Arena Bowl Weekend: Saturday

Pacing the baggage claim area Saturday morning, Jon hoped the baseball cap and sunglasses would keep him from being recognized. He hadn't intended to be in here this long, but Tiffany's flight was late. Shoving his fists into his pockets in frustration, he turned to walk back down the length of the baggage carousel. When he'd checked the airline’s website before he'd left the hotel, it had said that her flight was on time, but once he'd gotten here, he'd asked and been told that it was going to be a few minutes late.

He jerked his left hand out of his pocket to glare angrily at his watch. Twenty minutes late. Damn. If it was much later, they wouldn't have any time at all alone before they had to meet Richie and Jennifer at the hotel restaurant. He turned to walk back down the length of the carousel and noticed the two women on the other side. They were talking excitedly and one was motioning in his direction. Apparently, he'd been recognized. He just hoped they'd leave him alone; it would depend on whether or not they were fans.

The announcement came over the intercom that Tiffany's flight had just landed. Glancing warily at the two women every few minutes, he kept an eye on the line of people coming through from arrivals. Finally, he caught a glimpse of honey colored hair before a tall red headed man blocked his view of her.

"Tiff," he called, waving.

With wide eyes, her head jerked in his direction. She quickened her pace, getting around the tall man in front of her. Once her path was cleared, she broke into a run. Running straight for him, she dropped her carry-on right before she threw herself into his arms.

Her lips met his in a hungry kiss. Conscious of eyes on them, particularly since they were eyes that had recognized him, he pulled away from her. "God, I missed you, baby. Let's get the hell outta here."

"I need to get my bag," she told him.

Knowing she was right, Jon nodded. He jerked his head toward the two women who were now standing just a few feet from them. "We need to hurry this up a little bit."

Seeing the problem, Tiffany said softly, "Why don't you duck on out of here? I can get my bag and meet you outside."

"Nope," he shook his head. "My mom would have my head if I let you carry your bag outta here."

"Jon," she began.

"Tiff, just point out which one is yours."

Just as Tiffany saw her bag come around on the conveyor belt and was about to point it out to him, the women got brave. They hurried up to Jon. One gushing; the other just staring at him, slack-jawed.

"Mr. Bon Jovi," the only one that was apparently capable of speech cried, "could we please get an autograph and maybe a picture?"

Jon flashed a pained expression at Tiffany, before he turned toward the two women with a big pasted on smile. "Of course."

Tiffany chuckled as she walked away toward her bag. She'd let him play the adored rock star while she got her bag. They were to the picture taking stage when Tiffany got back to them. The women were polite enough not to ask Jon who she was, and Tiffany was glad that they didn't.

Jon finally excused himself from the women and grabbed Tiffany's bag. "C'mon, baby. Let's get the hell outta here." He took off at a brisk clip for the nearest exit, and Tiffany had to almost run to keep up.

When they cleared the exit, hot, humid air hit Tiffany hard in the face. Jon had barely reached the curb when a black sedan pulled up in front of him, and the trunk popped open. Her bag was in the trunk, and Jon was opening the back door for her before she could even blink.

Once they were behind the tinted glass of the windows, Jon pulled her into his lap. With one arm supporting her back and those fingers in her hair, he cupped her cheek with his free hand. Tiffany closed her eyes as his lips descended towards hers.

"God, Tiff. I need you," he murmured huskily in her ear.

"What time are we meeting Rich and Jen?"

"In a few minutes," Jon growled. "Your flight being late gives us no time."

"We'll make up for it later."

"We better," he said, grinning.

When they got to the hotel, Jon tipped a bellhop to take her bags up to his room, then led her to the restaurant. Richie and Jennifer were already there waiting on them. Richie stood just as they reached the table. Jon began the introductions with a grin at his friend.

After the introductions, the two couples settled down for a light lunch and some get-acquainted talk. Jon and Richie were surprised at how quickly T and Jennifer had settled into normal conversation, and were just staring at them.

“What?” T asked them, then turned to Jennifer with a big, fake smile.

“No, no spinach in there,” Jen said, laughing, then checked to make sure her buttons were all done up.

“No inappropriate cleavage showing, Hath,” T answered, giggling. “I mean Jennifer.”

They turned to the guys. “What’s the problem?” they said at the same time.

Jon burst out laughing. “You two have just met, right?”

T rolled her eyes. “In person, yes. But you forget, we’ve phoned, emailed, IM’d, text messaged. . .” she trailed off, and Jennifer picked right up.

