24 - Pillow Talk

“Wanna smoke?”  Tony offered his brother a cigarette before sliding open the window in Jon’s room and lighting one for himself. 

Jon folded his arms over the Notre Dame logo on his chest and spread his legs in a wide stance, both in an effort to be intimidating, Tony assumed.  “No, I want you to fuckin’ talk.  What the hell is going on with this chick?  Why is she in your hotel room, and better yet, where the fuck did you fly off to after the show?”

The cloud of acrid smoke dissipated into an invisible haze out the window after Tony held it in as long as his lungs could stand.  Nicotine calmed him down.  He needed to be calmed.  The extended shower sure as hell hadn’t done the trick.

 No matter how many times he told himself he was an idiot for caring what this woman did, it didn’t change the fact that he did.  It didn’t change the fact that his fist clenched with the need to hit something – someone – every single time he got a look at those cuts.  It didn’t erase the picture of her lying in the street, bleeding and alone. 

For that matter it didn’t erase the memory of her collapsing into a boneless heap at the show, overheated and dehydrated.  Maybe even concussed, now that he’d felt that knot on her head.

He took another deep drag on his cancer stick.  Nicotine was his friend tonight.  It was the only thing that would keep him from ripping her a new one until she ‘got’ the danger of the situation she’d put herself in.

And now he was going to have to exercise patience enough to tolerate Jon’s inquisition. 

Aiming his puff of smoke through the opening in the window, he willed his muscles to relax so that he could do this casually.

“How many times have I ever left the stadium or arena before all the equipment is stowed?”

“That’s not the point.”

 “How many times, Jon?” he calmly persisted.  The number could be counted on one hand and not use all the fingers.

“I dunno.  A couple at least.”

“Yeah, a couple.  Twice.  I’ve done it exactly twice before tonight.  Once when you blew your calf at Meadowlands.  The other when you screwed up your knee.”

“Yeah, so what’s your point?”  Jon snatched Tony’s cigarettes and lighter, grimacing when the first drag hit the back of his throat.  “These things suck.”

“My point,” he told his older brother, ignoring the criticism of his preferred brand of cigarettes.  “Is that if I left, I had a damn good reason.  Mike made sure everything was taken care of, so just calm the fuck down.”

“I know everything was taken care of, dumbass.”  The decibel level of his voice dropped considerably and he opened the window wider, so that he could blow his own smoke outside.  “I don’t know what was serious enough to make you leave.  Was it her?  Those cuts?  What the hell happened anyway?  And those scars of hers?  And what’s  she doin’ in your room waiting for a rollaway bed?”

Jon had a lot more questions than Tony had answers, and he wasn’t altogether sold on the idea of sharing the answers he did have.

This is your brother.  He might not be keen on Lilah, but he’s always had your back.  No matter what.

“She passed out at the beginning of the show,” he relented on a sigh, dropping his used cigarette butt into a nearly-empty water bottle.  “I guess she got too hot or dehydrated, so Dawn and Abby took her out to get some air, then she disappeared.  I went to her hotel to make sure she was okay.”

“Passed out?  Not tripped or fell or something else I’m going to be liable for?  You didn’t have her sign one of those damn backstage waivers did you?  Fuck!”

“Nice show of sympathy there, Jon.  Jesus!  She passed out.”

“Well, it’s no damn wonder she did.  Wasn’t she wearing a turtleneck?”

Tony scowled at both the reminder and the callous indifference.  Why did Jon dislike Lilah so much?  Did what happened to her really need to be spelled out in graphic detail so that he would show a little compassion?

“Yeah.  She was trying to keep the knife wounds on her neck hidden.  She got attacked by three locals at a bazaar last night.”

Jon’s used butt joined his to float in the remnants of water, and he exhaled sharply before sliding the window closed and leaning against the sill.  Tony sank to sit on the edge of the bed while receiving the next question.  “Why was she by herself in one of those places?  Sounds kinda stupid if you ask me.”

He knew that.  Had thought the same thing himself, in fact.  Yet he had to force himself from responding to Jon’s unfeeling observation. 

“She’s traveling alone, following the band through Europe, which partially answers another one of your other questions.  Lilah is staying with me the rest of the tour.  In my room.”

The shaggy blonde head cocked to the side, his crystalline eyes narrowed.  “No.”

Sticking a finger in his ear, Tony wiggled it then pulled it free again.  His own eyes narrowed, he regarded the man who had always shown the utmost concern for people and their well-being, unable to believe what he was hearing.

“What did you say?”

“I said no.  Don’t let her tangle you up in that.”

