74 - One Tequila, Two Tequila

Jon never imagined his living room would look like this. 

It was empty for the most part, since the usual furniture and rugs had been moved to the garages.  That wasn’t the part that was noteworthy, though.  

The bluish-purple tinted lighting was probably the first thing he noticed.  It was hard to miss when walking into a room typically awash with lamp or sunlight.

Then there was everything else.   

His dining room table was set with linen and china at one end of the room, and a canopy of little white lights had been strung over top of it.  That was to let them see what they were eating, he guessed, although the place setting would be the fanciest thing about the meal.  The food itself was geared toward Delaney’s high school preferences, and Petra said she was obsessed with tacos.  So the crystal bowls would be filled with salsa and sour cream for a glorified taco bar.

The other end of the room had a makeshift DJ station tucked in next to the fireplace, where Colton Bryan would be in charge of the night’s music. 

Everything in between was a bare parquet dance floor. 

He fucking hated dancing, but more bothersome than that were the… things hanging over said dance floor.  Swooping things that resembled huge, bloated pasta with balloon warts dangling between.  He thought maybe the undersized inflatables were supposed to look like bubbles but wouldn’t swear to it in a court of law.

Unlike the eight huge, silver balloons along the wall behind the bar whose purpose was clearly spelled out:  P-R-O-M-1-9-8-9. 

Nineteen-fucking-eighty-nine.

Even the photo backdrop in the foyer – which Pearl had brought along for prom pictures, if anybody could fucking believe that – had the numerical balloons referencing the year.  That was fine until Delaney’s photographer produced a fluffy wig and asked Jon to put it on for the pictures. 

His response was a staunch “no fucking way”.  Thankfully, Delaney backed him up, saying that her date was not Cousin Itt from the Addams Family.  

Pearl fell back to Plan B, which was a normal boy/girl photo – followed by pictures of Jon’s “tongue down Delaney's throat”.   That he hadn’t minded.  What moron would say no to kissing the most beautiful woman in the room?

Breathtaking hadn’t been an exaggeration on his part back in the guesthouse.  When Jon saw her inspecting her reflection in the mirror, he’d literally forgotten to breathe.  The dimples she turned on him had stopped his heart, too, but he hadn’t known a word for that other than dead.  The lack of oxygen had seriously impeded his vocabulary, but damn if her radiance wasn’t worth it – and the hundred and twelve calls it took to bring this impulsive gesture to life. 

Right now, she laughed with the other women and most of their partners at something David was saying, which was no doubt as fucked up and outrageous as Dave’s ruffled shirt and bat-sized bowtie.   The only ones not in the jester’s court were Colton – who had heard his father’s insanity for twenty-two years and become immune to it – Jon, Matt, and Delaney’s brother Max.  The latter two were talking over drinks at the bar.

You need to get to know the guy.  This is her family.

So he took a deep breath and joined them, gesturing to the bartender for a glass of wine.  Why the hell not?  One wouldn’t do anything but quench his thirst.

“I’m glad you could come, Max,” he broached as his rosè was being poured.  “I know we were introduced in Delaney's hospital room, but it's good to meet you other than in passing.  Your sisters don't talk much about you.”

The man with the same gray eyes as his sisters laughed behind the fashionable three-days’ stubble.  “They still think of me as an annoying little brother.  I did get a nice thank you meal from Delaney for the Bon Jovi tickets, though.”

Jon’s brow lifted with interest as he propped an elbow on the bar.  “You got them the tickets?”

“They were birthday gifts from Ma, but since she doesn’t do Ticketmaster, I ended up pulling the trigger for her.”

“Well,” Jon lifted his glass, tipping it in the other man’s direction.  “You both have my thanks.  Seeing her in the audience that first night was a moment I’ll never forget.”

“Mm.”  Swirling his own amber drink, Max shifted his attention from the highball glass to find Jon’s eyes.  “Can I ask you something?”

Expecting one of the usual fan-type questions, he didn’t hesitate to say, “Sure.”

Little did he know that Delaney’s brother wasn’t interested in celebrity trivia.

