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"And according to his bio, he's some sort of professional athlete. A hockey player."
"What? No way!" Emerie snatches the phone clean out of Gwyn's hand before she seems to register and words and tone, halting her movements and offering the redhead a sheepish smile. "Not saying that you couldn't bag an athlete. We all know you're hot shit."
"Nice save," Nesta mutters into her wine glass.
"I'm just saying," Emerie continues, slowly emphasizing her words and sending a good-natured glare in Nesta's direction. "That Washington Capitals players don't exactly go around sliding into people's DM's every day."
"He said he liked my singing videos that I post," Gwyn explains, biting her lip and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. But there seems to be no stopping the smile that tugs across Gwyn's face, the soft pink that spills across her cheeks and over her freckles.
The whole display has Nesta grabbing Gwyn's phone out of Emerie's hand. If this man has her friend reacting like this, practically a blushing school girl again, she needs to see what he looks like. Nesta looks at the screen, at the Instagram profile currently pulled up and displayed there, but Nesta has to admit she's somewhat disappointed at what she sees. This Azriel's entire feed seems to be mostly promotional shots of him in his hockey jersey, of him on the ice, and official graphics clearly made by a marketing team. And when she scrolls a bit further, all she finds are a few golf Reels.
Nesta quickly scrolls back up to the top of his profile, clicking the most recent official team headshot, at least giving her a good look at the man's face. His expression in the photo is giving a bit broody, but even Nesta can admit he's certainly attractive. His face is all cutting lines, a sharp jawline, and high cheekbones. And his eyes are a dark hazel practically piercing right through the camera lens. With the dark strands of his hair tousled just perfectly to fall across his forehead, he looks more like a model than a professional athlete.
Emerie hums, leaning closer to Nesta and peering over her shoulder. "I have no idea who that man is."
Nesta scoffs, shoving Emerie out of her space. "You don't even watch hockey."
"I watch the PWHL. You know, where all the hot players are."
The comment draws an easy laugh from Gwyn, and Nesta rolls her eyes, finally returning their friend's phone to her. "You were saying? He slid into your DM's?"
"Right. Anyways, so he said he liked my singing videos, and when I saw in his bio that he's a hockey player, I wasn't sure at first, but then we started talking, and we've basically been messaging for like a month now? And now he wants to meet for real, for a date."
"Look at our little Gwynie go," Emerie comments, holding up her glass of wine in a cheers and wiping away a fake tear from her cheek.
"You know, if the date goes well," Nesta offers, biting back a smirk. "You could become a WAG."
"Seriously, Nesta?"
"What? I follow a few on Instagram, and their weddings are always gorgeous. Straight out of a fairytale, disgustingly ornate, and every girl's dream," Nesta explains easily, taking a sip of her own wine. She thinks wistfully back to that one series of wedding photos she saw, all the gorgeous, white flowers in full bloom, the large wedding arch with the mountains providing the perfect backsplash just behind. "I mean athletes have no brains and all that money, so they just say yes to everything their wife wants. Ideal situation, honestly."
"Maybe you should date an athlete and become a WAG then," Gwyn suggests, voice lilting with teasing notes.
"Did you miss where I said no brains? Can you seriously imagine me with an athlete?"
~ * * * ~
Nesta shifts slightly against the cushions of the sofa, burying her legs deeper beneath the blankets. She quickly turns the page of the book in her hand, to the next chapter, excited to discover what sort of fall out will come from the main love interest's secret finally coming to light. Will she forgive him? Will he grovel?
"How do you think it's going?"
Nesta looks up from the pages, finding Emerie now leaning over the back of the sofa, a mug of tea cradled between her hands. "Gwyn's date?"
"Maybe we should go down there and check on her, just to be sure."
"Em…"
"What if he's a creep? I mean she did meet him on Instagram. What if he's secretly not who he says he is?"
Nesta doesn't bother holding back her surprised laugh at that. "His account is literally verified."
Emerie tilts her head, conceding the point, but when she meets Nesta's gaze again, a smirk starts to tug up the side of her lips, brown eyes practically flaring beneath their apartment lights. It's Nesta's only warning for the words that spill from her friend's lips, the words that would have her closing her book with a quiet snap.
"Don't you want to ensure Gwyn gets a WAG wedding for you to live vicariously through?"
"Let me change."
