22 #Escape

The aftermath this time wasn’t chatty and jovial.  Considering it was the second round in a very short span of time, the effects had them both subdued and confined to their own section of mattress.  Teddi’s eyes were heavy, and Jon couldn’t tell if she was half asleep or lost in Gypsy fantasy thoughts. 

 

He watched her lethargic blink while trying to puzzle out where they went next.

 

Not in a physical sense.  Not tonight, anyway.  God, not tonight. 

 

He had no problem with overindulgence in many forms, but more sex with her would be too much of a good thing – and might be physically impossible.  Neither of them were giving off a cuddle vibe, so that left him wondering where to go from here.

 

Home.  You should go home.

 

Yeah.  There was that whole house full of kids across the river that didn’t know he’d left the property.  He should probably get back before they started texting his phone, which was in the car.  As soon as there was an opening for a graceful exit, he would get out of here.  He’d give it another five minutes.

 

In the meantime, Jon pondered what tomorrow or next week was going to bring with Teddi.  Did she expect this to become a relationship?  The mere thought had him going from a sprawled position to drawing both arms and legs into his torso.  Not fetal, he told himself.  Just not as… exposed. 

 

The thought of another – later – round of “what’s my fantasy” in this nest of bright bedding held a certain allure.  What guy didn’t want an uninhibited woman in the sheets? 

 

His concern was the “dating” word that kept getting thrown at him lately.  That was something else entirely, and he watched warily as Teddi’s eyes squeezed shut while she stretched.

 

Jesus, don’t let there be hearts in her eyes when she opens them.

 

Her grin was lazy and lopsided beneath eyes that held only satisfaction.  “If you’d like to freshen up before you leave, the bathroom is just through that door.  The guest rooms each have an en suite, as well, if you prefer more privacy.”

 

You were worried about hearts?  She’s kicking your ass to the curb.

 

Forget that he’d been planning his escape ten seconds ago.  Now that he was being invited to leave, his ego took exception, and Jon stretched his legs back out to get comfortable. 

 

His kids were grown.  They could handle themselves for a few more minutes.

 

“I’m good, thanks.”

 

Her honey hair draped over a tubular cushion of magenta, and the same electric shade shrouded three sides of the bed, albeit lightly.  The vine-embellished curtain was sheer enough that he could easily see the array of cushions scattered on the floor.  They were different shapes and sizes, but all were touched with magenta and accents of either orange, lime or royal blue. 

 

 Speaking of royal… Jon twisted his head and squinted an eye at the headboard.  It wasn’t part of the metal framing decorated with vibrant lanterns and scarves, but magenta velvet upholstering held true to the room’s theme.  Its elaborate gold trim declared this bed fit for a Gypsy queen.

 

Jon turned his squinted eye toward the woman who came closer to fitting that description than he could’ve dreamed.

 

“We gonna talk about your décor now?”

 

Her laugh was more like a jostled breath as she gracefully closed her legs and swung them off the comforter.  The cushion colors were there in solid stripes mingled with rich patterns, and he skated his heel across one that felt like velvet.

 

“No, Mister –“

 

“You call me Mr. Bon Jovi after that, and I swear to God, I’ll turn you over my knee and bust your ass,” Jon cautioned blandly.  “Your cheeks’ll be the same color as your fancy headboard.”

 

Clearly unbothered by her nudity or the hair drying in wild disarray, Teddi propped hands on hips and regarded him thoughtfully.  “Sadly, I believe you’d treat it as punishment instead of foreplay.  Punishment doesn’t interest me, nor does analyzing my color selections.”

 

Her infamous necklace dangled between swaying breasts, but its owner paid the charm no heed.  Untouched, it was the only visible connection between Gypsy and nervous Dr. Teddi, and Jon found himself momentarily fixated by the filigree shape.  It was almost a case of recognizing something out of context, because he couldn’t reconcile a staid PhD with the wanton woman whose pussy he still tasted.  She was two very different people, and he was curious about all the ways those personalities meshed. 

 

“What does interest you?”

 

“Why you’re not running for the door when given the opportunity.”

 

That interested Jon, too, but analyzing it…?  Not so much. 

 

“I’m more curious as to why you’re pushing me toward it.  Fan girl like yourself finally gets to live out your wicked fantasies….  Shouldn’t you be planning our wedding or some such shit?”

 

An unhurried hand raked through her hair in an attempt to right it as she laughed, “Marriage?  I think not.  You don’t have the patience to build that kind of relationship again, and I don’t have the desire.  This was a decadent rest stop on your Hall of Fame journey.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

The way she cocked her head made him feel like he was a special kind of stupid for asking, but he’d long-ago learned to not make assumptions with women.  Their mental agenda never quite matched up with his, and he’d gotten burned believing otherwise.  He wanted everything nice and clear in this case.

 

“It means that this ‘fan girl’ will forever covet your knock on my door tonight, because you’re not the type to go knocking.  That I’ll relive this encounter many times over and enjoy a rush of exhilaration every single time.”

 

When she didn’t seem inclined to finish the thought, he prodded, “Lotta words there, but still feels like some are missing.”

 

There.  There was the first flicker of insecurity he’d seen since they closed themselves in this room.  It flashed for a split second before she got control of it and lifted her chin. 