“Why’d you do this?”  A listless hand gestured to the room at large.  “I mean, I know what Petra said about you making up for Laney missing prom, but seriously.  There has to be more to it than that.  Please tell me there’s more to it than that, because if you’re this damn romantic and you plan on sticking around…  I’m screwed.”

“I’m here to tell you he ain’t that romantic,” Matt snorted, ice cubes rattling as he lifted his own glass.

“He’s right.  I’m not.”  Laughing at the mere thought, Jon knew he had at least a dozen people who would vouch for him on that.  Dorothea would be at the head of the line.  “Your sister’s had a rough few days, and I thought she deserved something fun.”

Hugo’s bombshell only reinforced the notion, and he was glad Delaney had decided to postpone watching the video.  So far, they’d had their fair share of intense moments, both emotional and intimate.  Not to say they hadn’t had fun together, too, but they could definitely use a frivolous evening filled with booze and crazy people before tackling the next bout of drama.

Max’s mouth pulled tight at the edges.  “Yeah.  The twins’ birthday is always rough.  More for us than her, I think.”

“I don’t pretend to know how hard it is for you,” Jon countered diplomatically.  “But Delaney is really good at keeping things hidden.”

Was it odd that Max didn’t agree or disagree?  That he simply flicked a cloudy gray gaze to his giggling sister, which made it even cloudier?  He thought maybe it was, but when Delaney’s brother returned his attention to the men standing with him, everything went back to normal.

“Anyway.  As much as I hate…”  Max lifted his burgundy tie with utter disdain.  “… this shit.  Thanks – for invitin’ us and lookin’ out for Laney.  Petra says you’re an alright guy.”

“Petra likes to stay on my good side in case I can be of use to her,” he laughed.  “And she’s the one who suggested inviting you, although I’m glad she did.  I’d like to be friends with Mou’s family.”

The endearment slipped out without conscious thought, and Jon only realized it when Max’s features turned thoughtful.  “She said you called Laney that.  She also says you understand the significance of it.”

“Uh.  Not to be a nosy fucker, but what is the significance?  I feel like I’m missin’ my secret decoder ring.”

Casting a quick smile Matt’s way, Jon explained, “Family legend of sorts.  ‘Mou’ means ‘mine’, and Delaney always said her soulmate was the only one who would call her his.”

“So – again, me being a nosy fucker – are you sayin’ you’re Bounce’s soulmate?  Seriously?”

His disbelief was understandable.  Not only did Matt know about Jon’s lack of romanticism, he knew that there was also a marked lack of belief in such things as intuition, fate, destiny – or soulmates.  That’s why Jon had omitted using the word when talking to Dave and Matt.  Love required little explanation, so he’d left it at that. 

This was harder for jaded Jersey boys to accept, but Jon’s eyes didn’t waver from Max’s when answering evenly, “Yes.”

Delaney’s brother didn’t acknowledge it with more than a slight nod.  “Petra isn’t a user, in case you’ve got that idea.  She makes the most of a situation, yeah, but she gives as much as she takes.  Don’t underestimate either of my sisters.”

Funny.  Jon thought if the guy was going to instruct him on treating anybody right, it would be Delaney, but that was cool.  He respected family.

“Duly noted,” he assured as Dave arrived to look inquiringly around the group.  “What’s up, Lema?  You meet Delaney’s brother, Max?”

The curly haired man switched his drink from one hand to the other and extended the empty one.  “David Bryan.  How the hell did you survive growing up with the evil Gidgets?”

Any remaining tension dissipated with Max’s rueful chuckle.  David was good for lightening up the mood wherever he went. 

“It wasn’t easy, I tell ya.”

“You, sir, deserve a drink or twelve,” Dave declared with authority and kicked his chin up at the bartender.  “We got us a fiesta goin’ on here, good man.  I believe my friend Jose Cuervo was invited.  Did he catch a ride with you?”

“Right here,” the man confirmed, holding the bottle of gold liquid by the neck.  “Would you like shot glasses with that?”