“So, you could say we know each other pretty well already.” She slid her friend a glance. “Though I still don’t know what the ‘T’ stands for.”

“Nice try, Jen,” T said, sticking her tongue out at the other woman.

They all shared a laugh, and tucked into their lunches. They turned the conversation to the parade later and the game tomorrow. Inevitably, the talk turned to what-ifs. Jennifer brought it up first, asking what if the Soul don’t win. Jon gave her a look that was pure Jon-the-actor. The shock at the thought that his team wouldn’t win was etched into every feature, and made Richie laugh.

“Darlin’,” Richie said to Jennifer, “we don’t even joke about that,” he said. “It’s bad ju-ju.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Ju-ju?”

Jon sniffed. “Well, we ARE in New Orleans,” he said.

The foursome hurried through their lunch, each couple having things they wanted to do. Jennifer looked at the hunger in Jon’s and T’s faces, and knew just what it was they wanted to do. She wanted the same thing, with Richie, not Jon, but had other plans for the afternoon.

“How much time do we have until the parade?” Jennifer asked Richie once they were back in their room.

“A couple of hours, why?” He was practically rubbing his hands together, thinking of what he could to do her in two hours.

“Can you drop me at the Sonesta? I want to visit with the girls, and we’ve got a project cooking.” She smiled an evil little grin.

Richie groaned. “Do I want to know about this?”

“You won’t be disappointed, I promise.”

Richie looked at her and smiled, pulling her in close. “What are you going to do?” He nibbled on her neck until she was shivering in his arms.

“Just decorating something,” she said, stepping back to pull a jet-black lace bustier from her bag. It had a deep vee between the underwire cups, and would fasten at the small of her back. The lace was a very loose, revealing weave, and Richie’s eyes bugged out of his head.

“You are going to cover the important bits, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” she answered with a wink.

Richie wrapped his arms around Jennifer’s waist. “Only probably? Then I don’t think you should go.”

Jennifer sighed. “Alright, I guess I just have to wear it like this then,” she said, putting on a moue.

“Oh hell no,” Richie said. “Not unless you put a sweatshirt on over it. You showed enough skin last night.”

“Then..." Jennifer prompted.

Richie pressed Jennifer up against the wall and kissed her thoroughly. “I guess you can go,” he said, “unless you’re thinking there’s something or someone else you’d rather spend your time doing.”

Jennifer groaned. “Baby, you know I would like nothing more than to spend all my time doing you,” she said on a sigh. “But damn, I’m a little sore after last night, truth be told, and need my strength for later.”

Richie grinned. “Wore you out did I?” Then his face got serious. “I didn’t hurt your knee, did I?”

“No,” Jennifer said, blushing. “That part is fine. Now, please, before you melt me to the spot here, let’s go.”

Richie drove them the short distance to the Royal Sonesta, and Jennifer got out of the car. “Thanks, babe,” she said. “I’ll see you in a little while, okay?”

“Sure thing. Have fun,” Richie said.

“Hey, that’s my line,” Jennifer laughed. “But I will, thanks. Love you.”

“You too.”

Jennifer gingerly thumped across the marble lobby, and took the elevator up to the third floor. Stopping outside Sam’s suite, she could hear feminine laughter, and soft music. Raising her cane, Jennifer pounded on the door. She heard screams from inside as she startled them, and had to fight back laughter.

“What the fuck – ” Sam started, until she saw who was outside her door. “What the hell was that for?”

“As a Goddess,” Jennifer patiently explained, “I need to make an entrance.” She thumped past Sam, who was now laughing at her.

The girls were all sitting around the huge dining table that dominated the main room. The table was covered in beads, sequins, glitter, feathers, and all manner of sparkly, shiny things. The smell of hot glue, daiquiris, and good wine permeated the air, and Jennifer sighed. She settled into a chair at the end of the table so she could put her foot up, and took her bustier out of the bag. Spreading it on the table, she joined in the fun, gluing and stitching and drinking and laughing with her friends.

When she was done, her bustier was fabulous. She stood and held it up to her. Two sprays of large red feathers were stitched to the bra cups, but sparse enough that some skin would show through. Red and gold beads, sequins, and feathers festooned the rest of it, and she smiled at her handiwork.

The girls all held theirs up too, and with a shared look, started to strip off their tops. They got fastened into their creations, and lined up in front of the mirror. “We look fucking fabulous!” Gail crowed.

