Page 68 of My Rockstar Ex's Broken Vows

I raise an eyebrow, grateful for the shift. "A night off?"

"Yeah," she says, smiling faintly. "A low-key evening where I don’t have to think about work or Ollie or Marcus or... anything, really. A night to just veg."

I tap my fingers on the table, pretending to mull it over. "So what does a night off look like for Sienna Hughey?"

She laughs softly. "Probably something boring. A movie, a couch, maybe some popcorn if I’m feeling wild."

"Wild, huh?" I tease, my lips twitching into a grin. "Do I get to pick the movie?"

"Absolutely not," she shoots back, narrowing her eyes. "You’d pick something awful just to torture me. Like that time you made me watchRocky Horror Picture Show."

"That is not awful! It's a classic!"

"Exactly. Worst movie-picker of all time. So, no, you can't."

"Not true," I argue, leaning forward slightly. "How about something likeRock StarorAlmost Famous."

She groans, rolling her eyes. "No and no."

I laugh and bask in the easiness of being with Sienna. It’s her, sitting there with that half-smile on her lips, looking more relaxed than she has all night. And I can't get enough.

"Well?" I say, tilting my head. "You gonna let me prove you wrong?"

Her brows lift slightly. "It sounds like you're really pushing this movie night thing?"

"Only if you’re brave enough to handle my superior taste in cinema."

She rolls her eyes again, but her smile widens. "Fine. But my place. It’s closer, and I have better snacks. And I can put on my comfy pants."

"Done," I say, standing and grabbing my jacket. "But I’m warning you now—if you talk through the whole thing, I’m walking out."

"Empty promises," she says, her laughter trailing behind me as we head out onto the street.

Prospect Park

9:37 PM

The walkback to her place is quiet but comfortable. It's the kind of silence that doesn’t need filling. The air is crisp, carrying the faint smell of wood smoke from somewhere down the block.

When we reach her brownstone, she fumbles with the keys for a second before pushing the door open. "Come in," she says, her voice light but a little breathless, like she’s been holding her guard up all night and just let it drop. "It's cold out here."

I kick off my boots by the door, placing them beside tiny soccer cleats and rain boots.

"Wine?" she asks, heading to the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

"Sure," I say, following her just enough to lean against the doorway and watch her move. She’s pulling down two glasses and her long hair falls over one shoulder. There's something about the simple, unguarded way she’s standing there that feels like home in a way I can’t explain.

When she turns, glasses in one hand and a bottle in the other, she raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing," I say, my lips twitching into a smile. "You just look so damn good."

She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks flush, and I don’t miss the way her lips curve as she pours the wine. When she hands me a glass, her fingers brush mine, lingering for a second too long.

I meet her gaze, and for a moment, the air between us is charged. No words are necessary because everything’s being said, anyway, through our body language.

"Sienna," I start, low and rough. Her name drags out like a confession.

"Yeah?" she murmurs in a way that sounds less like a question and more like permission. Her eyes lock onto mine, wide and unguarded, and we both know what’s coming and neither of us is about to stop it.

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