8 - Post-Show....

“Oh Lord, you reek!”

“I told you,” Jon laughed as Cassidy’s nose wrinkled up like an accordion. 

He had indeed warned her that he stank after a show, but for some reason, she’d assumed he was exaggerating.  Assumed that the allure of a hot, sweaty man would negate biology and chemistry.  Millions of women fantasized about getting up close and personal with muscles that glistened under sweat – specifically those of athletes and rock stars.

She had fantasized about it with this rock star.

But fantasies aren’t scratch ‘n’ sniff.

“I’m sensing this isn’t a turn-on for you, Dix.”  There was teasing in his voice as Jon stepped back to finish unsnapping the denim shirt that was already half-open. 

“I…” 

The texture of concrete imprinted her back and palms.  He’d shoved her against the wall upon flipping the dressing room lock, and Cassidy had been eager to wear that pattern on her skin while licking the salt from his.  Then she’d inhaled.  

You’ve just had a once-in-a-lifetime experience, girl.  Make a memory to go with it. 

She extended a hand to the man who was now bare-chested.  Light shone against the perspiration gliding down his sternum, and she followed it up to the column of his throat. 

“C’mere and let me taste you.”

“Baby, it’s okay,” he told her with a crooked grin.  “I’ll shower.”

Watching him swallow, she thought his neck appeared thicker than normal, although it was probably just the necklace he’d worn for the show.  A short choker with the St. Lorraine’s cross, it emphasized the muscular column of his throat, whose sheen taunted her in the fluorescent lighting.

“No,” she said firmly and dropped the extended hand, deciding that If he wouldn’t come to her, then she’d go to him.  “I wanna lick your neck.”

He stayed perfectly still with arms held out to his side, thereby giving Cassidy complete control of this… experiment.  All she got was the soft warning, “Do what you want, but make it quick – and lemme know whether to get invested.  I don’t want to get left with blue balls.”

“Right now, I just want a taste.”

Pushing her fingertips up his sternum brought the sensation of both heated flesh and cool dampness.  Droplets transferred from his silver chest pelt to her fingertips and she tried not to acknowledge that she was playing in sweat.  Rather, she pushed higher to brush the trip of her tongue over his pulse. 

It wasn’t as salty as some of his other bodily fluids, nor was it a turn-off.  If they got sweaty at the same time, she would probably like it.  For now, though, she took a step back. 

“Okay, I’m good.”

He quietly guffawed and shucked out of the work shirt.  “Chicken shit.”

“Not chicken, just selective.”

“Lots of girls get off on that, yanno.”

There was no missing the teasing in his voice, but she hitched her eyebrow up just the same.  “Lots of girls don’t have the option of a shower with you.  I do.”

“Valid point.” 

Flipping the stage belt open, he pulled it free from the loops and passed it into her outstretched hands.  This one was more than simple leather of her bracelets.  It had patterns of flattened rivets that caught her interest, and Cassidy wrapped it around her hand into a coil she could tuck into the pocket of her overnight bag.

“Nuh-uh, ya belt klepto.  I need that onstage tomorrow night.  Give it back.”

“I’ll make sure it gets to the dressin’ room,” she waved him off, zipping the pocket and changing the subject.  “Y’all were great tonight, but I’m kinda sad I missed so many shows over the years.  Libby says it’s a good thing I did.  Divine providence and all that.”

“She and Wes have a good time?”

“Mmm-hmm.”  Watching him strip off his socks, she would swear that even they were wet.  “Said it would’ve been better if you and I had sung together, but she was real proud of me and knew MeMaw would be, too.  I swear I think she had tears in her eyes.”

He crammed his clothes into the laundry bag hanging on the wardrobe, saying, “She’s not the only proud one around here tonight.  I’m pretty sure the guys wanna get you drunk on the plane.  Dave ordered some kind of special whiskey.”

Cassidy tried not to search for meaning in the fact that Jon hadn’t said he was proud.  He was still in concert mode or disappointed that he wasn’t getting laid this minute.  She was pretty sure it had nothing to do with her performance.

“I’ll be curious to see what he’s got, but you and I have missed enough time together this weekend.  Believe I’ll stay lucid for the rest of it.”

“Good.”  He stopped to drop a kiss on her mouth en route to the shower.  “We’ve got some talking to do, and I’d rather you remember it.”

“What kind of talkin’?” she called after him.

There was the hiss of water hitting tile, and while he waited for it to warm, he stepped back into the main room with a stern, “Your ‘bonus track’, for one.  I don’t like that being-kept-in-the-dark bullshit, especially when everybody around me isn’t.”

