Sweet Regret: A second chance, single mom, rockstar romance

She’s standing a few feet to the left of the exit. Her back is to me with her arms crossed and shoulders hunched to ward off the cold night air.

Why is seeing her again fucking with my head? She was a lifetime ago. Done and over with.

Have I missed her? Christ, after I walked away the last time, she owned my mind right along with my breaking fucking heart. She’s the only thing I’ve ever loved other than music. I hated leaving her, but it was the right thing to do.

I get that she might still be mad at my chickenshit exit that morning, but this tension between us feels so wrong. So . . . off.

In the past, we’d see each other and the rights, wrongs, and everything in between would just evaporate into thin air until it left just us again. That had always been our M.O.

How do I get that back? How do I fix this?

Slow down, Vin. Your time here is limited. Don’t start what you can’t fucking finish.

“Bristol.”

“Please, Vince. Don’t do this right now.”

“Do what? Since when is talking a crime?”

Her shoulders slowly drop, and then she finally turns to look at me.

Fucking hell, she’s gorgeous.

The dark hair in waves down her back. The big, light brown eyes. The pouty, pink lips. The full curves of her body—that she always hated and felt judged for—underneath her black jeans and sweater.

She’s still stunning.

“This is not the time or place to rehash our past, okay? I need you to just get back to work.”

Beautiful and professional.

So why do her words feel like a punch to my gut?

“Sure. Fine. No rehashing. But can you at least explain why you’re angry at me?” When she just continues to stare at the ground, I take a step closer. “Talk to me, Shug.”

She grits her teeth and meets my eyes. “Look. You have a roomful of people in there waiting on you hand and foot,” she says, all business and completely ignoring my question. “You should get back to them.”

“According to what Xavier promised me, you’re supposed to be doing the same.”

I go for the wisecrack and only get her hands fisted at her sides in return. It used to be so easy to make her laugh. What am I missing here? Why is she so closed off?

“I don’t wait on anyone hand and foot.” There’s that fire of hers I used to love. “But as the person who’s been tasked with making sure you do what’s needed, I kindly request that we stop talking so you can get to work. I assure you that everyone inside would like to finish sooner rather than later so they can go home to their families before the sun rises.”

“Fine. I will. Right after this conversation.”

“Why even have it?”

“Because I’m more than certain it’s an important one.” I take a step closer and instinct, old memories, I don’t know what, has me trying to run my hands up and down her biceps to ward off the night’s chill. She takes a hasty step backward.

“I don’t bite.” My chuckle this time earns me an exasperated sigh.

“Vince, you can’t just walk in here and act like there is no past between us, but touch me like there is.”

“Then maybe we should talk about that past. You’re the one trying to ignore it.”

Her face pulls tight but her eyes relay that there’s so much more than her words are saying. “I can’t do a repeat of seven years ago where you play with me while you’re in town and then return back to your glamorous life without ever looking back.”

Um, wow. Okay. I sure as fuck wasn’t expecting that one.

“Play with you? That’s what you called what happened last time? Because from where I was standing, you were a more than willing participant.”

“Were. Past tense.” She gives a quick nod of her head. “Rest assured that won’t be happening again.”

“Who said I wanted it to?” My words are cruel but serve a purpose.

Her reaction is what I needed to see.

The wince in her expression. The flare of her nostrils. The grit of her teeth.

She’s bluffing. There’s still something there. Always has been. Good to see I’m not the only one who feels it.

And fuck me for still wanting it.

Then again, haven’t I always despite convincing myself otherwise?

“Keep thinking along those lines,” she says, her words betraying the look in her eyes. “There is no want on this end either.”

“So who is he then?”

Shock flashes through her eyes and lands like a punch to my gut. She’s with someone? Dating? Married?

Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, Vin.

My stomach churns at the thought as I glance at her finger, looking for a ring, but her hand is tucked under her other arm and I can’t see it.

“That’s rich. You thinking the only reason I don’t want anything to happen between us is because of another man. Maybe there is one. Maybe there isn’t. My life is none of your business.”

And why does not getting a concrete answer drive me mad?

“Fair,” I say and let a slow smile crawl on my lips. “But c’mon, it’s us we’re talking about.”

“There is no us, Vince.”

“And yet you still think about me.” C’mon. Smile for me, Shug. Once I get that, I know I’ll be able to get more out of you. Like why you seem so angry with me.

“Never. Rarely. It’s just . . .” She draws in a deep breath. “It’s not that easy anymore. Life’s not that easy.”

“It’s only hard if you make it that way.”

“Not all of us have choices like that.”

“What does that even mean? What happened that I don’t know about?” How about seven years’ worth of life, Vin? The look in her eyes says she’s thinking the same damn thing. I shove my hands in my pockets and rock on my heels. “So, how long ago did you make the move out here?”

She looks up at me from beneath her lashes almost as if she’s debating whether answering the question will be letting me in too much. The slightest nod of her head says she doesn’t think so. “A while ago.”

Not all of us have choices like that.

Her words hit my ears again and pique my curiosity. “Is that why you’re a junior associate for McMann?”

“Come again?”

Huh. Touchy subject. Maybe if I push enough of her buttons, I’ll sneak past that goddamn wall she’s put up and get a reaction out of her. A reaction that isn’t so measured and guarded. One that will give me a fucking clue into what she’s being so protective of.

“You said not all of us have choices like that. What did that mean? What happened? Is life being hard why the dreams you had are still just that, dreams?”

