Friday, August 24, 2007

Chapter Twenty

Mac stood from the bed, dragging the sheet with her, having only just realized that Jon must have undressed her when he put her to bed the night before. He had at least left her some modesty, having left her bra and panties in place. She wrapped the sheet around her body, tucking a corner in at her breast. She stood beside the bed glaring down at Jon.

Jon reached out to Mac’s mind. Mac, I’m begging you. Don’t start this argument in front of him.

Why not? she demanded. Even the voice in her head was sharp and angry.

Because, then you’d be proving him right, and I’d never hear the end of it, he tried to joke with her to lighten the mood.

About? she asked, raising one eyebrow.

He warned me you would be pissed.

Richie stood by quietly watching the silent exchange between the two combatants. He saw the slight smile on Jon’s face that still echoed remorse. And, if he had thought Mac’s glares were glacial before coming from green eyes, they were downright bone, tissue, and blood freezing now coming from icy blue ones. Richie knew the two were talking silently to each other, probably discussing him. "I’m still here, ya know," he pointed out.

"We know," Jon and Mac announced at the same time, never taking their eyes off each other. One voice furiously low, the other almost sounding patient.

Jon winced when Mac gave him an almost evil smile. It was just a slight lifting of the corners of her lovely lips, but there was an almost maniacal glint in her eyes, when she turned to Richie. She marched across the room and snatched the Dr. Pepper from his hand. "You were right," she told the guitarist, as she stormed past him into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

Richie couldn’t help himself; he almost doubled over with laughter. "Aw, come on, Mac," he called out to her, "that wasn’t even close to a conniption."

"Shut up, Sambora," Jon ordered, heatedly. "And not one more word, or I swear, I will rip your throat out and suck you dry."

The guitarist only laughed harder as he walked over to sit on his bed, setting the styrofoam cups of coffee on the night stand between the two beds. He sat down facing Jon, but fell back on the bed laughing, holding his stomach as his guffaws shook his large frame. "Oh, Jon, this is priceless," he managed to get out between barks of laughter.

"Sambora," Jon said in a warning tone.

"I’m sorry," Richie said, laughter still booming, and not sounding contrite at all, "but damn, it’s gonna be fun watching you dig yourself outta this one."

Jon bit back his normal comeback, and said instead, "Go fuck yourself, Rich," before flopping over on his back and throwing one arm over his head. He was shocked when Mac’s angry voice sounded in his head.

Where the hell are my clothes, Bon Jovi?

They were bloodied and torn, Mac, he answered back, I threw them away.

Well, Einstein, I can’t go around in my underwear, she quipped furiously, you better come up with something.

Moglie mia, please, let’s discuss this calmly and rationally like adults, he tried to reason with her.

Don’t start that ‘my wife’ shit with me, Bon Jovi, she threw back at him, furiously, get me some damn clothes!

I wasn’t talking about the clothes situation, he stated calmly.

I’m not talking about anything else ‘til I get some damn clothes, she growled, then she was gone from his mind.

"Damn it," he grumbled aloud, as he rolled from the bed. He pulled on his jeans, then swiped his T-shirt up from the floor as he headed toward the bathroom door. Jon tried the knob when he reached the door, but it was locked. He only frowned as he opened the door with his mind and thrust the shirt through the crack. "Here, you can put this on for now. I’ll be back in a few minutes with something less revealing."

Richie watched as Jon marched back across the motel room and reached for the door knob. "Uh, Jon," Richie said.

Angrily, the singer spun around to glare at him. "What?" he demanded furiously.

Richie looked pointedly at Jon’s bare chest and feet in answer.

"Shit," Jon swore, before marching over to his bag and pulling out a fresh shirt and socks.

After he was properly clothed, Jon stormed out of the room, grabbing his baseball cap and sunglasses off the table by the door on his way out with Richie’s laughter echoing in his ears.

It never ceased to amaze Jon the variety of items you could find in a convenience store. He walked into the one across the street from the motel and pulled the bill of his baseball cap down a little farther. Toward the back of the store he found a rack of souvenir T-shirts and other clothes. He grabbed a shirt and a pair of jogging pants that looked to be about the right size. At the counter, he saw a rack of sunglasses and realized that was something else she would need when they left the motel. He laid two pair on the counter. "I’ll need these too," he told the clerk.

The clerk told him how much it would be, and Jon paid him quickly, then hurried back to the motel. He really hoped Richie had finally quit laughing, otherwise he just might kill him.

Jon walked back into the motel room and didn’t even bother to glance in Richie’s direction. At the bathroom door, he once again opened it on his own and stuck the bag of clothes through the crack. "Here," he said. His voice was curt. As welcoming as the bed looked, he decided on pacing. Pacing was good. He could expend some restless energy before they went to the airport for the flight back to Vegas.

Richie’s voice didn’t stop his pacing. "You should calm down," the guitarist advised, "try to remember you’re the one in the wrong here."

"I’m not in the wrong. I did what I had to do to save her," he said angrily, spinning on his heel to answer his friend.

Mac had just finished dressing and walked back into the room. She gasped in indignation. "You didn’t do it to save me," she responded angrily, "you did it to save yourself!"

Richie took in the clothes Jon had bought for her. He almost started laughing again, obviously Jon hadn’t bought too many women’s clothes before. Mac stood there in a pair of jogging pants that almost swallowed her whole; she had the drawstring cinched so tight that even with them tied in a bow the strings hung almost to her knees, and the ‘Don’t Mess With Texas’ T-shirt was almost too small. It was tight across her ample breasts and just barely reached the waistband of the pants. He looked pointedly at the T-shirt’s slogan. "How prophetic," he said softly, then burst into uproarious laughter, once again falling back on the bed.

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

T....

I've been really getting into this for the last couple of weeks!!
This is great Enjoying it very much!

fanofjbj said...

Richie is such a good balance in this story. I love the levity he brings to it . The pot is simmering here and I'm waiting for it to start boiling. ;)
Denise

Anonymous said...

I have just spent two days reading the entire thing and I have to tell you, I am just loving this!

The depth of the characters and your storytelling skills makes this impossible tale almost plausible!

And since I am a Richie Girl, I love his role in this. I nearly fell on the floor laughing at the last paragraph!

Anonymous said...

Even though I vowed i would not start another story I have yet again caved into my weakness. I started this story from the begining at about 9am and here it is almost 4pm - needless to say I have done little else today. To be honest I was a tad skeptical in the begining about the whole vampite angle but I have to say I have been drawn in like a moth to a flame. What a fantastic story this is - the charachter development is so intense and the entire story just so riviting. I am sad to know that I am all caught up and will need to wait with the other anxious reader for the next installments. Waiting with baited breath and heading over to Amazon to order Sin Happens! - :)
Chris

Anonymous said...

New month, new chapter??
please:)
I'm so hooked on this story, I find myself checking every day for an update! LOL