With a grin at his bare, retreating backside, Cassidy dropped onto the sofa.  Birthday surprises didn’t count, nor did Christmas.  He could just get over that, and soft cocoa leather squished when she reclined into it and lifted her voice.    

“I don’t like bein’ kept in the dark, either.  How ‘bout we not do it again?”

“Fine by me.”

Not even how you feel about bein’ a mistress? 

Nope.  Absolutely not.    

So what if Libby found herself seated next to a catty woman during the show?  So what if the woman loudly proclaimed that mistresses should expect to be cheated on by the men who’d made them mistresses?  So what if she proceeded to call Cassidy naïve, stupid and a mediocre talent?

The only thing to take away from that little tale was how Wes kept Libby from getting into a brawl.  Cassidy knew the unkind remarks were nothing but sour grapes.  Letting a jealous and petty woman get inside her head would be a flashing neon sign of insecurity.

Cassidy Starr was not insecure.   

She didn’t like the feeling, and quite frankly, it was a destructive neurosis she couldn’t afford.  Her relationship with Jon wouldn’t survive the first tour leg if she let some shrew plant a seed of doubt.  That independence he’d been fussing about last night was the solid foundation of what they had, and Cassidy would preserve it at all costs.

It seemed like the water had no more turned on that he was flipping it off again, and she talked logic to escape foolishness. 

“Tell me about this duet you’re plannin’ for St. Louis.”

“What about it?”

“What makes you think you need one?”

“Not need.  Want,” he corrected, towel drying the head that popped out of the bathroom.  “Grab me the hairdryer, would ya?”

She rose and headed toward the travel wardrobe without breaking conversational stride.  “Okay, then why do you want one?”

“Stop!” The sharp demand froze Cassidy’s hand inches from the top drawer, and she looked over to find him straddling the threshold between the two rooms.  “Hairdryer’s in the bottom one.” 

“Pardon me.  Didn’t realize your stage socks were so personal to ya.”

She deliberately bent to the bottom drawer and withdrew the dryer. 

“I don’t give a fuck about my socks,” he laughed when accepting it.  “It’s a matter of efficiency.  Faster I get ready, better chance there is of a non-sweaty quickie.”

Casting a doubtful look at his back, she pushed away the niggling feeling that something wasn’t quite right. 

That concert shrew is tryin’ to take root in your head, girl.

She shook it off, and again tried to pursue his intentions for her vocal cords.  “You have a song in mind for this duet you want?”

A flick of the power switch had the hand-held appliance forcing a gust of heat into his hair – and temporarily quelling any chit chat.  

“We’ll talk about it later,” he shouted over it, leaving Cassidy to nod and head back to the sofa. 

With nothing better to do, she unzipped the pocket on her overnighter withdrew the phone she hadn’t checked since before going onstage.  A flick of the button revealed that there were several waiting text messages.

[8:10PM]VERLA JEAN:  Girl!  You are a-may-zing!  And that song for Jon made me want to cry.  Kelly Clarkson couldn't have done any better.  I’m real proud to call you a friend and neighbor.  Thank Jon for the backstage tour before the show!

With a half-cocked smile, she sent off a quick reply of thanks and promised to pass the message to Jon.  It had pleased Cassidy when he offered to have one of the crew play tour guide because she just knew Verla Jean would spend decades telling people how a rock star personally invited her backstage.  

[8:14PM]CALLIOPE: I hate having missed it, but Libby sent me a video that I’ve shown everybody at the hospital.  Mama, you looked and sounded beautiful!  Maybe next time I’ll get more than twelve hours’ notice so I can switch schedules with somebody and see you live. Hint, hint! Call me when you can.  Love you big! 

She wished her daughter could’ve been here, too, but there would be more opportunities.  Many more, judging by the crowd response tonight, and she told Calliope so as well as sending love.

[10:36PM]DAVID: The flight to STL is only an hour, but we’re gonna party hard and fast with a $1k bottle of bourbon.  When you headline, I’ll get you the GOOD stuff.

Thousand-dollar bourbon?!  He bought thousand-dollar bourbon and wasn’t calling it “the GOOD stuff”?  

Mind.  Blown. 

All Cassidy could do was fire off a message saying The Liquor Barn was a hell of a lot cheaper and calling him a luxury lush.  Inside, she was ashamed of her intrigue at tasting something so extravagant, but there was a little something to celebrate, after all.

[10:42PM]OBIE: You killed it kid!  You’ve got 1,000 new album pre-orders, 3,000 new downloads of ‘Dixie Queen’ and everybody’s clamoring for ‘Love is a Choice’.  That’s your next single.  My trip to Tully’s would’ve been worth it, even without the fried pickles!

