Page 49 of Before the Encore

Bonnie nodded. “That was…that was…”

“Hot.”

“Yeah.” But what now? Panic started to creep in at the edges. Bonnie hadn’t thought this through.

Those thoughts stilled as Madison’s hand cupped her breast, fingers pinching her nipple. Heat fizzed through Bonnie, and Madison kissed her shoulder, a smirk tugging at her mouth. “Are you tired yet?”

Bonnie had no idea what time it was. Nor did she want to know. She didn’t want to worry about tomorrow, about their show, about whatever this was. She didn’t want to think about anything other than the electricity igniting wherever Madison touched her.

She trailed a fingertip up Madison’s abs, over the hardened nipple pushing through her sports bra. “No. I’m not tired.”

Madison’s lips quirked. “Good. Me neither.”

“Good.” Bonnie leaned closer to catch Madison’s lips in another kiss.

Tomorrow could wait.

Chapter Thirteen

Bonnie

Something tickled Bonnie’s arm. She blinked, the gentle breath of snoring pulling her from sleep into the soft sheets of her bed. But who’s snoring?

Her eyes widened at the long leg straddling the duvet. The messed head of dark hair, the unmistakable tattoos, and the toned pale arsecheek poking from the covers.

Oh. The night flashed back to her in a montage of tongues, hands, and moans.

Fuck. Literally.

And not just the once. But many, many times.

She rubbed her eyes, then pulled a hand down her face. The unmistakable scent of sex clung to her fingers, and the memory of them bringing Madison to climax sent a shiver of pleasure between her legs. She clenched them, surprised to find herself naked, though she shouldn’t be.

Madison’s heavy breathing rumbled through the room, warmth emanating from her naked body. Sunlight peeked through the small gap in the blinds, painting strips across the cream carpet.

Bonnie hadn’t set an alarm. She searched for her phone on the nightstand, only to find one of Madison’s socks hanging from the lamp. With a scrunched nose, she cast it aside. Where is my phone?

Slowly, she peeled back the covers. She glanced over her shoulder, but Madison didn’t stir from the puddle of drool she left on Bonnie’s pillow.

Bonnie would have to bleach it. Along with every memory of last night. What was I thinking?

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Bonnie didn’t date. Bonnie didn’t sleep around. Relationships in the spotlight were too complicated.

And she’d smoked weed! That was so irresponsible of her. She needed to stay in control. The last thing she wanted was a repeat of Rory Lukris’s party. The name of her old mentor stirred her stomach, and she forced herself up.

At least get dressed before you have an emotional breakdown.

She sneaked out of bed, throwing on an oversized T-shirt and a pair of lilac shorts. In the doorway, she hovered, eyes combing over Madison’s toned thighs. She’d expected some sort of hangover from smoking weed last night, but this…this was a different type of hangover altogether.

Fighting a yawn, she slid her slippers on and padded down the hallway and downstairs, her footsteps echoing in the quiet. Usually, Bonnie enjoyed the solitude, but today, it amplified the ominous feeling swirling in her gut. Last night, she hadn’t given it much thought, but seeing Madison had slept over surprised her. Wasn’t it common etiquette to leave after a night like this? A dozen questions swirled her brain, ultimately arriving at the same destination: what happens next?

Conflicting emotions wrestled for attention—anger for falling for Madison’s seductions, anxiety about the show tonight. Beneath it all, a sickness swirled, carrying everything out of her reach.

Clothes littered the living room—the evidence of last night hitting her like a slap to the face. Madison’s bra dangled off the kitchen counter, Bonnie’s soaked underwear lay scrunched in a potted plant, while Madison’s jeans posed a tangled trip hazard by the door. Bonnie collected the garments like a NSFW Easter egg hunt while she waited for the kettle to boil. The gorgeous LA sunshine spilled through the windows, the sea lulling in the distance as she folded Madison’s clothes into a pile and left them on the arm of the sofa.

Her fingers tingled at the memory of grinding against Madison’s thigh. How was she going to look at her now? Sing on stage with her when she’d had her face between her legs? When Madison knew what she tasted like?

The upside was that it played into the fake-dating spin of their relationship. Surely there would be worse things than accidentally sleeping with someone you were rumoured to be sleeping with anyway. But this was different because it was Madison—someone who wasn’t shy about her encounters with women. God knows how many women Madison had snared in her web. And Bonnie was…Bonnie. She didn’t do things like this. She kept herself private; she didn’t date. Not since her on-again, off-again situation with Olivia Steinberg fizzled out. Maybe Carmen would have some advice.