John Francis

Amanda stared at the paper, her face burning as it turned a brilliant shade of red.

Jesus H. Christ. His autograph.

A thousand thoughts ran through her head, but one broke from the pack, repeating itself over and over.

Fuck you, Jon.

She burst into tears.

~~~

Jon had woken a bit before five that morning, lying there in the darkened room, his arms and legs entwined with Amanda’s.

He listened to the sounds of her breathing, feeling her skin pressed against his.

Every bit of her felt so right.

He frowned. Nothing had changed. She was still married. She had still lied to him, manipulated him, and here he was, acting as if his life had just been saved. As if everything was okay, because she was back in his arms again.

Nothing was okay.

She’d tried to talk to him during the night, but he‘d stopped her with his lips, with sex, with anything he could think of. There just wasn’t anything she could say.

She was married.

And he was a fool.

He’d gently moved away from her, reluctantly feeling her skin slip from his. He’d watched her sleeping as he dressed, then moved to the desk in the darkened room. He took a piece of paper out of the drawer.

He’d stood for the longest time, staring at the blank sheet.

A thousand words had run through his head. A thousand feelings from sadness to betrayal and finally to anger.

Anger at himself for still loving her.

It was the anger that moved his hand.

Anger that signed his name.

~~~

Amanda’s tears finally slowed. She hadn’t really cried when she’d found out about Jeremy. Or when she’d had to leave Jon. Too much had happened in too short a time and she’d simply been reacting. Holding everything in because everything was just too much, too fast.

She sat there on the edge of the bed that held the messy sheets from the hours she had spent with Jon. Her hand absently smoothed the blanket. She found herself just shaking her head softly from side to side, the paper Jon had written on clutched in her hand. She smoothed it out and looked at it again.

Jesus.

It wasn’t any better the second time she saw it.

~~~

Jon looked once more at the sleeping woman in the bed, unaware of how long he actually stood there. He could hear the tick of a clock and the soft sounds of Amanda sleeping.

He still loved her and he hated himself for it. Hated that she could do this to him after how she had lied.

He opened the door and stood outside the room, his hand stopping the door from closing.

Indecision gripped him. He could change everything just by stepping inside again.

He could … No!

He couldn’t build a life with someone he didn’t trust.

I love her.

I can’t trust her.

I love her.

Fuck!

He closed the door.

And instantly regretted it.

~~~

It was 6:30 in the morning by the time Amanda got off the phone with the airline. She sat, drinking another coffee, trying to empty her mind, empty her heart.

By eight o’clock she had finished her packing, arranging to have the remainder of her bags shipped to her mother’s home in Florida. Her reservations were made and she had five hours until her flight left. She hadn’t really cared where the flight would take her. She had called, asking for the next flight leaving for Europe. It just happened to be to London.

That didn’t matter, what mattered was she had to get out. Had to leave, had to be alone.

Had to forget that someone named Jon Bon Jovi ever existed.

~~~

Jon stopped at the front desk of the hotel after he left Amanda’s room. The female clerk couldn’t quite seem to believe her good fortune that Jon Bon Jovi was standing in front of her, asking for a pen and a piece of paper.

“Of course, Jon. Here, take these.” She thrust the items at him, her hand lingering over his skin as she flashed a smile that revealed teeth in need of better brushing.

Jon pursed his lips as he took the pen and paper, his “thanks” not even close to reaching his eyes. He moved into the lobby and sat in the chair where he had waited last night.

He leaned over the small table and then stopped.

What can I say?

Just tell her you still love her.

That you’re sorry you left that fucking autograph.

What the fuck were you thinking, Jon?

He was thinking that he was hurt and angry and for just that moment if felt good to be mean.

And now he felt like shit.

Sixteen different kinds of shit.

His pen flew over the paper.

Amanda, I’m so sorry for that note. I didn’t mean it. Jon

He wrote her name on the envelope the clerk was happy to provide.

“Please give this to Ms. Matthews in 1728.”

The woman nodded at him with her less than dazzling smile.

“I will, Jon. Sure.”

And she really meant to do it. It was just that watching Jon’s ass as he walked out the door proved a little too distracting.

Misfiling the envelope the clerk assured that the couple in room 1738 would have an interesting morning.