he slowly spun her around and then peered into her eyes.  “Sheridan, I love you and you love me.  That’s the bottom line.  The rest of it can all go to hell.  If I never sell another show ticket or another album, so be it.  But, I’m telling you, it’s not going to come to that.”

She nodded slightly, to appease him more than anything, because she was still worried.  It was going to be hard to get used to this life – harder than she’d imagined.

“I’m not going to like dealing with the media.”

His teeth glinted in the darkness when he smiled.  “You don’t have to.  That’s my job.  You don’t have to do a damn thing but stand by my side.”

81 - Did You Hear?

Jon threw back his head and laughed when he saw the Super Sperm confection, slathered in white buttercream icing.  With a snake-like body, the cake’s rounded head was held high and sported a wide, toothy smile.  The bright ‘S’ on its ‘flowing’ red cape was in serious danger of being a Superman copyright-infringement. 

Thank God the kids are in the game room for this cake-cutting ceremony.

“What the hell is this?” Jon demanded of his keyboardist, noting that Sheridan’s face was a little flushed with embarrassment. 

“It’s a Super Sperm, sweetie,” she told him with a feisty show of bravado, giving him a cute little mini-smirk.  “You should recognize it, since I’m told you have them.”

His eyes narrowed and immediately zeroed in on David’s with the intensity of a laser.  “What have you been telling her?  Sheridan, I told you not to believe anything he says.”

“Hey, your potency is well-documented – for the fifth time now.  Blame your swimmers, not me.”

David’s wife smacked him on the shoulder as he took a picture of the cake.  Addressing the Bongiovis, she explained, “We didn’t figure you had much of a chance for wedding cake, so when David suggested one, I thought it was a good idea.  I should’ve known better than to trust him with ordering it!”

The dessert was cut into enough pieces for both families, making it unrecognizable as anything but cake before Jon volunteered to go gather the younger generation.

“It’s weird,” Jesse told Colton and Gabi, keeping his voice quiet so that the younger siblings didn’t hear.  “He leaves town and comes back married with a baby on the way.”

Colton snorted.  “No doubt, man.”

“What does Mandi think?” Gabi asked, tucking her hair behind her ear and looking up from the floor to where they sat on the leather couch.  “I mean, Sheridan is her aunt and Jon’s your dad.  THAT has to be weird.  Like incest or something.”

“It’s not incest.  We aren’t related at all,” he huffed.  “It’s funny how we were talking about this possibility a few days ago, though.”

“Hey, you yahoos,” his dad entered the room with a loud hand clap.  “Who wants cake?”

Jon grinned when the younger kids were on their feet in a flash.  The teen set, however, wasn’t quite so eager to get moving.  “What?  You’re too cool for cake now?  Come get a sugar buzz with the rest of us, why don’t ya?”

“We’re coming,” David’s twins said in near-unison as they ambled to their feet.

Noting that his own child was looking a little sullen, Jon hooked an arm around the young man’s neck as he rose from the sofa.  “Lighten up, kid.  You look like the weight of the world is on your shoulders.”

Jesse flipped his head, swinging the shaggy, overgrown bangs from his rolling eyes.  “Gimme a break, would ya?  People can’t be happy just because that’s what you want.  This takes some getting used to.”

Sighing, he released the boy with a paternal pat on the back and they trailed behind the Bryan kids, merging from the game room into the hallway that led to the main part of the house.  “I know it does.  But things are only as good as you think they are.  Positive outlook, Jess.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The ringing of Jon’s phone overrode the sarcastic agreement and he sent his son into the kitchen to join the others.  Pausing outside the doorway, he pulled the distraction from his pocket and a quick glance at the screen had him frowning thoughtfully.  It was unusual for his assistant to call him on an off night, especially considering how frequently they’d communicated recently.

“Hey, Jeri.  What’s up?”

“I have a feeling your blood pressure is about to be,” she informed him tersely.  “TMZ is blasting news of the wedding all over their website and on that damn TV show of theirs.”

He swore viciously.  “How the hell did that happen?  This wasn’t supposed to hit the public until Monday!  How did they get the press release already?”

“Their information is not my carefully prepared press release.”

“Then how did they get it?  Some staffer at the resort looking for a quick buck?  I thought you took care of all that shit.”

This is annoying as all hell, but it’s not disastrous.  Everybody who needed to know already knows.

