Chapter Eight: Just a Kiss

Jon dug out his phone as Devon slipped into the ladies room. Surprised when he checked his phone to find a half dozen texts and emails. He hadn't even noticed the buzz in his pocket. After quickly scanning through his messages, he half-grinned at Richie's text at the bottom of the list.

*How's the date? She bored yet?*

God, he was such a shit. He tapped back a quick response.

*Surprisingly, no. She's very nice.*

He didn't get to even get into his email before his unit buzzed.

*Nice as in thanks but no thanks, or nice as in niiiiiiice?*

Jon snorted. “Ever the wordsmith, Richie.”

*Go away Sambora.*

Less than ten seconds later his phone buzzed again. “You pick now to learn how to type fast,” he muttered and opened the text.

*Oh so niiiiiice then huh? Good, I'll meet her when I get in. I'm bored, I'm flying over Fri.*

Richie was as bad as he was when they were away from touring. At the end of each tour they were ready to kill each other, but all it took was a few months downtime and the itch started all over again. They were talking a few times a week which meant the itch was bordering on full blown. He’d been writing, but it was just pieces. The minute he and Richie got into the studio he’d settle.

Devon’s spa and their date tonight had cured a little of that already. He knew he wanted to see her again and he was pretty sure she felt the same way. The question was just how much convincing he’d need to do.

*Looks like Sanctuary will be open for business. See you then*

Devon came back out of the ladies room with her usual glow. He glanced down at his last text from Richie.

*Looking forward to it. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.*

Stuffing his phone into his pocket, he smiled at her. It was like the little target shooting meltdown had never happened. He barely knew anything about this woman and she seemed content to keep it that way. It made him all the more curious and that just wasn’t like him. He hated people always digging into his personal shit. "All good?"

"Absolutely. Everything ok?"

He held out his arm and waited until she hooked hers through it to steer them towards the boardwalk. "Yeah, just Richie checking in. He's coming in at the end of the week. You’ll have to lure me out of the studio."

She fell into step with him as they moved away from the crowds and down the deserted boardwalk. He was glad that the city had continued its commitment to Coney Island. It really was a unique spot and had been in danger of a shut down too many times. He was just glad to see that nostalgia could keep some things alive.

She gnawed on her bottom lip, taking a moment before she spoke. “How do you decide what it is you write about?"

Usually a question like irked him, but there was too much sincerity behind it. She wasn’t some reporter regurgitating questions. "As cliché as it sounds, we let the music write the story of our lives."

"Any good writer knows the best writing comes from what you know, so that makes sense."

He slid his arm around the small of her back, drawing her in against the Hudson River’s vicious little whip of wind. "Right. That's exactly it. There's been so much change in our lifetime, and yes some of it is bad, but out of the bad comes hope. That’s the part I love to write about."

"And everyone needs hope."

He glanced at her and knew she meant it. "That they do. Obama’s bringing in a new kind of hope and I feel like it's the right direction for the first time in a long time. Still a lot of work to do, but I feel like we'll actually get there." She smiled at him and the surprise on her face was obvious. "What?"

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shook her head. "Nothing, I just believe you. So many celebrities preach a message in their work, but I have to say that not all of them truly believe or live it--it's for their image. But I believe you."

He was flattered and he understood where she was coming from. Many of his colleagues in the industry were show ponies for politics and other social issues. He'd seen them behind the scenes at parties and events and she was exactly right—they didn't believe in what they were preaching, they did it for the sound-byte. "I don't put my name on anything that I don't believe in and I certainly don't conform to sell records. Never have and the day I do, I'll hang up my guitar."

"Spoken like a true artist. I'll admit my favourite albums are your social ones. These Days was a personal favourite."

His gaze settled on her lips, they'd had so many close calls tonight but one thing was certain he couldn't wait to get a full taste of her. "Oh, yeah? Particular track? I'm fond of it myself."

They were talking about him more than he liked, but he was hoping for a little tit for tat. It had been a long time since he'd taken a chance when it came to women, but there was something about Devon. She was grounded and came from a real background. As far as he could tell, she worked for what she had. It was obvious by the pride in her voice when she spoke about the salon. He understood carving out something out of nothing.

“‘Hard Letting You Go’ rips me in shreds, but the title track is my favourite."

"Hard Letting You Go, huh? That's a popular choice for These Days fans. I like it, but it's not anything special musically."

She laughed. "Silly man, it's not the music that we like, it’s the raw emotion in your voice when you sing it. That's the difference between a true artist and just a performer."

He wasn't fishing for compliments, but it was humbling to know she got his music and what he was about. Her candy-cane scent lured him closer. They walked companionably until he stopped outside one of the bars tucked out of the way and yet still part of the boardwalk. "How about we have a real adult beverage?"

"That would be lovely."

He held the door open for her and couldn't help but grin. Things were falling into place. The writing process would soon start and maybe, just maybe so would something else with this woman right here. Yup, things were definitely looking up.

~

It was a hole in the wall, but they were cozy. The rich wood and dark tones of the old booths and the lapping sounds of water made it feel like they were apart from everyone else. The waiter had instantly recognized Jon and the wait staff buzzed around them as they were seated. They bought out a complimentary bottle of wine and two glasses.
Jon thanked them politely, gracious to the end.

"Does it ever bother you?"

He poured them each a glass and placed one in front of her. She lifted the glass it and took a long sip. It was just what she needed to settle her belly of nerves. She took another one and leaned back.