With a rude noise, David elbowed Matt in the ribs.  “Would we like shot glasses with that?  Ha.  Does the Pope shit in the woods?”

“Pretty sure it’s the Vatican, dude.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” the crazy Jew pish-poshed Matt and stole Jon’s wineglass in exchange for a drinking thimble.  “Barkeep, see if you can rustle us up some limes, salt and another eight shot glasses.  This one is a Mexican purple heart for surviving puberty, but then it’s time for some pre-dinner drinking games.”

Oh, God.  The last time Jon did tequila shots with his friend, it got him a memory lapse and a spot in the doghouse with Dorothea.  As he recalled, it involved a lovely senorita kneeling between his legs, and a slightly altered mental image made him grin.  Delaney in that same position wouldn’t be all bad he decided, tossing back the first round with a grimace. 

The only problem might be the “game” involved.  David Bryan was a twisted fuck, so this could get interesting…

Half an hour later, he knew Pearl’s favorite sexual position, when Petra lost her virginity, that Sean the congressman smoked pot in college, Desiree read something called fan fiction, Max had an unhealthy obsession with decapitation (Jon made a point to remember that), Delaney ate hot fudge straight from the jar during PMS, and Dave had worn women’s underwear (at least) once.  It made him feel “pampered”. 

Now the shoe was on Jon’s foot, and since he’d missed a lyric to one of his own B-side songs, he was looking down the barrel of two shots and a personal question of the group’s choice.  He’d already had three injections of tequila on an empty stomach and was feeling no pain.  This might be the night he got embarrassingly shit-faced, but everyone around the table was family in one form or another.  They’d probably keep his secrets. 

“Do you really go commando?”

He rolled his eyes at Pearl’s suggested question while Delaney confirmed it and told her friend to do better than that. 

“I know, I know!” Petra insisted loudly.  “Let’s see if the songwriter can find some significance in his songs.”

Oh, fuck.  Jon hoped she wasn’t going to pull out another one of his B-sides or bonus tracks for some kind of sadistic pop quiz.

“What are you doing, Petra?  I don’t trust you.”

That’s why he loved his Mou.  She was a brilliant woman who knew how devious her sister could be and would protect him from it.  Jon slung an arm around his smoking hot date and pressed a kiss high on her cheekbone before murmuring, “You’re gettin’ so fuckin’ lucky tonight.”

“Oh, be quiet,” the devious one ordered with a dismissive wave.  “I could ask him if he was going to be tacky enough to fuck you in the same bed where he screwed his wife, but he has more class than that.  And if he doesn’t, you have more class than to let him.  My question is perfectly innocent, and you’ll thank me for it later.”

“Oh, Great Caesar’s ghost.”

Jon mentally echoed Delaney’s groan of dismay, with an added Jersey flair.  His plans had absolutely included doing dirty things to her in his bed – without thought of any prior occupants that bed might’ve seen. 

What the hell was he supposed to do now?  Have sex in Jesse’s bed?  Because there would be fucking tonight.  Tequila made him horny.

Max chimed in with his own displeasure, “Uh, yeah, Pet. Can we not talk about sex and my sisters anymore?  Enough already.”

“Let the woman ask her fucking question.”  Dave’s voice was regal and moderated like a game show host until he mentioned in aside to his wife, “I should warn you I have a crush on Petra.  Alcohol tolerance is a turn-on.”

“Just remember whose panties you’re wearing.”

Throwing his head back, Jon chortled at the bloated pasta suspended from his ceiling.  Lexi was just as crazy as her husband, and he was starting to think the question didn’t matter.  Whatever his answer, it wouldn’t hold a candle to the insanity in this room.

“Ask,” he ordered, pulling Delaney from her chair onto his lap so that his hard-on had something soft to snuggle against.

“Deathwish, do not waste this opportunity.”

Cutting a bland glare Pearl’s direction, Petra declined to acknowledge the threat.  She poured herself another shot – her sixth, maybe, and she was still sober as a judge – and pointed a shrewd gaze to Jon. 

“Pick three of your songs to dedicate to Delaney – and ‘Keep the Faith’ can’t be one of them.”