The bar and restaurant is close enough to the apartment that it doesn't take long before Nesta and Emerie are walking through the doors with their arms linked. Pink cherry blossom flowers hang in clusters from the ceiling, adding to the bright, spring elements of the place. It pairs well with the floral wallpaper, with the gallery wall of art and photos, the whole place a perfect place for a first date.
Nesta's eyes sweep over the different tables, over all the different people and couples, until she spots a familiar head of red hair. The man sitting across from Gwyn certainly matches the photos on his Instagram, strands of dark hair messy but artfully falling across his forehead, a pair of hazel eyes seemingly enraptured and pinned on where Gwyn is laughing easily at something said. He looks almost out of place amongst the bright pink flowers, dressed in all black with a leather jacket pulled on over his form fitting shirt despite the warm, spring weather.
"Come on," Emerie says, tugging Nesta away by their joined arms. "We'll have the best view without being spotted on this side of the bar."
The bar is mostly full, but Nesta spots two open seats near the end, just one lone guy sitting there. Even from behind, Nesta can tell that the man is huge, large shoulders stretching the fabric of the henley he's currently wearing and long legs hanging all the way to the floor despite the tall bar seats. There's a baseball cap poised atop his head, his dark hair tugged back in a bun that sticks out the back of it.
"Excuse me," Nesta starts when they reach the open seats. "Is anyone sitting here?"
The man turns his head, and Nesta gets her first look at his face. At the white stitched emblem of the Washington Spirit on his baseball cap. At a kaleidoscope of greens and golds that make up a pair of bright hazel eyes. At dark wire glasses framing those eyes. At stubble lining the man's cheeks and jawline. His gaze sweeps down and up again, a slow and leisurely perusal of her, before an easy, cocksure smile tugs across his face.
"You are now," he tells her, his voice low and smooth.
Nesta rolls her eyes as the blatant flirtation beneath his words, but she slides into the open seat all the same. Emerie works on flagging down the bartender to order them drinks, so Nesta leans forward over the bar, craning her head enough that she has the perfect view of Gwyn and her date again.
"Are you looking for someone?" the man asks, drawing Nesta's attention back to him. "Please don't tell me you're waiting on a hot date."
"If you must know," Nesta bites out with a scowl, looking back toward Gwyn's table. "We're here to check on our friend. She's on a first date and we're making sure he isn't a creep."
The man hums, turning his own head and looking over the tables. "Who's the lucky couple?"
"The red head," Emerie chimes in to answer. "That's our friend Gwyn."
Nesta continues to watch the date unfolding across the bar and restaurant, but it's hard not to frown with each moment that passes. Gwyn is no longer laughing like before. In fact, from Nesta's vantage point, it doesn't look like her or Azriel are currently speaking. Instead, both seem intently focused on the drinks in front of them, Gwyn swirling her straw through the blue liquid in her glass.
"Why does it look so awkward over there?" Nesta asks, her frustration growing when Gwyn glances up toward her date, expression almost expectant, longing, but he keeps his own attention on his drink.
"Maybe he's shy."
Nesta turns to make a face at the man beside her, surprised he even said anything, before shifting fully in her seat toward Emerie. "We should send over a drink. Make him jealous."
"You seem awfully invested in your friend's date."
"Nesta is trying to ensure there's a WAG wedding she can live vicariously through," Emerie offers with a smirk, that smile only dropping a little when Nesta smacks her in the leg in retaliation.
"Is that so, Nesta?"
Nesta has to bite her lip and swallow hard against the shudder threatening to skitter up her spine. She's not sure she's ever heard her name said like that. The deep timbre of his voice and the way it curls around each syllable like smoke, it slinks through her veins like a tall, warm glass of whiskey.
"If you must know," Nesta begins, schooling her features and facing the man again. "They're gorgeous and extravagant, and I want to experience one. What's so wrong with that?"
The tone of Nesta's voice is challenging, her expression just as icy. She expects this man to finally leave them alone and go back to his own business, expects him to flee with his tail between his legs and maybe a muttered comment about her being a bitch just like every other man on the receiving end of that look. But instead a spark seems to flare in the man's hazel eyes, his smile only seeming to grow.
"Why not have your own WAG wedding?" the man asks.
"I would never date a professional athlete."
"And why is that?"
"Why are you asking so many questions?"