 

“This was an extraordinary moment in time, but you can give me my job back now.  Your social media presence is more important than a sex partner, and we both know it.  No hard feelings or expectations to the contrary.”

 

Jon scooted up in the bed, cramming a pillow between his back and the headboard. 

 

“So…”  He leaned back and folded his arms, skewering her with a look of skepticism.  “Lemme get this straight.  You’re not having thoughts of attachment?  Instead, you’re cool with being a random fuck before getting back to business?”

 

“I’d hardly call it random.”

 

“Fine,” he bit, unaccountably irritated by her polite logic.  “How’s aberration suit you? Deviation from the plan?”

 

She sighed and bent to retrieve her clothes.  “There’s no need to cop your infamous Jersey attitude.  All I meant was that it’s been simmering since the day you first came here.  That hardly constitutes random.”

 

“I don’t have an attitude.  I’m just trying to understand what the fuck you’re saying with that ‘no hard feelings’ shit.”

 

With beige pants already tied at the waist, Teddi slipped the white top over her head and completed the transformation from Gypsy to Dr. Cookie.   Jon felt himself scowling with displeasure.  There was nothing wrong with Dr. Cookie, but dammit, there was nothing wrong with Gypsy, either.  Why couldn’t she be both?

 

She is, you fucking idiot.

 

“The rudimentary concept is that while you can obtain sexual gratification from a plethora of willing companions, there are only a limited number of individuals qualified to facilitate the professional outcome you desire.”

 

Except that she didn’t feel a damn thing like Gypsy when she went into sesquipedalian mode.  See?  He knew big words, too.

 

“Stop talking like a damn dictionary,” he groused, finally annoyed enough to slide out of bed and reach for his shorts.  “Ten-letter words don’t impress me.”

 

The mouth that had to still taste of pussy pinched, as though the flavor had become offensive.  “How’s this for you, then?  You’re stupid for letting a piece of ass interfere with your chances at the Hall.”

 

Jon’s hands froze on the button at his waist, and he looked up from it to find her expectantly arched eyebrow cocked his way.  “Did you just say ‘piece of ass’?”

 

“Do you have a problem with three-letter words, too?”

 

Jon took in her squared shoulders, steely jaw and shuttered eyes as she waited for a reply.  Those particular physical attributes all spoke of a haughty indignation befitting a beige PhD.  Then there were the bed head, bare feet and braless boobs. 

 

God almighty, this woman. 

 

She was such an unexpected mixture of matron and minx that it made his head spin.  One minute, she was fucking like a porn star, the next she was a pillar of propriety, and then she was…  Hell, he didn’t know what she was, but it flustered the frustration out of Jon, leaving behind simple honesty.

 

“My problem lies in other people dictating what’s best for me.  I got over that shit a long time ago, and I ain’t interested in revisiting it.”

 

“That wasn’t my intention.”

 

“I know your intention,” he said, circling to where she was at the foot of the bed and sitting on the edge. “You’re creating an escape clause.  Maybe for me, maybe so your feelings don’t get hurt if there’s not a repeat performance.”

 

“For you.”

 

“Okay,” he conceded with an easy shrug.  “But I don’t need your escape clause.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

“Lotsa reasons.  Number one, it’s just a couple of apps that I can figure out if I want.  If I don’t want, I can have somebody else make the posts.”

 

“That’s cheating the fans.”

 

Jon acknowledged her quiet protest with a nod.  “Then I’ll have somebody holding my hand while I do it.  It’s not like I don’t know people with Instagram accounts.”

 

The protests were there.  Through the dark portal of her pupils, Jon imagined he could see them piling up in her mind.  Likely arguments of how she could do it better and that he needed to know how to manage it himself, for whatever damn reason. 

 

Maybe he should, but Instagram wasn’t his primary focus at the moment.  Jon was drawn by the slender hand lightly rubbing her shirttail between thumb and forefinger.  It wasn’t the usual display of nerves, but it was a sign of it, as much as her lack of response was.   

 

“Number two on the list of reasons I don’t need an escape clause.”  Her focus shifted from the headboard to his face.  “I want to do this again.”

 

“What ‘this’?  Quarreling or what came before it?”

 

Jon grinned.  “What came before, and what should’ve come before that.  Let me take you out to dinner.”

 

Teddi’s hand released her shirt hem and crept up her torso, making a beeline for the necklace – until Jon leaned forward for the interception.  Fingers curling into hers, he drew Teddi forward and gently requested, “Don’t.  I just wanna get to get to know you outside the office and bedroom.  Then maybe we get back in bed.”

 

“I honestly don’t understand why you want to.”

 

“Honestly, me neither, but I do.  Can’t we just leave it at that for now?”

 

Her muscles relaxed at his blunt honesty.  She released a pent-up breath, and chilled fingers heated within his grasp. 

 

“How about dinner here instead of out?” she offered with a smile.  “I can make a little fish, a little pasta to go with a whole lot of wine.”

 

A home-cooked meal with his favorites?  How could Jon resist?

 

Almost all your favorites.

 

“Well, I dunno,” he drawled, ducking his head to study their clasped hands before peeking up at her.  “Will there be cookies?”

 

The return of her rainbow gleam hit Jon squarely in the chest.  It delivered a warm punch that slid south when she teased, “I was thinking peach pie.  Seeing that it’s peach season and all.”

 

Jon grinned.  “That’ll work.”