The rolling tide of red anger pushed Tony to standing and he used his extra inch of height to scowl down into Jon’s face.  “I don’t know what your beef is with her, but I’m tired of your prick attitude about Lilah.  You have never shown this kind of heartlessness toward someone you don’t even fucking know, and I’m over it.”

“I’m only watching out for you,” Jon groused, pushing him away with a palm on his shoulder.  “This woman is doing everything in the world to push all your buttons and get under your skin.  She’s got some kind of agenda, Tone.”

“I don’t believe it.  I like her, and even if I didn’t, my conscience won’t let me turn my back on her.   I wasn’t asking your permission, Boss…” he practically sneered the word.  “It was just an FYI.  Provided I can convince her stubborn ass, she’s staying with me.  Period.”

Ten kinds of pissed off, Tony took angry strides toward the door.  Hand on the knob, he thought of one more thing.

“Oh, and if she ends up backstage again, don’t be a dick to her like you were today.  Show some of that fucking diplomacy you’re so renowned for.  I mean it.”

✧✧✧

Lilah rolled onto her left hip, wincing as the tender bruise came in contact with the unforgiving floor.  Carpeting gave it the illusion of softness, but that’s all it was.  An illusion.

Suck it up.

She plumped up the pillow that was part of the sleeping pallet she’d put down between the bed and the wall, gently burrowing her head into it with an annoyed sigh.  This was not how her fantasies of spending a night with Tony had gone.  Not one time.

The door to the room opened noisily and closed even louder.  He started talking to himself almost immediately.

“Where the fuck is she?”

Heavy footsteps went to the bathroom, and she heard the light switch click on with a swear, prompting her to maneuver into a sitting position.

“I’m right here,” she said, slipping on her glasses, head now visible above the still-made bed.  While they didn’t have any extra beds, Housekeeping had provided her with extra blankets and pillows so that she hadn’t had to disturb the bedding to make her little pallet.

He frowned.  “Why are you in the goddamn floor?”

“No rollaways.”

He closed his eyes, and by the movement of his mouth and the slight sound, she thought he was counting.  When he reached eight, his eyes eased open.  “Get out of the floor.”

“I’m fine –“

“Don’t tell me you’re fine.   For once, could you just do what I say instead of arguing?”

She snapped her lips together in shock.  Lilah didn’t argue.  She hated to argue, and would avoid it at al costs.  She was just trying to make things easier for him.  It was his room, and he should have the bed.

“But – “

“You’re sleeping in the bed.  End of discussion.”

Caught between anger and arousal, Lilah rose to her feet.  If nothing else, at least she could reason with him better this way.  She folded one arm over her waist and pulled at the gold hoop in her right ear.  “It’s your room.  You’re not sleeping in the floor.”

“No, I’m not,” he agreed, kicking off his shoes and peeling the shirt over his head.  He tossed the black cotton toward his duffel.  “We’re both sleeping in the bed.”

The phrase “cat’s got your tongue” was entirely applicable here.  Or, maybe, to offer a local flavor, it was “camel’s got your tongue”.  Whatever the critter, it had swooped in and stolen her ability to speak.  The double-whammy of his casual declaration and seeing his chest for the first time – the one she’d tried to imagine over and over again – rendered her dumb.  For real.

Tony was unaware of her predicament, lifting the pillows to pull back the covers on a bed that had seemed huge when she first walked in the room.  Now, however, it seemed no wider than those horrible bunk beds at sleep-away camp. 

Eyes riveted to the mat of fur that covered his torso, she could do nothing but stare.  It was sexier than she could have possibly imagined.  It was thick and dark from the base of his neck to the elastic waistband of his gym shorts.  Funny that the slight roundness of his belly didn’t detract from the appeal at all.  In fact, it made him all the more real for her.  He was a man, not an unattainable fantasy.

Gettin’ the cart before the horse there aren’t you, Lilah Jane.  Just because he’s crawling into the same bed he wants you to sleep in doesn’t mean you’ve ‘attained’ squat.  Other than sexual frustration, that is.

“You got a thing for chest hair?”

Her eyes snapped guiltily up to his face.  For the first time since he’d come knocking on her door tonight, he was smiling.  It wasn’t a full-fledged, picture-perfect smile.  It was a bemused little grin, like he thought her rapt fascination with his chest was funny.

“Just yours.” 

The words escaped before she could censor them, and blood rushed to her neck, face, ears, scalp – pretty much everywhere someone could blush, she did.  The embarrassment at her candid response was only intensified when his smile evaporated and his eyes clouded.

“That’s not why I asked you to share my room,” he reminded gently, an invisible thread of tension wound through the words.

