80:I'll Miss You

September 8

Rubbing a hand over the stubble on his jaw, Jon stood in the door and watched Nana sniff around the back yard of the counselor’s brownstone while coffee brewed in the kitchen.  It was pretty frigging funny, really. 

This afternoon, he would be on a plane bound for Jakarta, Indonesia, where he would play to thousands of fans.   They would scream his name and sing along to timeless hits he’d written through the years.  This morning, however, he was unshaven and wearing only a pair of partially buttoned jeans while waiting for his girlfriend’s dog to take a piss. 

A smile crept over his face at the irony of it. 

Taking the dog out wasn’t beneath him, by any means.  He’d actually offered to do it while Chiara put herself together for the day.  It was just funny in light of how people wanted to glamorize his life as a celebrity.   He truly was just another guy.

“You’ll lock up?” Chiara called from the kitchen, apparently having finished her morning rituals. 

Not liking the sound of that, he turned to stride through the dining room with a scowl on his face.  “I’m leaving for a month and all I get is ‘you’ll lock up’?  What the fuck?”

Laughing as she poured coffee from the carafe to a travel mug, she contradicted, “I wasn’t leaving yet.  Just asking.”

“Good goddamn thing.”  The sharp yipping from the back door told him that Nana had finally finished her business, and Jon went to let her in.  When he returned, it was to find a cup of coffee waiting for him on the counter and the counselor rifling through her briefcase not far from it.  “Thanks for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome,” she returned distractedly.  “I’d hang around longer, but since yesterday was a holiday Millie refused to meet me and rescheduled for today.  I need to get to Grand Central on time.”

“Don’t worry about it.  I’ve got to pack and the band is rehearsing later this morning. There’s a ton of little, petty shit to do before my flight at four.”

Satisfied that she had whatever it was she’d been looking for, Chiara moved away from the bag and around the corner of the island to him.  She tugged on the belt loop over his left hip until he succumbed to her silent command to rotate.  When he was facing her, she slid easy arms around his torso and rested soft palms at the small of his back in a relaxed embrace.

“You know how you don’t want to make something a ‘thing’, so you say that it isn’t and, in the process make it a thing?”

He laughed down into the beautifully made up face that was complemented by perfectly twisted hair, both of which topped an elephant gray pantsuit that would be ugly if not for the teal blouse brightening it. 

“Sounds like more thought than I put into most songs.  Women make shit complicated.”

“Shut up and be aware that what I’m about to say is not a thing.”  Blowing a breath out her nose, she told him, “If you want to keep Luke’s key, I’ll get him another one.  If you don’t, then leave it on the counter.  No big deal either way.”

At least now her lead-in made more sense.  Offering a guy your house key was one of those “things” that could be construed as a pivotal moment in a relationship, and she was leaving it up to Jon to make the determination on whether it would be. 

Sounded like too much drama for him.

Putting his coffee on the island, he rested a forearm on each of her shoulders and loosely tied his fingers behind her neck.  “I suck at keeping up with keys, so chances are good that I’ll lose it.”

The counselor grinned, giving the impression that he she thought he was endearing, even if he was a fuck-up.  “Like I said.  No big deal.”

“Oh, I’m still gonna take it,” he said to clear up the obvious misconception.  “Just giving you full disclosure on what’ll probably happen.”

Damn he loved the way her eyes were twinkling with merriment.  Jon couldn’t help but think that she’d be that way a lot more often if she’d just get rid of that stupid husband, but he didn’t say it.  He could give her one day before taking up his “Divorce the Douche” campaign again. 

“Who else has keys?”

Okay, yeah.  There was an ulterior motive behind the question, but so what?   He was within his rights to know if the Douche had a key.

“After I get Luke a new one, it will be him, you and the boys,” she responded absently, obviously not making the connection as to why he asked. 

By the looks of it, she was more interested in eyeing his bare chest for a reason he couldn’t fathom.  They’d gone at it like rabbits all night.  If she was still horny, then…  Well, she was going to keep him young, so he wasn’t complaining.

“What are you looking at?”

“I never made my hickey.”  Her hands moved from his back to skating over his chest as though seeking out the ideal location. 

“I don’t remember saying you could,” he teased, knowing she could leave a row of them on his neck and he’d figure out a way to deal with it. 

Her eyes lit with challenge when informing him, “You said it twice, in fact, on the insides of my thighs.”

That was all the warning he got before she leaned in to bite the outside edge of his right pectoral and suck sharply. 

“Ow!  Jesus, what are you?  Part piranha?”

Releasing his flesh with a loud pop, she wore a smug grin when easing back.  “Lawyer.  Piranha.  Some people consider them one and the same.”

“Good point,” he laughed, rubbing at the spot that was already turning purple. 