He shrugged casually. "Not really. When it gets in the way of what I'm doing, yes. People are usually pretty respectful in this kind of setting. There's too much riding on reputation for the restaurant itself." He took a gulp of his wine. "Anyway, enough about me. Tell me something about you. I think you know entirely too much about me."

She sipped her wine thoughtfully. "That is true, you do have that disadvantage. You are easily accessible by one-click."

His eyes glimmered with amusement. "You Googled me?"

"No! I mean, ok…yes I did." Her cheeks burned. Good one, Devon. "But in my defence, I didn't know much about you and I didn't know what to expect." God, she was an idiot sometimes. This man was making her lose her cool and calm at every corner and she wasn't totally convinced she liked it.

"Fair call. And did Google tell you what to expect tonight?" He leaned back and pursed his lips, satisfied.

She shook her head. "You know it didn’t. As I've already said, this was unexpected...a good unexpected."

"Excellent." He popped his knuckle and picked up the wine bottle to top up her glass. "I thought you deserved to see the real me--it's no secret I live a strange life sometimes, but that doesn’t define me."

And that was a statement in itself. Jon could have easily wowed her by taking her to the top restaurants that only people like him could get a reservation and spend more money than she'd make in day in her clinic. Something told her he didn't do that for just anyone and she didn't know to be flattered or scared. She pressed her hand to her stomach and took a quick breath.

"I appreciate that and you definitely aren't what I thought you'd be." She swirled the wine in her glass and grinned. "Well apart from the obvious over self-confidence back at the carnival."

He winced. "Don't remind me. And just an FYI, that's never to leave here. I'll never live that down with my band-mates."

"Deal."

They talked for a while. She managed to steer the personal questions back to generalized answers. The only way she’d been able to, was practice. She found herself wanting to share more with him than was safe for either one of them.

He leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the table. "Listen, Devon, I've got a friend’s birthday to go to on Wednesday night. It's a casual cook-out at his place with his wife and a few close friends. Everyone is bringing someone, so I wondered if you'd come with me? They're lovely people and it's just dinner. We might sing a couple of tunes…anything can happen with them."

A second date just two nights from now? Man, she did not expect that. She cursed inwardly as she emptied her glass again. No more stalling. It was casual, what was the worst that could happen?

She already knew the answer to that question and she blamed the wine for not arguing more with her sub-conscious. "Sure, I'll come."

His smile was worth the uncertainty. "Great, you'll love them." He checked his watch. "We need to get going, the ferries get a bit sporadic at this time of night." He gestured to the waiter and took her hand with ease.

The night had been nothing like she'd expected. She'd managed to get through a date with him and somehow had accepted another one. She had to be crazy, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t excited.

The ferry was empty on the lower deck, so they huddled under there as light drizzle started to fall. The truth was, she hadn't opened up to anyone in a very long time. She was caught up in the moment and in his smile. How realistic could this even be? The doubt knocked in her chest, how far could she truly go with Jon?

"What’s going on in that pretty little head?"

She smiled. She wasn't sure even she knew sometimes. She took a deep breath and soaked in the moment. Maybe it didn't have to be complicated? He was a divorced man, she doubted he would be looking for anything more than a little fun. She could do fun. Hell, she wanted fun. "Sorry--I think too much. It's a habit." She was surprised he didn't think she was a space cadet at this rate.

He leaned in and she heard her own quick intake of breath as his lips brushed hers. It was soft and sweet and like a switch it went dark and deep. His mouth crushed down on hers. The sucker punch of heat spread from her belly like an over-indulgent hot coffee on a cold day.

His fingers threaded through her hair and he tipped her head using the angle to his advantage as he tasted each corner of her mouth. He slid his arm around her waist inside her coat and dragged her in close keeping the other hand in her hair. His lips were incredibly soft and not what she expected. Her eyes fluttered closed as need warred with sensibility and she let him take over. Hell, it wasn't as if she had a choice.

She was jammed against the metal wall of the ship. No ability to move or breathe as his strength held her there. Her hands slid up his chest, over the lapels of his jacket and around the back of his neck. Her toes curled and he broke the kiss. Her head rolled back to catch her breath, her fingers dug into his back as he nipped over her chin and sipped down the line of her neck.

She'd let go and her inhibitions were left behind in the wake of the ferry. His tongue dipped at the base of her neck and swirled around her clavicle. She wanted to burst from the inside out. Emotions churned in a confusing morass of lust and needs she hadn't felt in such a long time.

He cupped her jaw. His lips hovered over hers while he held her on a precipice as dangerous as the past that always nipped at her coattails. The moan escaped her throat as the tip of his tongue slid across her lower lip before he covered her mouth in a sweet, slow, lazy kiss.

Finally, he stepped back.

Thank God for her feet or she would have slid all the way down the wall. Her heart slammed against her chest as he let go of her completely.

She chuckled nervously. "You're supposed to wait ‘til you walk me home for that."

"I couldn't wait any longer. It was driving me crazy." He gently pulled her in. "I like you a lot, Devon."

She closed her eyes as he pressed his lips against her forehead and she laid her cheek against his chest. "I've noticed." Did she like him too? Yes. Did she want more of him? Yes.

Was she scared? Yes.

Jon left her at her door that night, but not without another kiss and a promise to pick her up on Wednesday. He didn't push her to come in and she was secretly glad as she didn't know if she would be able to deny him.

God, she didn’t have it in her to think about that. She'd already let him in so much. The real question was how far did she go?