“We sure do,” Cheryl said.

“Damn, I’m sorry I’m gonna miss the shirtless studs,” Jennifer lamented. A little of her tattoo was visible, and you weren’t quite sure if you were seeing flesh or not. It was just the look she was going for.

Stephanie threw a bag of feathers at Jen’s head. “Shut up,” she said. “You’re gonna be cozied up to Richie Sambora. I can’t seem to muster up any sympathy for you.”

“And don’t forget,” Gail added, “she attended a gala event with the two of them last night. Look.” She went to her laptop and signed on to Getty images. There was a shot from last night, Jennifer in the middle of two very gorgeous, very smug looking men.

“Whoa,” Jennifer said. “I didn’t think they’d be out already. Hey, I look pretty good next to them.” She told them all about her night; the people she met and dancing with Richie, and talking with Jon about the team. “It was a surreal night.”

The girls were all gushing over the pictures Gail was bringing up, and Jennifer pulled Sam aside. “Sam, can we use your suite to watch the parade?” She looked over Sam’s shoulder to make sure the others couldn’t hear. “T doesn’t want to go anywhere where she’d be photographed with Jon – not yet anyway – and this would be perfect.”

Sam slid her key from her back pocket and gave it to Jen. “Of course. I’ll make sure there are drinks for y’all and soda for Richie. Tell him he owes me a big kiss for that. With tongue. Soda at a celebration – what is he, a kid?”

Jennifer laughed. “I’ll tell him about the kiss, but don’t be surprised if he does it. And yeah, he is a big kid, but thanks for the soda. He’s doing so well, and I don’t want to derail him.”

Sam gave Jennifer a quick hug. “Don’t think anything of it,” she said. “You gonna wear that back?” She looked at her watch. “Richie should be downstairs soon.”

On cue, Jennifer’s phone rang – Beautiful Stranger. “That’s him.” She raised her voice. “Girls, my rock star awaits, so I’m gonna cut out. Have fun at the parade.”

“You sure you can’t join us?” This was from Cheryl.

“Nope, no can do, I have a date with a soon-to-be-nekkid guitarist,” she said evilly. “Poor me.”

“Fuck you,” the girls said as one, and Jennifer was smiling as she made her way back downstairs to Richie.

* * * * *

Sometime later, Jen laughed as she pulled a key card from her pocket. “Wait til you see Sam’s suite,” she said over her shoulder to Richie. Jon and T were taking their time walking from the elevator, their arms around each other’s waists.

“Awfully nice of your girlfriends to let us watch the parade from their balcony,” Richie said with a chuckle, his fingertips magnetically drawn to the graceful arch of her spine, left bare by the elaborate bustier she had decorated earlier with them. “You sure you don’t mind missing out on the shirtless studs?”

“Ya know, now that I think about it, I DO mind,” Jen whispered, pulling him inside the suite with an evil grin and lifting up the hem of his shirt.

“Whoa, down girl, don’t forget we have spectators.” Richie pressed a smiling kiss against her lips just as Jon and T walked in the suite.

“Where the hell was I when this place was available?” Jon asked, pulling his sunglasses off as he walked into the elaborate room. “And jeez, it’s like a freakin’ Mardi Gras explosion in here!” He walked over to the dining room table, large enough for eight and covered with beads, feathers, lace, fringe and glitter.

Richie picked up one of the glue guns nearby and held it up to Jon. “Easy there, podner.” Pressing the “trigger,” Richie yelped and jumped back when it began oozing hot glue onto the floor.

“That’s just perfect, Martha Stewart,” Jen said, smiling gratefully when T grabbed a hand towel and began blotting up the glue.

“Oh man, this is pretty cool,” Richie said, amused by his new toy and looking around evilly for something else to play with.

As the girls cleaned up Richie’s mess, Jon walked out onto the balcony. He’d been there before for Mardi Gras and Bourbon Street looked quiet in comparison, but he knew once the parade started winding its way up from Canal Street, that would change.

Unaware that Richie had just smugly glued a hot pink feather to his ass, Jon leaned over the rail and peered down into the street. He could just barely hear the sounds of the brass and drum line a few blocks away. Grateful that they would be able to watch without being “observed,” he turned and walked back in the suite, noticing several bottles of wine and champagne chilling in an enormous silver tub. The note on the table read, “Thought y’all might enjoy some refreshments while watching all the fun. There’s a box of beads on the balcony with your name on it. Save the long silver ones for me. XOX, Sam”

“I like this girl already,” Jon chuckled, pulling a bottle of Santa Margherita Pinot Grigio from the tub. “Babe, you want some?”