“Talking to me for ten minutes after seven years doesn’t give you the right to ask that question.”

“Maybe it doesn’t, but I’m confused why you’re with McMann in a job that’s way fucking beneath you.” Her wince is telling. I just wish I knew what it told. “Being a babysitter for spoiled assholes is overrated, Bristol.”

Something flashes in her eyes. It’s so brief that I can’t read it, but it’s followed by a stiffening of her spine. God, her fire is a turn-on, even now. “Why did you leave your best friends behind—leave a good fucking thing—and go out on your own? Huh? What happened with Hawke and the guys? With Bent? Did your ego get too big that you thought you didn’t need them anymore?”

“Tou-fucking-ché.” Got to admire a woman who knows how to hit where it hurts. And that fucking hurt.

Seems like life has given Bristol Matthews a stronger backbone.

“And while we’re at it, stick to what you do best. Domino was decent,” she says, referring to my last single that flopped, “but it wasn’t you. There was no edge to it. No trademark Vincent Jennings sound. It was soft. Generic. More like white noise that blended into the background.”

“For someone who hasn’t thought about me at all, you sure have a lot to say.” She’s on point about the song. I hate it, but she’s right. I wouldn’t expect anything less from her.

“Call it professional research.”

“Bullshit. You didn’t know I signed with McMann until tonight and yet you claim knowing my songs is research. Pretend all you want, but you still think of me. You still follow me.”

“And your ego is still as big as Texas.”

Among other things.

“So you don’t want to talk about our past. You don’t want to talk about what you’re up to now.” I cross my arms over my chest and shrug. “It’s going to be a pretty boring conversation standing here, staring at each other, and not speaking at all.”

“Then we should get back to work.”

My chuckle is laced with confusion as the thought strikes me. “Is it because of last time?”

“Is what because of last time?” Arms still crossed. Finger still hidden. Head angled to the side.

“Why you’re angry at me? Do you have regrets?” And why would it kill me if she says yes? “That’s a long time to harbor something if so.”

“It is a long time. That’s why I had to accept what happened and move on with my life.”

“That’s a pretty clinical description for something we both went into willingly.” It wasn’t a business transaction for Christ’s sake.

“You know . . .” She swallows forcibly and shakes her head ever so subtly. She opens her mouth to speak and then closes it just as quickly. I swear there are tears in her eyes, but she looks down so I can’t be sure. The problem is that when she looks back up, the emotion is gone. All emotion is. Bristol has put her guard up in a way I’ve never seen before. “Nothing. Never mind. As much as you think we need to talk about the past, we really don’t. We’ve both moved on, and that’s okay. We both have a job to do here, so let’s just get back to that and let bygones be bygones. Okay? You have people waiting for you, and I have a job to do so I don’t get fired.”

“Go out for a drink with me. After we’re done. We can talk about whatever it is you want to talk about. How much my music sucks. If you still love watching baseball. The fucking weather, for all I care.”

She waves me back toward the door. No fucking ring. At least there’s that.

But was there one? Is that why she’s so guarded? Was she married? Divorced? Was she hurt?

Did he hurt her?

“It’s probably better if we don’t. Blurring lines and all.”

I itch to grab her arm and pull her against me. I spent years wanting this woman only to have one night with her.

Clearly that one night wasn’t enough. Fuck.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” she says and moves toward the door, but my hand is on her arm this time.

Look at me.

And when she does, it’s still there. I’m not imagining it. That thing that’s always been between us is still fucking there.

Why do I suddenly feel the need to make her see it?

“You know . . .” I say playfully. “I require a lot of maintenance. Me and my ego? We’re demanding. Petty. Have a lot of fucking needs.” I shrug. “McMann said anything I needed, you’d provide. My bet’s on you doing your job to the best of your abilities.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

I lift my wrist and show her the light pink heart tattooed there. The one that’s proof of a dare I made. One we had a whole discussion about the last time I saw her so she knows the meaning behind it. “Actually, you know I would.”

“Quit being selfish. People are waiting to finish and go home,” she says and then stalks past me. I know she tries to slam the door, but the shock on its hinge prevents her from doing so.

I chuckle.

Nothing like being denied a good slam.

Shit. I scrub a hand through my hair and stare at the door she just went through. The one I should also enter because she’s right, everyone in there is waiting on me.

I walked away from her a long time ago without looking back.

I’ve seen her one time since then, and that one time is cemented in my memory forever.

So why is seeing her again—when I’ve gone on and lived my life—causing such confusion?

Because your life’s in limbo, Jennings, and she was the only real thing you ever knew.

Fuckin’ A, man.

If I’d known that Bristol worked for McMann Media, I may not have said yes to their offer.

Who am I fucking kidding? That would have made me sign even quicker.

Yeah, I’m the one who walked away again last time. Who blocked her number from my cell all those years ago. But life is too fucking real right now, and losing myself in her for a while seems like it could be a good fucking distraction.

“I can’t do a repeat of seven years ago where you play with me while you’re in town and then return back to your glamorous life without ever looking back.”

She’s right.

I know she’s right.

But it doesn’t make me want her any goddamn less.

You signed on the dotted line, Vin. You have a job to do. A job you’re clearly struggling to get through, and it’s only day fucking one.

Do the job.

Do the one thing you’ve never been able to do when it comes to her—keep your hands to yourself.

Try to forget just how hard Bristol Matthews is to quit.

With a sigh I feel deep in my bones, I open the door with a determination to remember those three things and resignation that I’m probably going to fail at least two of them.