Chapter Twenty Three

“What’s wrong?” Billie looked at him blankly, his voice not exactly angry but just….well, weird.

“That shirt.” Jon pouted. “I can’t believe you’re wearing that fucking thing.”

“Huh?” She was lost, gripping the hem of the shirt and pulling it out to look down at the design. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Darlin’ - I guess I never mentioned it, but I’m from New Jersey, and, well, that name on your shirt……”

“Yeeeah?”

Jon sighed. “Let’s just say it’s a dirty word around me.”

“Cowboys?” Billie frowned, tilting her head curiously, a smile starting to play around her lips as she understood. “What? You don’t like Dallas?”

“Hell no. Dallas sucks. Plus they play a dirty game. If you tell me you’re a Cowboys fan I may have to leave right now.”

“I’m not an anybody fan.” She replied, still tugging at the shirt. “I picked it up when I was in Dallas years ago - I like to buy shirts from places I’ve been.”

“But the Cowboys?” He pouted again, but the smile was starting.

“I’m sorry. D’you want me to take it off?”

Jon was beginning to grin again, walking slowly toward her.

“That depends. Do you like that shirt?”

“It’s a shirt. I wear it to bed.” Billie shrugged, and now Jon was in front of her, sliding his fingers into the neck of the shirt.

“So it doesn’t hold any special memories for you?” His grip tightened on the collar. “You wouldn’t miss it if it got ripped?”

“Nah. Just a shirt. I have tons of them.” She cocked her head again. “Why?”

“Because I hate Dallas.” Jon whispered, smirking as he tugged hard, easily ripping the collar apart.

Still grinning, he looked at Billie’s face, seeing no irritation, and he kept his grasp on the fabric tight, slowly ripping the shirt all the way to the hem. As he dropped his hands, Billie looked down, touching the torn edge before flicking her eyes back up to Jon’s sparkling blues.

“So now I need to change this.” She murmured, turning to pass him, but Jon grabbed the shirt again.

“Take it off and I’ll toss it in the trash.” He instructed, pulling the destroyed shirt back off her shoulders.

Shaking her head at his oh-so-male attitude over something as trivial - to her - as a football team, Billie let him pull the shirt off, walking naked from the kitchen. Jon watched her go, his eyes following the jagged line of the scar on her back, then when she was out of sight he grinned for no reason, balling the shirt in his hands. He found the trash and stuffed it in, then Billie returned, wearing yet another t shirt, and this time Jon applauded with a laugh.

“Now that’s more like it!” He approved, looking at the Giants logo emblazoned across her chest.

“I’m glad you approve.” Billie smiled back. “Now can I make the popcorn?”

“Yep. Can I help?”

“Nope. I just have to heat this pan then throw in some corn.”

The pan she had was a strange, old-fashioned type, with a stirring blade connected to the lid, so that once it had heated enough and she added corn Billie was able to keep the kernels moving to ensure they all popped. Jon assisted by opening beers, and Billie also got him to melt butter in a pan, pouring it over the finished popcorn. She filled a huge bowl with the hot, buttery corn, and they took it through to the living room, sitting comfortably side-by-side on the couch to eat.

When the corn was finished, Billie took away the bowl and brought back a damp cloth so they could wipe the butter from their fingers and faces, then she smiled suddenly at Jon, nodding to the guitar.

“You said you’re in a band?”

“Yeah.”

“Sing me a song.” She requested, and Jon grinned, reaching for the guitar.

“Whaddya want to hear?” He wasn’t really keen to play any of his own, band, stuff, on the offchance that she recognised it. He was enjoying being, well, being enjoyed just for who he was.

“Something old.” Billie said, not very helpfully, and Jon strummed distractedly as he thought, then grinned.

“How ‘bout this?”

He started in on the old Doctor Hook song, Sylvia’s Mother, and Billie listened with pure enjoyment, his voice husky and low, building to heartbreaking emotion with rare skill. Finishing that, grinning at Billie’s applause and smiles, Jon started singing a song she didn’t recognise, and Billie did that little head-tilting thing as she listened.

“Here I am, baby, right where you found me, tryin’ to break these chains that surround me….”

When Jon finished the song, Billie applauded again.

“I’ve never heard that before.” She said, then, remembering he was in a band. “Is that one of your own songs?”

“That? Naw. That’s a Southside Johnny song - Trapped Again.”

“Southside Johnny?” Billie frowned. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“You haven’t?!” Jon looked shocked, but it was partly put on. “He’s the guy I started out emulatin’ in all the bars we played…..you’ve never heard of Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes?”

“Nuh-uh. I’m guessing they’re from New Jersey?”

“Yeah. That was written by Stevie Van Zandt, who plays with Bruce in the E-Street Band.”

“Bruce……..” Billie thought hard. “Springsteen?”

“Oh, so you have heard of some bands from Jersey, then?”

She blushed. “I guess. Craig liked Springsteen.”

“Oh.” Jon let it drop instantly, reaching for his beer and, finding it empty, he looked at Billie suspiciously. “Did you finish my beer?”

“Maybe.” Billie smirked. “I got so distracted, listening to you sing so pretty, I maybe drank your beer.”

“Aw, shit. And I’m supposed to be mad when you put it that way?” Jon shook his head, laying down the guitar. “You want another?”

“No - I’m fine.” She pushed herself from the couch anyway. “I should clean out that popcorn pan though.”

She washed out the pan, and the buttery one, while Jon got himself another beer and perched up on the counter to watch her work. Billie was feeling a prickle of uncertainty again. It was weird. She’d made love with - or fucked - Jon in a variety of places in her home, yet it didn’t feel right to actually sleep in the same bed with him. She just had to hope he felt the same thing she did as she dried her hands and turned to face him.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.” She said softly.

Jon was playing with the label on his beer bottle, picking the edge loose then smoothing it down again, over and over. He kind of hoped Billie wasn’t going to invite him to sleep in her bed, because, well, sex was all well and good. Okay, that was an understatement. Sex with Billie was fantastic. But sleeping together implied something more permanent, in Jon’s mind, and it made him uncomfortable, not knowing what Billie was thinking.

“I’m pretty tired, too.” Jon said, still looking down at the bottle. “Guess I better go wrestle with that crazy couch thing.”

“You’re just not mechanical enough.” Billie teased, relieved. “I can fix it for you if you like - not that hard.”

“Nah, s’cool - I can do it.” Jon grinned at her now, their mutual awkwardness gone. “G’night Billie.”

“G’night Jon.” She smiled, just lightly touching his knee as she walked past on her way to her bedroom.

So Jon pulled out the bed and found the pillows, stripping and getting into bed. Just before he fell asleep he realised he really really needed to ask Billie if he could get his jeans and stuff washed, but the thought faded as he fell asleep.


In the darkness, Jon woke suddenly, hearing a strange sound. It was a painful whimper, and he pushed himself upright in the bed.

“Billie?”

No answer, and he reached to the lamp by the couch, flicking it on. Next minute, he was out of the bed and on his knees on the floor by the bloody body.

“Aw, Jesus.” He muttered, looking around for something - anything - to stem the bleeding.