Chapter Eleven
Bonnie
The Frame Shop was a smoky, low-ceilinged dive that smelled like beer and history. By the time the promised drummer arrived, the place was already packed. The band was finishing their sound check when he walked up to the stage carrying his sticks.
She spotted him immediately.
Bonnie felt like she was all sharp edges and confidence.
She knew she looked good tonight, her dark hair with a few wild streaks of red, ripped jeans, a black tank top that showed off her strong, toned arms, and eyes she saw every day in the mirror that looked like they’d seen everything and still dared the world to try her.
She gave him a quick once-over, then arched a brow.
“You’re the guy Meg vouched for?”
“Vic Montrose.” He offered his hand.
She took it, grip firm and no-nonsense. “Bonnie. My guy’s out sick. You know our set?”
“I listened to your last three albums on the way over. I’ve got it.”
Something flickered in her chest—surprise, maybe a little challenge. “We’ll see.”
***
Vic
The lights went down, and the crowd roared.
From the first kick of the bass drum, Vic knew this was different.
Bonnie’s music was raw, gritty, and full of fire. She attacked her guitar like it owed her money, voice raspy and powerful as she leaned into the mic. Vic locked in behind her immediately, laying down a heavy, swinging groove that gave her room to breathe and then pushed her harder.
The opening track, called “Devil’s Backbone,” hit like a shot of good whiskey.
Vic drove a steady, rolling pocket that let Bonnie’s guitar snarl and bite.
When she leaned into the chorus, he answered with a powerful double-kick accent that made her glance over her shoulder with a fierce grin.
The crowd surged forward, hands in the air.
Vic felt the energy loop back to him and fed it right back into the kit.
Mid-set, they slowed things down with a tune called “Rusted Chains.” Bonnie’s voice turned smoky and dangerous on the verses.
Vic eased back into a smooth, rolling groove, letting the toms breathe.
During her solo, he laid down a subtle, modified pattern that made her face light up with approval.
The whole room seemed to hold its breath.
“Midnight Reckoning” was their strongest song.
Bonnie tore into the riff like she was exorcising demons.
Vic pushed the tempo just enough to make it dangerous, throwing in thunderous fills that cracked the air open.
When she stepped right up to the edge of the kit during the bridge, playing directly to him, Vic answered with a syncopated driving beat that made her eyes flash with heat and something deeper.
The chemistry was electric. The crowd felt it too—bodies moving, voices singing along, the room alive in a way Vic hadn’t experienced in months.
By the fourth song, they were feeding off each other like they’d been playing together for years. Bonnie would throw a look over her shoulder mid-riff, and Vic would answer with a powerful accent that made her grin. The set became transcendent.
When they hit the final chord of the encore, the place exploded.
Bonnie turned, sweat glistening on her skin, and looked straight at him. Her chest was heaving. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. The smirk she gave him was slow and dangerous.
***
Backstage after the show, the tension didn’t dissipate. It thickened.
Bonnie came off the stage straight toward him, adrenaline still crackling around her like lightning. She stopped just inside his personal space, close enough that he could smell her—something warm and feminine.
“You don’t just fill in,” she said, voice low. “You play.”
Vic’s mouth curved. “You don’t exactly make it easy to keep up.”
“Good.” She stepped even closer, tilting her head. “I don’t like easy.”
The air between them felt charged. Her fierce independence was still there, but now it was twisted up with unmistakable hunger. Vic could feel his own pulse hammering in time with the memory of her guitar riffs and the way she’d looked at him while he drove the beat.
He leaned down slightly, voice rough. “Neither do I.”
Bonnie’s eyes dropped to his mouth for a second, then flicked back up. A slow, predatory smile spread across her face.
“Stick around tonight, Montrose,” she said, voice dropping even lower. “We’ll see just how well we play together off the stage.”
Vic’s blood ran hot.
This wasn’t going to be simple.
And he was already hooked.
***
The adrenaline was still crackling between them when they left The Frame Shop.
Bonnie didn’t ask if he wanted to grab food—she simply looked at him in the dim backstage hallway, eyes still dark with heat, and said, “I’m starving. You coming?”
Vic didn’t hesitate. “Lead the way.”
They ended up at a twenty-four-hour diner a few blocks away—the kind of greasy spoon that smelled like coffee, bacon, and decades of late-night confessions.
They slid into a booth in the back corner, still buzzing from the show.
Bonnie ordered a burger with everything and a chocolate shake. Vic got the same, plus coffee.
Conversation came easy at first—the gig, the way certain songs had felt, how the crowd had responded. But underneath every word was a low, humming tension. Every time their eyes met across the table, the air thickened.
Halfway through her burger, Bonnie licked a bit of ketchup off her thumb and fixed him with a direct stare.
“You gonna keep pretending you don’t want to fuck me, or are we done playing games?”
Vic nearly choked on his coffee.
He set the mug down slowly, holding her gaze. “I’m not pretending anything, Bunny.”
“Good.”
They barely finished their food.
***
Bonnie’s house was cluttered with guitars, amps, and half-written lyrics on scraps of paper. The second the door clicked shut behind them, she was on him.
There was nothing gentle about it.
She pushed him back against the wall, mouth hungry and demanding.
Vic met her with equal force, hands sliding down her sides, gripping her hips hard enough to pull her flush against him.
They stumbled toward what he hoped was her bedroom, shedding clothes along the way—her tank top hitting the floor, his shirt yanked over his head, her bra unhooked with impatient fingers.
When they finally found the bed, it was a collision of rhythm and fire.
Bonnie was as fierce in bed as she was onstage—taking what she wanted, daring him to keep up.
Vic gave as good as he got, using every ounce of the power and control he usually saved for the kit.
Their bodies moved together like they’d been playing the same song for years.
It was all sweat-slicked skin, gasping breaths, the sharp bite of her nails down his back, the low growl in his throat when she rode him fast, hard, and demanding.
It was raw. Loud. Unapologetic.
And it was perfect.
They didn’t stop until the sky outside started to lighten. When they finally collapsed, tangled and exhausted, Bonnie curled against his chest for a few quiet minutes, her breathing slow and steady.
Vic drifted off thinking this might be the start of something.
***
Bonnie
Bonnie lay there in the dark, listening to Vic’s heartbeat slow beneath her ear. Her body was still humming, warm and sated in a way she hadn’t felt in years. But her mind wouldn’t quiet.
What the hell are you doing?
She could still feel the ghost of his hands on her hips, the way he’d looked at her when she was riding him—like she was something worth staying for. That look had terrified her even as it pulled her closer.
She had rules. Strict ones. No sleepovers. No mornings. No letting anyone think they mattered enough to stick around. God, no drummers. Rules that had kept her safe for years. Rules that had protected her from the same disappointment.
And yet here she was, naked and intertwined with a man she barely knew, letting his fingers trace lazy, sleepy patterns on her back like it was the most natural thing in the world. Letting him give her a pet name, one that she secretly loved but Vic would never know.
She should kick him out now. Before the sun came up. Before he woke up and looked at her with those steady gray eyes and made her want things she couldn’t afford to want.
But she didn’t move.
Instead, she closed her eyes and let herself stay there—just for a little while—listening to his breathing even out into sleep. For the first time in years, the bed didn’t feel empty.
And that scared her more than anything.