Then he shook his head, let out a low breath, and headed down the stairs.
Another night.Another exit.
But this one felt different.
And he already knew he wasn’t done with Bonnie—not by a long shot.
***
Bonnie
Bonnie carefully closed the door behind Vic and leaned back against it, eyes shut, heart still hammering from the night before.
Fuck.
She could still feel him—the heat of his hands on her skin, the low rumble of his voice in her ear, the way he’d looked at her like she was the only woman for him.
That was exactly why she’d kicked him out just after the sun came up.
She pushed off the door and stalked into her tiny kitchen, pouring herself a fresh cup of coffee she didn’t even want.Her hands were shaking.She hated that.
Bonnie had learned a long time ago that letting people stay the night meant letting them think they mattered.And the second they thought they mattered, they started expecting things.Expecting her to soften.Expecting her to need them.
She didn’t need anyone.
She’d built her life that way—guitar in her hands, her own band, her own rules.Men were fun.Sex was fun.But the morning after?That was when they started looking at her like they wanted more than she was willing to give.
Vic had been...different.
He hadn’t pushed.He hadn’t made stupid promises or tried to charm her into something serious.He’d just matched her—beat for beat, fire for fire—like he’d been waiting his whole life to play with someone who could keep up.The way he’d looked at her when she was riding him, the way he’d laughed low and rough when she bit his shoulder, the way he’d held her afterward like she was something precious but not fragile...
It had terrified her.
So she’d done what she always did.
She’d shut it down hard.
“Take care of yourself, Montrose,” she’d said, like he was just another guy.Like last night hadn’t been one of the best nights she’d had in years.
Bonnie stared down into her coffee, jaw tight.
She regretted it already.
Not the sex.Never the sex.But the way she’d iced him out.The way his face had gone carefully blank as she handed him the travel mug and basically shoved him toward the door.She’d seen the flicker of hurt in his eyes before he locked it down, and that knowledge of pain had twisted something ugly in her chest.
He hadn’t deserved that.
She already knew Vic was solid.Steady in a way most musicians weren’t.The kind of man who showed up when he said he would.The kind who could match her onstage and in bed and still look at her like she was worth respecting the morning after.
And she’d thrown him out like he was nothing.
“Goddammit,” she muttered, setting the mug down too hard.
She picked up her phone and stared at his contact.Her thumb hovered over the message icon.
She wanted to text him.
Something casual.Something that saidlast night was incrediblewithout sounding needy.Maybe evenYou still in town?