“Jon-“   He held up an abrupt finger to silence Sheridan when she emerged around the doorway to fetch him, cake plate in hand.  She mouthed an apology and nodded her acknowledgement of the silent gesture that he needed a minute. 

Tranquil.  She’s done her damnedest, now do yours.

“Nevermind, Jeri.  I don’t care how they found out.  It’s nothing they weren’t going to get in a couple days anyway.”

His fearless assistant cleared her throat and, never being one to beat around the bush – mostly because he hated that – she informed him concisely, “There’s more.  They’re also saying Sheridan’s pregnant.”

“God-DAMN those pieces of fuck!!”

With the unexpected explosion of his temper, Sheridan went wide-eyed as a frightened rabbit and the plate in her hand tipped precariously toward the tile floor.  Jon’s colorful shouting not only scared the hell out of her, it had David’s head popping curiously into the hall even as he ordered the kids to all sit back down and finish their cake.

“I guess she is then.” Jeri’s voice was unjustifiably calm in his ear.

“Yes, she’s pregnant.”  It was everything he could do not to ream a new ass for arguably the best assistant he’d ever had.  The only thing that gave him any incentive to control himself was the suddenly ashen pallor his wife’s face.   She’d seen him annoyed, but this was a special kind of fiery rage he reserved for those nosy, blood-letting media vultures.  “I want you to find out WHO the hell has their nose in my goddamn business and I want it forcibly removed!  First Richie and now this.  I’m tired of this shit.  I want to know who’s getting their kicks by running their mouth!”

David took the wobbling plate and fork from Sheridan before they hit the floor with a secondary explosion.  Somewhat dazedly, she mumbled her thanks as he passed the plate off to Lexi who had also joined them in the hall.

“Yes, sir.  I’ve got several calls out already.”

He barely heard Jeri as David looped a concerned arm around Sheridan, who looked at Jon like she was going to be sick.  To him, her thoughts were dancing across her face in a Technicolor parade, and the lead float in that parade boldly asked “What the Hell Have I Gotten Myself Into?”.   But that was because he knew her.  To everyone else, she was doing an outstanding duck paddle.

She better pace herself with that paddling, because I’m nowhere near done.

“Don’t just placate me, Jeri,” he spat into the phone with uncharacteristic venom.  There would be no misunderstanding his displeasure with the situation.  “I mean it.  I’m not putting up with this fucking invasion of my private life!”

“I understand,” was her calm assurance.  “I’ll take care of it, Jon.”

“I expect answers by morning.”  He jabbed at the little touch screen and smothered the compulsion to throw the thing against the wall, instead roughly cramming it back into the same pocket he’d taken it from.  Locking into Sheridan’s still-rounded eyes, he pressed his lips together and made every effort to be civil.  It wasn’t her fault. 

Was it?

“The media knows,” he bit out.  “They know everything.  Is it possible that your family called them?”

Her expression went from dazed confusion to insulted horror and David shot him a harsh look.  “No!  They wouldn’t begin to know how to do that.”

“Alright.”  He nodded once, crisply, and pushed a heavy breath from his lungs, futilely trying to let the anger go.  Somebody was up in his business and it pissed him off to no end. 

“You’re stressing out the kids,” Dave muttered under his breath, releasing Sheridan and stepping closer.  Lexi immediately took his spot, assuming a supportive stance.  “Wanna dial it back a little?”

What the hell did they think he was trying to do?  “Workin’ on it.”

At the same time he’d exhaled, Sheridan had inhaled.  Now she shook her head in an almost imperceptible attempt to regain her composure.  “Lexi, I’m so sorry for the drama,” she apologized. 

“Bullshit,” Dave countered with a purposefully friendly smile.  “We usually scream and cuss in this hall on Saturday nights.  I was afraid my callused hide might go soft because we were skipping tonight, so this is great!” 

The lines around Sheridan’s mouth eased and her own smile became more natural.  “You’ve been such a gracious host, I’m glad we could do something nice for you.”

“You’re right.  It’s not just any guy who would give you a Super – “ His eyes flicked toward the kitchen full of young ears.  “Snail.”

The sense of humor that typically kept Jon reluctantly amused was annoying right now.  “She’s got all the snails she needs, Bryan.  Back off.  Sheridan, it’s time to go.”

His abruptness took her aback for a moment before she furrowed her forehead and started to protest.  “Jon – “

“Jon,” David overrode her.  “I get that you’re pissed, and you have every right, but keep it pointed in the right direction, man.  Nobody here deserves it.  Come on.”  His tipped his head toward the living room.  “I’ll overserve the bitch out of you with a bottle or two of wine.  Sheridan can drive home when you’ve calmed down.”

