Ten

Games of Groans

The soft hum of music drifted through the hotel suite, a gentle soundtrack to the golden hush of evening. City lights glittered through the balcony window, casting reflections on polished hardwood floors. But her focus was locked solely on Jon.

 

He was sprawled across the plush couch like a man who had nothing to prove, his long legs stretched out, one arm slung lazily over the back cushion. In his lap rested the bottle of tequila she’d requested from the concierge—unopened, glinting amber in the low light. He looked completely at ease, the epitome of rockstar arrogance wrapped in faded denim and charm.

 

He flashed her that maddening smirk—the one that always turned her stomach into somersaults. “Hungry, baby?”

 

With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, she crossed the room, the scent of still-warm room service teasing her nose. She grabbed a pillow from the couch, tossed it onto the carpet, and sank down against it, her back comfortably propped. Lifting the silver cloche from her plate, she snatched up the bitten burger with a dramatic flourish and met his gaze, a spark of mischief lighting her eyes. “Oh, you’re going down.”

 

His deep, unhurried laugh filled the room as he shifted to straddle her from behind, one leg on either side. His hands settled on her shoulders, kneading into the tension she hadn’t even realized she was carrying. She exhaled softly as his fingers worked their magic.

 

“How did things go with Nicole?”

 

“Good,” she replied, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment under his spell.

 

“Does she think it’s okay leaving your port in this long?” he asked, his tone warm and supportive.

 

“Yeah, said it should be fine for another week. Will her plan help? I sure hope so.”

 

“Look at it this way,” a playful edge crept into his voice, “if it works, you can finally eat something other than Fruit Loops.”

 

She shot him a playful look, popping a fry into her mouth. “I happen to like Fruit Loops, thank you very much.”

 

“Don’t I know it.” He paused her massage to snatch a few fries for himself. “I had our accountant purchase a share or twenty today.”

 

“Jerk!”

 

“Hey,” he said, popping the fry into his mouth, “a guy’s gotta diversify his portfolio.”

 

She playfully nudged his leg and pushed her half-eaten plate to the side. “You’ll never believe who I ran into at the arena today.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Nico Sabatini. You remember him, right?”

 

The name alone pulled up memories. The Sabatini family had been like extended kin. Smoke—Nico’s father—had been best friends with her dad, Sal, since high school. Together, they’d worked the roadie circuit, eventually landing gigs with Bon Jovi back in the early days.

 

“Hard to forget little Sabs,” he said with a grin. “Ball breaker, just like his father.”

 

“Well, he ain’t so little now.”

 

Jon shot her a teasing glance. “Is that so?”

 

“Uh, yeah! He makes Matt look small.”

 

“Charmed you, did he?”

 

“Charm? More like full-on assault when he hugged me.”

 

Jon laughed, the sound rumbling in his chest. “What was he doing at the arena?”

 

“The local union needed an extra set of hands.”

 

“Just like his father. Never turning down a gig.” He leaned back, a knowing grin spreading across his face. “Did he say how Smoke was doing?”

 

“He says he’s enjoying retirement,” she chuckled. “Apparently, he’s taken up gardening. Can you imagine Smoke digging around in the dirt?”

 

“He’s gotta bury the bodies somewhere, right?”

 

They both burst into laughter at the thought of Smoke, who had spent years wrangling cables, telling wild stories about his Italian ancestors, and offering a helping hand to any crew members who got caught in a compromising situation. Whether it was offering a way out of a sticky situation or providing someone with a special pair of cement shoes, Smoke always seemed to have just the solution.

 

A playful glint flashed in her eyes as she stood and climbed into his lap, her legs straddling his thighs. “Now, where’s my prize?”

 

“Alright, but only because you earned it,” he said, his hands settling on her waist.

 

“Think you can keep up, old man?”

 

“Keep up? I’m a pro at this,” he said, giving her a confident grin.

 

“Pro at tequila or flirting?” she teased, her voice low and challenging.

 

“Both.” He winked, and she couldn’t help but laugh again.

 

“Let’s put that to the test.” She leaned in, pressing her lips to his with a teasing smile, tasting the last traces of wine he had earlier. “Okay, here’s how this works—every shot earns you a kiss. Try to keep up, old man.”

 

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he broke the seal on the tequila bottle, the sound of the crack echoing softly in the room. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long, daring swig, feeling the warm liquid slide down his throat, its sharpness igniting a thrill within him.