A thousand albums?  And three thousand downloads?  From a twenty-minute stint on stage? 

Hell yes, there’s something to celebrate!  Pass the high-falutin’ hooch, please!

Cassidy shimmied her backside against the sofa cushions and squealed, “Jon!  Turn that damned thing off!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Look!”  She shoved the phone at him.  “Obie says I’ve sold a thousand new albums tonight!  And three thousand ‘Dixie Queens’!” 

His smile was easy, without a flicker of surprise when confidently predicting, “You’ll triple the albums by morning.”

Triple that number seemed awfully optimistic from her point of view.  She’d only had a hundred or so this morning, so one thousand was already exorbitant. 

“What makes you think so?”

“Because you’re that good,” was the simple answer that accompanied the return of her phone.  “There’s a new message from Libby.”

Guilt niggled at her.  Yes, she’d told Jon she trusted him.  Her mind had even known that he had decades of experience in the music industry.  Her heart just hadn’t fully believed his support stemmed from anything beyond their personal relationship. 

“I’m sorry for doubtin’ your business savvy.”

He looked up from buttoning his jeans.  “It’s okay.  Just don’t doubt yourself.”

“Alright.  I’ll try.” 

His lazy wink said everything else that needed saying.

When Jon turned to grab a black t-shirt, she lifted the phone from her lap and swiped the screen, curious about what Libby had to say.  They’d seen each other a half-hour ago.

[11:05PM]LIBBY: I just have to tell you again how proud I am.  You’re going to be a star, and not just in name.  I love you! 

One corner of Cassidy’s mouth tipped up.  What looked to the outside world like sass and spite was nothing more than the way they showed their love. 

She was about to send an emoji heart when another message arrived from Libby, along with a photo.

[11:07PM]LIBBY: This is making its way around social media.  FYI.

The picture was of Jon with a gorgeous brunette.  She wasn’t one of those put-together supermodels that required a team of cosmetologists to make it happen, either.  The forty-something woman had good genes and a natural beauty, which shone from within his arms as she smiled with unmistakable joy.  

The photographer had taken the photo from the side, so Jon’s face was hidden by a mane of chestnut hair, but the bend of his fingers indicated that the embrace was a tight one.

There had been dozens of pictures like it since his divorce, most of which speculated that he had a new woman in his sights.  Reality identified nearly all the women as friends or acquaintances, and the remainder were fans.  None of them were more than friendly attention and a warm hug.   

Libby knew that, so why was she wasting time sending this hogwash?

[11:07PM]LIBBY: I guess you recognize her, since that’s your front porch?

Hold the bus.  It was her front porch. 

That was her cheery red door with the Valentine wreath that Libby made.  And Jon had on the same t-shirt and sweater he’d worn to the arena this afternoon.  The sweater he was just slipping his head into. 

There’s a simple explanation.  All ya gotta do is ask.

“Jon?  Who’s this?”

The explanation came faster than expected, because the instant his eyes hit the image, they flooded with guilt and fell shut.  It happened so fast that it could’ve been a figment of her imagination. 

Maybe it was, because when his lids parted again, there was nothing but an impassiveness to match his, “Business acquaintance.”

“You didn’t mention invitin’ anyone over to the house today.”

In fact, he’d never invited anyone to her house, saying it was a sanctuary for him.  For them. 

“Hadn’t had a chance.  And stop looking at me like that,” he ordered, turning to take out clean socks and his street boots.  “I’ll tell you all about it when we get to St. Louis.”

“Why not now?”

His butt hit the cushion next to hers with a disgruntled, “It’s a goddamn picture, Dix.  Like a thousand before it.”

“Which you always tell me about when I find one int’restin’.  Like the guy in the Superman suit, the woman who read your tea leaves out of the garbage, and the Cher impersonator.  Why is this one different?”

Stamping his newly socked and booted feet on the floor, he stood and went to the top wardrobe drawer.  “It’s not different.  We have a plane to catch.   Let’s go.”

She watched him palm his phone out of the drawer, giving her his back while cramming it into a pocket.  Cassidy was still confused by what was happening here.    

“Jon...”

“Dixie,” he sighed, shrugging into a leather jacket.  “I swear to God, I will tell you everything about it – in St. Louis.  Now let’s go.”

You told the man he had your trust.  It’s more than just a word, no matter what your intuition tells you.

He’d never lied to her before.  There was no reason to believe he would start tonight.  Not when there was so much to celebrate. 

“Did you know David bought me a thousand-dollar bottle of bourbon?”

A genuine smile creased his cheeks, chasing away the gruffness as he unlocked the door with a scoff.  “Yeah.  He’s saving the ten-thousand buck bottle for your solo tour. ”