At least she’d chosen someplace other than his neck.  He wasn’t trying to hide the fact that he had a girlfriend, but Jon didn’t consider his love life to be anybody else’s damn business.  Her discretion saved him from having to say that aloud - repeatedly. 

Chiara leaned her left hip against the counter and folded her arms.  “Hey, I have a question for you.” 

“Okay.”

“I’d like to work on the studio while you’re gone and, hopefully, have it mostly done when you get back.  Is that okay?  Will you let Desiree know I’ll be bugging her to get in?”

“When do you think you’ll be there?”

“Weekends, I guess.  I’ll go out for part of the day.  Maybe all day if you don’t mind me taking Nana along.”

It seemed excessive to drag Des out every time the counselor wanted in the studio.  The woman had just given him the key to her house.  He could certainly trust her with his.

“Call Des when you’re ready to go out.  She’ll give you what you need,” he promised, mentally scheduling a call to get the counselor her own personal access codes and keys.  “Come and go as you please – with the dog.  You can even stay at the house if you want.”

He’d casually thrown out that bit about her staying, thinking that it made sense.  When he was writing or recording, Jon worked until he was on the verge of collapse before crashing for a few hours and doing it again.  It was possible she might operate the same way and, honestly, he liked the thought of her presence there.  Maybe she could banish Dorothea’s ghost before he got home. 

As usual, though, the counselor had her own ideas.  Her head was already shaking with refusal.  “I’m not comfortable being in your house when you’re not there.”

“You’re being stupid.  I have three guest rooms in the main house and a two-bedroom guesthouse.  Take your pick.  Hell, sleep in my room.”  The visions prompted by that suggestion had him leering wickedly.  “I kinda like the thought of you in my bed.”

“Honestly, I kind of like the thought of being in your bed.  It borders on decadence in a not-so-Fatal Attraction kind of way.  That doesn’t mean I’ll do it, though.”

This wasn’t worth the argument.  She’d do whatever she decided to do because that’s just how she was.  Knowing her, she might even try to sleep there without letting him know, but he already had a plan in mind to combat that possibility.

“Whatever,” he agreed easily, bringing her into the circle of her arms.  “The offer stands.”

Studious brown eyes scoured his face as though she was searching for something and, for once, he didn’t have to ask.  “Sorry if I’m staring.   You look hot with bedhead and stubble and, since I won’t see that look for a while, I’m soaking it in.”

Her candidness pleased him in light of the secrets she’d kept from him.  Maybe now that they were all out in the open, neither of them would have to feel so guarded and defensive.  He could hope.

“We’ll FaceTime occasionally,” Jon assured her.  “Don’t count on hearing from me, though.  With time differences and a crammed itinerary, calls will be infrequent and random.  That’s just the way it goes, so get used to it.” 

The counselor earned mucho brownie points for not giving him shit – or even looking as though she wanted to.  Her smile was easy and relaxed as her agreement.  “Okay.  When do you think I’ll see you again?”

“Not sure.  Last show is October first, so by the time we fly back and I see the kids…  Within a couple days.”

The woman who liked to argue with him was nowhere in sight as, again, her agreement came easily.  “Okay.  I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Wait,” he ordered quietly, refusing to unlock his arms from her waist.  “You’re taking this awfully well.”

Her brow crinkled with confusion.  “You have to work.  What did you expect me to do?  Throw a fit and demand that you stay?  You ever try that with me and I’ll laugh in your face.  I assume you’d do the same.”

She wasn’t wrong.  The first time a woman pulled that on him would also be the last.  More and more, he was realizing that their families had seen something that both of them were too stubborn to acknowledge in the beginning – they were well-suited for one another.

“You gonna miss me?”

She snickered softly up into his face, touching his cheek with affection in her eyes.  “I’ll show you how much when you get back.”

“Nuh-uh,” he rumbled.  “Not good enough.  I made you scream and climb the walls so many times last night that I lost count.  Gimme more than that.”

“It was six times,” came the official count, accompanied by a sly grin. 

“I think it was more, but whatever.  I know for a fact it was more than you thought yourself capable of.”  As evidenced by the many times she’d begged him to stop, saying that he’d taken everything she had.

“True.”  She feathered light fingertips over his bottom lip before levering up for a soft mating of mouths that said more than either of them had been willing to thus far.  When she gently broke away, the morning light glinted against glossy lips as she confessed, “I’ll miss you, Jon.” 

A vortex of emotion began gently churning inside him, reminding him of the dust devils he’d seen while traveling through various deserts.  They’d always fascinated him as tiny whirlwinds that stirred things up without posing an immediate danger – yet they held the ability to escalate into something far more dangerous and potentially devastating.  

That description applied here and, even knowing that he could find himself devastated before it was all over, Jon decided he would still take his chances.

“I’ll miss you, too, Counselor.”