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Nesta rolled her eyes, unwilling to give her sister the satisfaction of, well, being right.
“The drummer was kinda hot, I guess,” she muttered. ‘Kinda hot’ was a gross understatement for the colossal man who had manned the drums during the trio’s set. The Bat Boys, they called themselves. And that drummer had been nothing less than drool-worthy.
“What do you mean ‘I guess’?! Have you seen his biceps?” Feyre sputtered.
Oh yes. Yes, she definitely had.
“Okay, but what’s with all the tattoos?” Nesta demanded, lifting a brow. “They’re a band, Feyre, not the yakuza.” Her sister’s answering expression was unimpressed, to say the very least.
“I should’ve just brought Elain.”
The Hell she should have.
With another eyeroll, Nesta snapped, “Don’t be silly. Those tattoos would give Elain a heart attack. Besides, she’s—“
Her sentence was cut off when she ran face first into a wall of black.
“Hey!” She seethed. “Watch where you’re…” Nesta looked up, ready to give the offending obstacle her famed I-will-slay-my-enemies expression. Her gaze drifted up… and up and up. Over the collar of the tight fitting black tee and the tendrils of ink that peeked out over it. Over the jaw that was sharp as a knife. Over the beautiful lips, straight nose, and high cheekbones. Until her eyes were met with churning hazel — nearly gold. The bassist.
Holy fuck, was he pretty.
Nesta gaped at him, all lean muscle and height. Not as ruggedly handsome as the drummer, but unfairly gorgeous, nonetheless. Beautiful enough to make the two women gape as he stared back down at them, his face a mask of cool disinterest.
Absolute, awkward silence.
“Um… could you let me through, please?” His voice was as deep and rich as the instrument he played, even if it was soft as a whisper.
What planet of perfection had this guy come from?
“Oh, yeah,” Feyre stammered, pushing Nesta to the side. “Sorry.” The towering, tattooed god of a man passed between them as they stared, slack-jawed.
Forget the drummer. An angel had just appeared before them. Nesta dramatically sucked in a breath as her sister began giggling like a fan girl.
Typical.
But there was still a chance to shoot her shot—
“Az!” Someone called from behind them. And then, passing between them as the bassist had, a blur of cobalt blue topped with a curtain of copper bounded up to the tall, dark, handsome man.
And his whole demeanor… changed.
He’d turned just in time for the woman to barrel into him, and his whole face lit up. If Nesta had thought him attractive before, that bright white smile — complete with a little dimple on one side — sent him straight into drop-dead gorgeous territory.
“Bird. You made it,” the bassist — Az, apparently — murmured into the woman’s hair, his arms wrapping around her shoulders. Her arms were pale against his bronzed skin, and Nesta couldn’t help but notice how much she looked like…
“Gwyn?”
Her pin straight mane flew as the woman’s head jerked, meeting Nesta’s stare with wide, teal eyes.
“Nesta? What are you—“
“Wait, this is the guy you’ve been seeing?” Nesta didn’t need to wait for an answer. Not when Gwyn’s cheeks turned the most incriminating shade of pink.
With a nervous laugh, she replied, “Nesta, this is Azriel.” Icy eyes narrowed on the couple, keenly aware that Azriel’s hand had not moved from Gwyn’s hip and Gwyn’s arm had remained around the musician’s waist. “Azriel, Nesta.”
“I’m Feyre,” Nesta’s sister chimed in, earning a scathing side-eye.
The towering bassist chuckled, pulling Gwyn into his side and dipping his chin toward her. “Have you been keeping me a secret from your friends, Gwyneth?” He teased, only fanning her blush into a roaring red.
Turning to him with beseeching eyes, she exclaimed, “No!” Then she dragged her lower lip between her teeth and looked away from him. “I just… haven’t dated much and I wanted it to be… all mine. For a bit.”
Well, much to Nesta’s displeasure, that was incredibly sweet. It wasn’t that she was unhappy with Gwyn — the redhead she’d met at work was more like a sister to her than a friend, and she deserved only the most wonderful things.
It was the musician that was the focal point of her skepticism now. She’d been drooling over him only moments before, but a man would have to be nearly perfect to even get close to being deserving of Gwyneth Berdara.
Azriel leaned in and pressed his lips tenderly against Gwyn’s temple. “Of course, bird. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Well, he sure was smooth, wasn’t he?
“It’s nice to meet you both,” he added with a warm smile and a nod. “You can come back to the green room with us if you want. We have some food and a bar. And I’m sure Rhys and Cass would love the company.”
And with that, Azriel returned his focus to the freckle-faced woman at his side, guiding her gently down the hall. After a moment of stunned silence, Nesta shook her head and began to follow, dragging her sister along.
Perhaps the drummer would do, after all.