 

He set the bottle down on the arm of the couch and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning. “That’s one. Better pay up before I start racking up interest.”

 

She raised her eyebrow, unimpressed but clearly entertained. “Oh, someone’s feeling bold,” she murmured, fingers trailing along the back of his neck as she leaned in. “There. One kiss. Don’t get cocky, tequila cowboy.”

 

He let out a low laugh. “Tequila cowboy, huh? Is that your way of admitting you’re impressed?”

 

She smirked, rolling her hips just enough to make her point. “Please. That’s just the starter kiss. You don’t unlock the good stuff until at least shot number four or five.”

 

He raised the bottle in front of them, eyes never leaving hers, the challenge clear in his grin. “Then I better drink up.”

 

He wasted no time taking a second swig, this time savoring the moment as the rich, warm liquid rolled over his tongue. The distinct earthy scent of agave filled his nostrils, awakening a sense of nostalgia. His dick twitched as his eyes locked on hers, her green eyes now darkened—a telltale sign she was heading to the point of no return.

 

With a final gulp, he swallowed, savoring the lingering taste. “Looks like we’re both in this now,” his voice low and thick. “You ready for what’s coming next?”

 

“Are you?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with challenge, daring him to make the next move.

 

Without missing a beat, he grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her closer. Their lips crashed together, and her breath caught, sending a shiver down her spine. Wild and untamed, their tongues wove together in a passionate dance. Time seemed to stand still as she melted into the moment, her heart racing. The thrill of the bet, the taste of tequila, and the warmth of his presence enveloped her entirely.

 

When they finally pulled apart, Jon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You okay there, Crash?”

 

She ran her tongue along her lips then closed them with a playful pop. “Yep. How ‘bout you? Giving up already?”

 

“Not a chance!”

 

Each shot of tequila blurred the world around them, wrapping them in a cozy warmth that felt just right. It was just the two of them, the amber liquid, and the rising heat of their shared connection. His calloused fingertips, shaped from years of playing guitar, slid under the hem of his old T-shirt she was wearing, grazing her skin in a playful, familiar rhythm that felt uniquely theirs. In that lingering touch, a different kind of heat ignited—a slow, steady burn that promised a connection that would linger long after the last sip.

 

“Damn!” he murmured against her lips as they took a moment to catch their breath.

 

Her breath hitched, a tiny, perfect imperfection. “Had enough, rockstar?” she asked breathlessly, leaning in so their foreheads touched, her lips just a breath away. “Or can you go another round… or twelve?”

 

“I can go all night.” His eyes dilated with mischief.

 

Her lips curled into a slow smile. “Prove it.”

 

His hand slid up to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her soft, messy curls. “All. Night. Long.”

 

As his words lingered in the air, a soft flutter brushed against her side, a light, unexpected sensation that made her freeze for a split second.

 

“Did you feel that?” she gasped, pulling back slightly.

 

“Feel what?”

 

“The baby! I think the baby just kicked!” she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of surprise and wonder.

 

His eyes lit up. “Are you serious?”

 

“Yeah! Right here!” She pressed his hand against her side, hoping he could feel it too.

 

They both held their breath, focusing on their hands, their hearts beating with anticipation. And then, just as they were about to speak, it happened again—a gentle little thump, like a tiny fist greeting them both.

 

“Hello, there,” he whispered, a playful glint in his eyes. “We’re gonna have to talk about your timing.”

 

Her heart swelled with warmth as her fingers trailed over the hand resting on her side, tracing the contours of his fingers as if to keep this moment from slipping away. Just as they both relaxed, another gentle kick followed, this time a little stronger, a little more insistent.

 

“How do you do that?” she chuckled. “You’re like the baby whisperer.”

 

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “I don’t know, Crash. I’ve always had a sixth sense when it comes to… timing.” His grin widened. “Maybe he just knows when I’m about to say something cool.”

 

“So, now you’re a baby psychic?” she laughed, rolling her eyes.

 

“Just stating the facts,” he gave her belly a gentle rub. “Right, kid?”

 

Another soft kick made them both laugh.

 

“He? Huh? Using your psychic powers, are you?”

 

“Was I wrong about Lily?”

 

She gave him a playful slap. “No. But that doesn’t mean you’ll be right this time.”

 

“I will. Just you wait.”

 

They both laughed again, lingering in the warmth of the moment. The little one inside her was already making his or her presence known, and Jon? He was already the goofiest dad-to-be—again.