“Oh hey, T, Sam left us some daiquiris in the fridge since she knew I don’t like wine,” Jen called from the balcony. She had already chosen a seat in the corner and Richie had helped her prop her leg up on a nearby side table. They were combing through the box of beads, choosing which they wanted to wear and which they wanted to throw.

T accepted a glass of wine from Jon with a smile and went to the fridge. “Holy SHIT, this girl knows how to throw a party,” she exclaimed, pulling out three gallon jugs of daiquiris. “You want white Russian, strawberry, or something called DOA?”

Richie smiled. “Is there anything else in there?”

Jon came back with a can of Pepsi. “Here ya go, bro,” he said.

Richie took a long, satisfying swig, then belched. “Damn, Jen, Sam rocks.”

“Yeah, I know. She said you better be laying some tongue on her for laying in some soda for you,” Jen grinned, rolling her eyes. She knew Sam was all talk.

Richie looked momentarily shocked. “She would piss her pants if I did that.”

“Why, cause she’d be afraid Jen would beat the crap out of her?” T asked with a smile, handing Richie a large plastic cup full of a mixture that was almost entirely grain alcohol.

“Y’all just don’t understand Sam’s humor,” Jen replied, blinking her lashes and affecting the Southern accent of her friend. “She’d be the one beating the crap out of Richie. Don’t forget, she’s a happily married woman.”

“No such thing,” Jon laughed, already pouring a second glass of wine. “We could change her mind, right Rich?”

“Like hell,” T chuckled, sliding her hand inside Jon’s back pocket and pulling him possessively against her.

Just then the marching band appeared on the next block and the foursome eagerly leaned forward. The spectacle they saw was amazing – throngs of people were partying behind the band, waving brightly covered handkerchiefs and twirling umbrellas in the air. Clearly, they weren’t all Soul fans, the “second line” picking up random bystanders as they passed to dance, drink, and “laissez les bon temps rouler.”

“So when do I get to check out all these girls I’ve been chatting with on your board, sweetheart?” Jon asked with an amused chuckle.

T glanced at Jen. “Do you see them yet?”

Sipping happily on her strawberry daiquiri, Jen tilted her head back and gazed at Richie with a wide grin. “Don’t worry, you’ll know them when you see them.”

“Oh yeah,” Richie said with conviction. “That’s for damn sure.”

The second line passed and the foursome threw giant armloads of beads to the crowd, as everyone on all the other balconies materialized to do the same.

The parade was coming to an end and T and Jon sent a perplexed look toward Richie and Jen. “Did we miss them?”

Richie leaned forward in his chair and looked down. Shaking his head with a giant belly laugh, he nudged Jen’s good knee. “Nope. They’re right there.”

Jon and T peered over the rail. Directly below them were Cheryl, Gail and Steph. Cheryl was wearing a royal blue bustier that perfectly complemented her fair coloring, decorated with blue and orange beads and feathers and screaming “Go SOUL!!!” to the onlookers. Gail, meanwhile had a gorgeous black bustier trimmed with silver and purple, walking as regally as the queen of England and waving to her admirers. Stephanie sipped a daiquiri and smiled, looking resplendent in a red bustier with gold and black beads and feathers.

Wrapping his arms around T, Jon playfully nibbled her ear. “Damn, baby, why didn’t you tell me your friends are so hot. I would have played with them a lot more on that board.”

Ignoring him, T looked beyond the trio, murmuring, “But where’s Sam?”

Richie leaned forward and pointed. “That’s her right there.” Richie turned to Jen. “Baby, I think we know what she did with your studs.”

Below their balcony, six stunning young men, each no more than 21 and wearing painted-on white jeans and nothing else, were marching in lock step and carrying a platform bearing a large cushion where Sam was reclined wearing blue jeans, silver heels, and a purple bustier, festooned with green and gold beads and gigantic purple ostrich feathers soaring over her head. A sequined eye mask with long feathers fanning out from the sides completed the look -- every bit the “queen of New Orleans.”

Pouring herself another glass of wine from the bottle next to her, Sam winked and offered the foursome a silent toast, with a special wave for T.

Note that this was a collaboration among me, T, and FictionMistress