“Geez, your dad is all kinds of unhappy,” Gabi whispered to Jesse with lowered eyes as the men slipped away and the women bent their heads together to talk.  “I’d heard about his temper, but I never saw it.”

He sighed and stabbed at what looked like an eyeball made of icing.  “I’ve only seen it a few times, because it’s just work stuff that makes him that way.  Even when he and mom were getting divorced it wasn’t near that bad.”

“Or maybe you just didn’t hear it,” Colton murmured.

He didn’t believe that.  His father coveted their privacy and Jesse knew how much he despised that privacy being invaded.  It was the reason they hired extra security when Jon went on a promo blitz.  It was the reason that even the youngest of the kids knew to stay away from anybody with a camera and keep quiet. 

He wondered how long it was going to take their new step-mother to learn the lessons that had been ingrained in the Bongiovi children since birth.

She better learn it quick, because if she lets something slip, Dad will be screaming at her.

“Welcome to the limelight,” Lexi comforted Sheridan with a grim smile.  “It sucks when they start staking out your house and waiting for something to happen.  Granted, we don’t get a lot of it, but when we first got married it was hairy for a while.”

People were going to stake out their house?

Sheridan willed her lemon-rosemary chicken to stay put in her stomach and endeavored to maintain a façade of calm.  “Well, that’s something to look forward to.”

“Mm,” the other woman agreed with a knowing look.  “The baby news coming out at the same time as the marriage will make them extra excited, I would guess.”

“Oh?  Why is that?”

“It’s a ‘scandal’…”  Lexi formed air-quotes with her fingers.  “…on the man who has managed to remain scandal-less for almost thirty years.  The paparazzi and legitimate press alike will be swarming.  I hope you don’t have any secrets you want to hide.”

The image of a green-eyed, red-haired little girl sprang to mind, quickly chased by another one of Bridget.  Madison and those articles Jon hadn’t wanted her to publish.  She wasn’t ashamed of either one, but her family had no clue and they would be a mixed bag of appalled, hurt and disappointed if they found out – particularly if it was from some gossip rag.

For the first time, she had some idea of how Richie must have felt to have his personal demons exposed to the world without his permission.  It was a feeling of complete and utter helplessness, because no matter what you said or how you justified it, people were going to believe what they wanted to believe.

The difference was, he had opted for life in the public eye.  Sheridan hadn’t.

Didn’t you?  When you married a celebrity, you opted for that very same thing.  Now what are you going to do about it?

80 - And A Cake Too??

“No, you cannot wear shorts.  It’s twenty degrees outside!”  Jon informed Jake as he entered his own bedroom with the shake of his head.  The kid hated wearing long pants.  Jon could sympathize, but if his son ended up with hypothermia, Dot would never let him hear the end of it.  “Tell Romeo he can’t wear them either!”

God forbid that one of them gets to do something the other doesn’t. 

They had about twenty minutes before they needed to be on the road for David’s house.  Typically, he would consider it a pain in the ass to schlep out to Colt’s Neck for dinner, but his old friend had actually been one of the most accepting of Jon’s new wife – even before she was his wife.  The man was always full of stupid shit and would do anything for a laugh, too.  They could all use a few more laughs in their lives.

“Sheridan?” he called toward the bathroom as he stepped into the closet that could now be officially considered ‘his and hers’.  Another trip to her apartment today had netted a second load of female garments that was now integrated into his previously all-male domain.   It was a little weird, but he would get used to the brightly colored blouses and dresses hanging on the wall opposite all of his dark suits and jeans.  “Are you almost ready to go?”

When he received no answer, Jon huffed quietly as he chucked his discarded shirt toward the hamper and pulled another one off the hanger.  Sliding his arms into the gray cotton shirt, he folded back the sleeves and went to check on her as he began fastening the buttons.

“Kitten?  We’ve got to get out of here in the next fifteen minutes if we’re going to be – “  He drew up short when he found her unsuccessfully trying to brush mascara onto eyelashes wet with tears.

Fuck.  Hello pregnancy hormones.  I didn’t miss you one goddamn bit.

“What’s the matter?”

