“Do not cry,” she told him, voice already watery.
“Okay.”Vic gave her another squeeze before stepping back.
They were at the bus depot three days later, his ticket purchased for home.It would take nearly a full day to go seven hundred miles, but he never minded being on his own.
“Never—and I mean this, buddy—neverlose my number.I will always answer if you call.”Sheri stared up at him.“Hear me?”
“Oh, I hear you, Momma Sheri.”He grinned and pressed a kiss to her cheek.“Never—and I mean this—neverever change.”
The overhead speakers buzzed to life, and he made out the single word “Nashville.”He gathered up his gear.The bulk had been mailed earlier in the week, and the boxes should arrive at Grams’s about the time he did.Gotta do what you gotta do.
“That’s my bus.”He glanced around, noting the door everyone seemed to be ambling toward.“I should go so I can get a not-sucky seat.”
“Let me know when you get home.”She slapped his shoulder.“And keep me in the loop on what work looks like for you.You know how much I love live music.Nothing would make me happier than to watch you rock the world.”
“Will do.”He stopped and turned to face her.“Thanks will never be enough—”
“Shaddup,” she interrupted.“Gave me a reason to cook again.Thanks for that, Vic.”
He grinned and started backing away.“Bye, Sheri.”
“See you around, kiddo.”
***
Bonnie
Bonnie Dupont wiped sweat from her eyes with the hem of her tank top and tried not to scream.
The rehearsal space smelled like stale piss, old carpet, and the drummer’s violent cheap cologne.The band, Blazeborn, had been at it for three hours, and she was ready to set the whole fucking warehouse on fire.
“Again,” she said, forcing her voice to stay level.“From the pre-chorus.Try to stay in the pocket this time, Kyle.”
Kyle grinned at her from behind the kit like she’d just offered him a blow job instead of a correction.He was decent on paper—solid timing when he bothered to focus—but tonight his eyes kept drifting to her chest every time she leaned into the mic.He’d already “accidentally” brushed his hand across her ass twice while helping move gear.
“No problem, baby,” he drawled, twirling a stick.“Whatever you want.You know I’m here for you.”
Bonnie’s jaw tightened.She hated that word.Baby.Hated the way he said it, like they already had something going on.Like her talent, her band, her years of grinding meant nothing compared to the fact that she had tits and an ass.
She counted them in herself, stomping her boot on the concrete floor.Her guitar snarled to life, and for thirty glorious seconds, the song almost worked.Then Kyle rushed the fill again, throwing everyone off.
Leo shot her a look from behind his bass asking,This guy again?
She shook her head once.Not now.
When the song limped to a stop, Kyle stood up and stretched, shirt riding up to show a strip of pale belly.“Damn, Bonnie.You’re on fire tonight.That voice...shit.We should celebrate after this.My place ain’t far.Got beer in the fridge and a bed big enough for two.”
He winked.
Bonnie felt her skin crawl.She set her guitar in its stand with deliberate care, buying herself three seconds to try and keep from putting her fist through his face.
“I’m not interested, Kyle,” she said flatly.“We’re here to work.That’s it.”
He laughed like she’d told a joke.“Come on, don’t be like that.We’ve got chemistry.You felt it onstage last week.The way you looked at me during that solo—”
“I was looking at the crowd,” she cut in.“Not you.”
Kyle stepped around the kit, closer than he needed to be.The smell of his cologne mixed with sweat made her stomach turn.“You’re always so wound up.Let me help you relax.I’m real good with my hands, you know.On the kitandoff it.”
