Because she still hasn’t run.
She’s so much more herself in the new place, and I can’t discern if that’s because she’s near her friends, if she isn’t looking over her shoulder, or if it’s something else.
I’m fighting like hell not to jinx it.
The sun is rising to the right of the RagnaRock stage.
I knock on Bonnie’s trailer door to take her to soundcheck. I’ve already been up two hours—a run, check-in with Rock and the venue security. I left Bonnie very sleepily sitting up in the bed, hair matted to her head, a cup of coffee in one hand.
“Bon? You ready, rockstar?” I call out.
She opens the trailer door, and I trip off the bottom step at the sight of her.
Jesus fucking hell.
I think I died standing at the bottom of these steps.
No, IknowI’ve died.
I know I’ve died because there’s no way she’s walking out of that trailer dressed like this—likethisand not in her usual sweatpants or cropped hoodie like she normally wears to soundcheck.
Shit, is she planning on goingonstagelike this later?
She’s wearing a tauntingly short, frilly little black sundress with daisies on it, wide fishnet tights, and her clunky, knee-high combat boots. I barely even notice her accessories for the way the dress shows off her tattoos and petite figure.
I thought those other outfits would be the death of me, then she had to go and put on a goddamn sundress.
I think my knees might be touching the grass.
Wait, no that’s just my fingers as I’ve squatted down, legs too weak to stand upright.
“Jesus, fuck, Bonnie,” I say, swiping my face.
She huffs. “What? You don’t like this?” she asks, innocently picking up the hem like she has no idea how devastatingly hot she is right now.
“I…” I blink as she comes down those steps, attempting to swallow. “I need you to change,” I tell her. “This dress is a security risk. I’ll end up fighting someone.”
A smile slips onto her lips. “That argument is not selling me on changing,” she says.
I scoff. “Yeah? You want to see me throat-punch someone for staring at your ass too hard at some point today?”
She reaches me, and I still haven’t found the strength to stand. Her fingers drag through my hair, and I lean into her, unable to resist my teeth dragging against her thigh. I kiss her legs over and over as I cup my hands on the backs of her thighs, and when I eventually look up at her, the delight in her eyes is enough to keep me exactly where I am.
“Maybe I do,” she says. “Or maybe I just like seeing you this out of your mind over me.”
“Oh really? This was your plan?” I ask.
“I’m thinking about not wearing underwear later, too,” she says, head tilting.
Shit.
“Maybe I’ll give you my stool after the show… you can lick the wetness off of it from me thinking about you all night.”
My eyes flutter, and I swallow at the tease, forehead pressing to her thigh.
“Also, I found my wearable vibrator,” she says, her voice so even and nonchalant that it’s making my jaw tick. “That could be fun, too.”
I find the strength to stand, and when I’m hovering over her, she pulls her drumsticks out from behind her back, pretending as if she’s just turning them the same way.