She gave him a watery smile as he curled his arms around her waist, but wasn’t deterred from her futile task.  “Nothing.  I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

“Put the wand thingy away,” he ordered settling his chin into the fuzzy curve of her shoulder.  She was wearing another one of those cashmere sweaters that she favored – this one an off-white that matched the pearl and skull choker from Jeri.  “And tell me what you’ve been reading now.”

He had found out in a very short time that she was obsessive about information gathering.  It was kind of cute, but it scared him a little too, mostly because she reminded him too much of himself.  When he got involved with something, he became fully immersed and if she got fully immersed with all the pregnancy possibilities… she would drive them both crazy with the ‘what ifs’.

“I can’t put it away until I get the damn stuff on my eyelashes,” she argued with a sniffle, wiping a smear from beneath her left eye. 

“Put it down,” he ordered again, more firmly this time.  “And tell me why you’re crying.  I know Dave isn’t anybody’s first choice of dinner companion, but he’s not that bad.”

She closed up the mascara, putting it in her makeup bag, and leaned into him with a weak laugh.  “No, he’s not that bad and I’m just having a moment.  I’ll get myself together and be fine in just a second.”

“Last chance to talk before I revert to typical don’t-give-a-shit husband status,” he warned. 

Her eyes met his in the mirror and she gave him a lopsided smile.  “It’s nothing really.  I couldn’t find where I put my panties, and when I did find them, I feel like my belly is already pooched over the top.”

His mouth opened to speak, but a quick elbow had him snapping it shut again. 

“No, I am not constipated!” she grumbled at him, making him laugh out loud and nip lightly at her exposed neck.  “But I’m only four weeks so I shouldn’t be showing already and it made me think about the alien living inside of me.  Then I heard you yelling at the boys and…”  She sniffled again with a disgusted groan.  “I got overwhelmed.  This person is growing inside me and so far it’s nothing but a nuisance and hearing you fussing at the kids made me wonder if I would ever think of it as anything different.  Eat my young, yadda, yadda…”

Jon wondered how long this was going to go on.   She was a caring woman.  Without a doubt, he knew she would love the baby, but he had no idea how to convince her of the fact.  All that love came out of nowhere at the moment when you least expected it.

“I already promised you a new car and a new house.  What other consolation prizes could you want?”

Huge green eyes slid up to his pitifully and he couldn’t help but feel bad for her.  “Maternal feelings?”

“You’re worrying too much.”  He released her with a playful smack on the butt.  “That baby is half me.  What’s not to love?  Now fix your face and let’s get outta here.”

§§§

“Come in, come in!  Mi casa es su casa and all that,” David greeted the Bongiovis with a broad smile as he held the door wide.   Dipping his head, he brushed a kiss over Sheridan’s cheek before bumping fists with one of his oldest friends.  The kids went scurrying by with mumbled greetings.  “Gabi, Colton and Lily are in the media room watching something if you guys want to join them.  You know where it’s at.”

Accepting the new Mr. and Mrs. Bongiovi’s coats while Lexi took the kids’ jackets, the first thing that David noticed was that the couple was happier than the last time he’d seen them.  This time around Jon didn’t have any reservations about folding Sheridan in his left arm while tucking his fingers in the back pocket of her jeans.  They’d barely looked at or touched one another at the Brooklyn steakhouse earlier this week. 

He turned from the hall closet and addressed the couple, “So I know it hasn’t been that long since we’ve seen each other, but damn if you don’t look a whole lot happier.”  Jon got a hearty slap on the back.  “Diamonds will do it every time, man.”

“No shit, buddy.”

“Hey!” Sheridan protested accompanying the men into the living room.  “I’m not some diamond-grubbing skank.  I can afford my own diamonds, thank you very much.”

David nudged Jon with a lift of his eyebrows. “Not only is she lovely to look at, she’s got a lovely BITE as well.”

“She doesn’t act that way with me. Must be her ingrained defense against wise asses.”

“Wise ass.  Yes, that would be David,” Lexi agreed drolly, capturing Sheridan’s hand to inspect the aforementioned diamonds.   “Very nice.”

Shooting his wife a cutting look, he stuck out his tongue and asked her to get drinks so that they could relax a bit before the housekeeper announced dinner.  Jon didn’t express a preference for his beverage, but Sheridan made a point of asking for plain water.

“I see your drinking has been curtailed,” David commented, waving at the loveseat in a silent offer of seating and plopping himself down on the adjacent couch.  “My condolences.”

“Thank you.  I think.”  The Soul Sucking Siren chuckled lightly.  “That’s why I wasn’t the life of the party last time we were together.  I was still… shell shocked, having just found out the day before.”