Of course it’s not.  You’re here because he thinks you’re stupid, not because he wants you.

Blinking away the prickling sensation behind her lids, she lifted a caustic eyebrow.  “Well, that’s a relief.  It’s a little creepy to think you might want me here to comb your chest.  Or worse yet, put it into corn rows.”

Her offbeat sense of humor was enough to break the tension, coaxing a laugh from him.  Still smirking, he climbed between the sheets and put his glasses on the bedside table.  “Get some sleep, Bluegrass.  Tomorrow’s another long fucking travel day.”

She nodded, folding back the covers on her side and slipping in.  Lilah got into a comfortable position on her right side, facing the wall and as near the edge of the mattress as she could without falling off.  Her glasses hit the opposite bedside table as his and she tried to settle in, unsure as to whether she could ever relax enough to fall asleep beside him.

Beside him?  Takin’ some poetic license there aren’t you?  There’s half a football field between the two of you.

It was true.  The magical bed had gone from huge, to tiny, and back to huge.  When he extinguished the light, she could almost pretend she was in bed alone.

But she wasn’t.

She was in bed with Tony Bongiovi.

Lilah stifled a disappointed sigh, coming to the abrupt decision that, if she didn’t get his body in bed, she could at least have his mind.

“Jersey?”

“Yeah?”

“There was a question I wanted to ask you at the stadium, but…  things happened before I got a chance.”

“You mean you hit the ground with a heat stroke.”

She scowled petulantly even though he couldn’t see her face.  “No.  That’s not what happened, and it’s also not the point.  Can I ask my question now?”

“Only if I can ask one, too.”

What in the world could he want to ask her?  And did she let her curiosity about that override the question she’d been waiting for months to have answered?

“Okay, I guess.”  Another two minutes wasn’t going to matter in the grand scheme of things, she supposed. She rolled onto her back, the ceiling nothing but a black blanket above her.

“If it wasn’t a heat stroke, what was it?  You pass out cold on a regular basis?”

If he’d been spoiling for another argument, it would have been easy to refuse to answer.  His tone was conversational, not confrontational, and it was the only reason she told him the complete truth. 

“I still knew where I was, so I didn’t pass out cold.   I hadn’t been feelin’ well all day.  No food, no water, bumps, bruises and the heat all piled up on me.  It was a weak moment, that’s all.”

“No food or water?  Whaddaya mean?”

She sighed, dreading this.  “I’ll tell you, but you don’t get to call me stupid, stubborn, an idiot or any of those other terms of endearment you’re so fond of.  We move on to my question with no additional commentary.  Deal?”

“You can try.”

“No.”  The pillow rustled under her head as she sought to make out his silhouette in the darkness.  “That’s not negotiable.”

“Tell me,” he grunted, and Lilah assumed that was as close to an agreement as she was going to get. 

“I hadn’t had anything to eat since Dublin yesterday mornin’.”

“Goddammit, Lilah, that’s-”

“Let it go,” she interrupted quietly.  “I grabbed some dinner when I got back to the hotel, and it’s over.  Now…”

“You need a fucking keeper,” he grumbled.

“Hush and answer my question, please.”

Tony grumbled again, this time unintelligibly so that she couldn’t make out the words.  It was probably just as well.

“My question is about the camera shots.”

“Mm.” The neutral grunt told her that he was listening, and Lilah’s fingers absently wrapped around the gold hoop in her right earlobe and tugged.

You’re about to find out whether this is fate, or a fanciful fabrication from one of those stories you read.  Do or die time, Lilah Jane.

“More specifically, the shots that go up on the big screen.  Do you always choose what goes up there?  I mean, that’s not something that just happens randomly.  Is it?”

“There’s a formula to it.  Certain songs have cues.  Guitar solos are Richie, keys are Dave, if Jon’s trolling the crowd, we follow him.”

That wasn’t the answer she was looking for.

“But what about the crowd shots?  The random fans who see their faces up there.  Do they have you to thank for that?”

“They have the camera operator to thank first, but I make the final choice as to what goes on the screen.”

The tingling started in the soles of her feet.

“Every time?”

“Yeah.  Every time.”

Lilah squeezed her eyes shut as every hair on her arms stood straight up, the skin pimpling around it.  The flesh on her thighs was pimpled just as tightly and her knees quivered enough to make her grateful that she was lying down.  If not, she would’ve had to hang onto something to keep from hitting the ground. 

All of this was accompanied by an infusion of warmth that flooded her heart, making it swell to twice its normal size.  A squishy rhythm pounded in her chest while a single tear snuck out and slithered its way onto the pillow.

It was him. 

“Thank you, Jersey.” 

For everything…