Damn.  That was going to require thought.  “Faith” would’ve been at the top of his list, so he threw back one of the drinks while pondering his options.  Not one song, but three.  Jesus, could he even think of three? 

“Colton!  Cue up number seventy-two!”

“On it!” The Egyptian-walking Bangles came to an abrupt halt at David’s bellowed instruction, and it was replaced by a guitar intro that Jon was intimately familiar with. 

“No,” he denied.  “Not that one.”

“Why not?” The quiet Renee popped in with her contribution.  “’I’ll Be There for You’ is what every woman wants in a man.”

Maybe so, but that wasn’t the message he wanted to dedicate to Mou.  They’d already had the talk about how he likely wouldn’t be there, and she was okay with that.  Why in the hell would he want to shoot himself in the foot and negate it?

No.  That wasn’t going on the list.  There was another song on that album that would fit the bill, though.  It might also make a point to Petra. 

“First choice… ‘Living in Sin’.”

“Ooh!”  The selection evidently met with Pearl’s approval.  “’I don’t need no preacher to tell me you're mine’.  Good one, JBJ!”

Petra, however, only narrowed her eyes in challenge.  “We’ll see about that.  Next?”

He hoped the next shot he slammed back was going to make her amusing instead of annoying as fuck.  Not likely, but it was worth a try, and he used a lick of Delaney’s bare shoulder as a dose of salt.  Her eyes held nothing but a tipsy affection that was the antidote to her sister’s overbearing nature. 

She’d live in sin with him as long as he wanted.  Without a fucking doubt.

As for his next choice?  Jesus, he didn’t know.  There were lots that he could claim. 

“Lucky” said “that she believes in me, feels like I found a pocket full of gold”.  “Color Me In” had special fond memories attached to it.  “Born to Be My Baby” felt as true as anything for the title alone. 

Then again, so did…

“’You Had Me From Hello’,” he proclaimed quietly.  “Or should I say 'you had me from sheep dip’ since that’s the first thing I remember hearing you say?”

“’Sheep dip’?” Petra bemoaned.  “You fucking kill me, Laney.  Why can’t you curse like every other New Yorker?  It’s embarrassing, really.” 

His angelical souley leaned back into Jon with a smug grin, saying simply, “Mission accomplished.”

“I’m all about Pet getting ragged on, but really.  Nobody cares how the fucking Muppets vent their frustration.”  Pearl pounded her little palm on the white linen tablecloth.  “Get to the good stuff.  I know you’re saving the best for last.  ‘Always’?  ‘Bed of Roses’?  Ooh!  ‘Amen’?  Tell me it’s ‘Amen’!”

“You realize ‘Always’ is about a goddamn stalker, right?” Dave snorted before explaining to the non-Jovi men in the room.  “The women always go nuts over that one.  We laugh at them, because…  Well, because they’re swooning about a fucking stalker.”

The guys laughed and the women argued that lyrics that beautiful couldn’t be about something so dark.

Jon and Delaney refrained from joining in, and he threaded the fingers of his free hand into hers to ask, “That what you’re hopin’ for?  One of the love songs?”

“Not hopin’ for anything,” she denied. “Just waiting to hear what you pick.”

It didn’t take a mind reader to see that she spoke the truth.  There weren’t moonbeams and starshine of hopefulness glowing in her eyes.  She wasn’t holding her breath for the swooning moment that would inspire a coveted pitty-pat heartbeat. 

Mou didn’t need him to knock her socks off.  She could take them off just fine by herself. 

She didn’t require wining and dining but liked impromptu pizza dinner with his kids.  She hated the extravagance of his money but loved the luxury of his kindness.  She had no desire for rings and wedding dresses because they could be easily removed.  What they had couldn’t be undone, and their mutual understanding of that was enough. 

“Okay, Jon.  Enough stalling,” Petra insisted.  “What’s the third song?”

There was nothing that Delaney required from Jon except Jon – and maybe a couple of orgasms. 

Which is why his final choice was…

“’Let’s Make it Baby’.”