That made sense.  It definitely qualified as ‘problematic’ in the real life shit Jon spoke of at the bar that night.  Especially if the SSS had offered any resistance to whatever her man’s immediate solution had been.  Jon was a class-A control freak and, when things didn’t go his way, he pouted.

“Well that explains why you looked like you’d bite the old man’s arm off if he got close to you,” he teased her with a wink. 

Jon scowled at him,  belligerently snarling, “Who you callin’ old?  Has your senility already set in?  Your birthday comes before mine, muthafucka.”

Completely unfazed, David waved him off with a pooh-pooh gesture.  “Semantics.  You and I both know I’m at least a decade younger at heart, you stodgy old geezer.”

“Yeah, you can stay acting like a young punk because I’m the one gettin’ gray hair making us a living,” the old man bellyached before turning to Sheridan.  “I’m gonna go help Lexi.  Dipshit here has probably told her I drink Kool-Aid just to amuse himself.”

Holding up a single finger and shaking it side to side, he stated definitively, “You don’t drink the Kool-Aid Mein Fuhrer.  You’re the one who brews it, has it bottled and distributes it via pheromone transfer to unsuspecting female concert-goers.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake...”

Sheridan was giggling with amusement as her husband brushed a kiss over her lips, warning her not to listen to a word the lunatic had to say while he was gone.  As a parting gift, he threw a Jersey salute up behind his back, to which David bowed with a flourish.

“Your mind is dulling, Bongivoi!  It took TEN whole minutes to get that finger in the air.”  Blond curls shook sadly as he adopted a look of sympathy for Sheridan.  “He’ll have Alzheimer’s – or erectile dysfunction – before you know it.  The bright side is he won’t remember that he can’t get it up.  But you might.”

“You are certifiably insane,” she snorted with surprised laughter.  “Totally bonkers.”

He shrugged and kicked one leg over the other, letting his foot swing carelessly over the hardwood floor.  “Perhaps.  But not bottling all that craziness into a mold that fits social convention keeps my blood pressure nice and low.”

“Well...”  The pretty green eyes went somber and her laugh lines turned upside down when she earnestly leaned toward him. “I don’t know what happened when Jon shared our news with you yesterday, but thank you.  It had been a long, trying day at that point and whatever you said took some of the weariness out of his face.  I appreciate that more than you can know so, if there’s anything I can ever do for you or your family, all you have to do is ask.”

He had no idea why everybody painted this woman as some Satanic force of nature.  From everything he’d seen and experienced, she was just a nice girl who happened to have a hot body and a pretty face.  Since when were those things crimes?

“Babe, you don’t owe me anything.  Jon and I have been down a lot of roads together and he’s pulled my ass out of the fire more than once.  Any chance I get to pick him up a little, I do.  That’s just the way family is.”

She took a deep breath and nodded.  “Okay – “

“No.  Wait just a minute.”  One palm in the air held off any further words.  “I want to make sure you understand.  Jonny married you.  Even if I didn’t like you – which I do – it wouldn’t matter.  You’re his family, you’re my family.  End of discussion.”

“It’s unfortunate not everyone feels that way.”

It was unfortunate.  It was a damn shame in fact. 

“I don’t know what the hell is up Richie’s ass, but that’s how us Jovi boys have always rolled.  Tico will tell you the same thing when you meet him, and so will Hugh and Bobby.”

Expertly tinted blonde waves swished over a sweater that was nearly the same color as her hair as she shook her head in bewilderment.  “I have no idea why he’s determined to hate me, but if it affects his relationship with Jon, then I’ll do whatever is necessary to fix it.”

There wasn’t much that David could see that might fix Richie’s frame of mind other than a good old-fashioned attitude adjustment.  Certainly nothing that Sheridan should be ‘fixing’.  If anything was going to mend the ugly rift between the boss and the guitarist, it would just be time. 

“Don’t do anything.  Richie’s actually a damn softie under it all.  Give it a while.  If it doesn’t fix itself, I’ll see if I can’t get his head screwed on straight.”

“David – “

He thought the woman was going to cry the way her eyes got so huge and glassy with gratitude.  Tears were not his thing. 

“Tut, tut, tut!”  He once again threw his hand in the air, nipping that nonsense in the bud.  “No gushing.  You’ll embarrass me.  Just fawn over the Super Sperm cake that I had made for you and Jon and we’ll call it even.”