The man chuckles, the sound just as warm and deep as his voice. He leans forward over the bar, leans in so close that Nesta can practically count every golden fleck twinkling amongst the mazes of greens that make up his hazel eyes, until she notices the scar slashing through his right eyebrow right above the frame of his glasses.
"I'm sitting here alone at the bar, and you're beautiful," the man answers with a wink. "Can you blame me?"
"I don't even know you're name."
"It's Cassian."
He extends his hand across the bar to shake, and it's practically unfair, the large span of it. Nesta dares to slide her own hand into his, feeling the calluses on his palms sliding against her skin. His fingers close around her hand, his touch surprisingly warm, and Nesta almost has to remind herself to pull her hand away when the handshake has gone on long enough. Almost.
"And you should definitely send a drink over," Cassian continues, nodding his head sagely. "A guy that looks like that is probably used to being the hottest dude in the room, used to girls just falling at his feet. Especially if he's an athlete. So, it would definitely make him jealous."
Nesta rolls her eyes at that, but the comment draws an easy laugh from Emerie, her friend's entire face brightening in delight. She leans forward over the bar and raises her hand, making work to flag down their bartender again.
"Can you send a drink over to that table?" Emerie requests, pointing toward Gwyn's table. "To that girl specifically."
"Say it's from a secret admirer," Cassian adds eagerly.
"But don't say it's from over here."
The bartender looks less than impressed, so Nesta sighs softly. "We'll tip you really well."
It seems to be enough to appease the bartender, and he gets to work preparing a drink. Nesta, Emerie, and Cassian all watch with baited breath as the drink is taken over to the table. As their message is delivered and the glass is set down in front of Gwyn. As Gwyn glances around, pink overtaking her cheeks. As Azriel scowls, pointedly looking around the whole restaurant with an obvious glare, looking right toward the bar…
"Oh, shit," Emerie mutters, quickly ducking her head and pretending to look busy.
Nesta is quick to do the same, taking a pointed sip of her drink, but it seems Cassian didn't get the memo about being incognito. Instead, he meets Azriel's gaze head-on, practically grinning triumphantly.
"Did you just smile at him? He's going to think you sent his date a drink," Nesta hisses, smacking Cassian in the arm. She tries not to think about the fact it's solid muscle beneath her hand, about just how large his bicep is beneath the fabric of his henley.
"Let him," Cassian offers, shrugging a shoulder. "I think I can take him if he picks a fight. What do you think, sweetheart?"
"Oh, I think he could take him," Emerie echoes, her voice teasing and just teetering shy of sarcastic. "Now, let's order some food. I'm starving."
"We should get nachos."
Nesta doesn't bother biting back her surprised laugh. "We?"
Despite her protests, Nesta soon ends up with plates of appetizers to share in front of her, and soon after that, another round of drinks. She wants to hate how magnetic this Cassian is, how he asks Emerie and Nesta about themselves and seems to genuinely care about their answers. She wants to hate how he seems to delight when she dares to throw anything at him, rising to meet her every quip like it's some sort of game.
She wants to hate that his bright hazel eyes, his warm laugh, and his stupid glasses and baseball hat are doing it for her.
"You know what would be really funny?" Emerie begins, reaching forward to snag another bite of food. "We send someone over to the table to ask for a picture. But not with him. With Gwyn."
"Oh, that's good," Cassian agrees, grinning widely. "He's probably so used to people asking for pictures with him. It will drive him mad."
"They can say that they're a fan of Gwyn's singing videos."
"And who's going to go over there?" Nesta points out. "Gwyn will obviously recognize both of us, and Cassian over here already made eye contact after the drink."
"We pay someone," Emerie suggests, already spinning in her seat to scan the seats immediately around them. "Do you have any cash?"
"What kind of person carries around cash these days?"
"I do," Cassian offers brightly, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet.
Cassian produces a twenty dollar bill from his wallet, and Emerie is quick to lean over the bar and Nesta to snatch it from between his fingers. She slips off her bar seat and practically skips away, clearly having identified the victim she's hoping to convince to join their plan. Leaving Nesta alone at the bar with Cassian.
"We'll pay you back."
"Don't worry about it, Nes. I'm more than happy to help. I'm invested now."
"Don't call me that," Nesta snaps, turning in her bar seat to face him completely. "It's Nesta. Nes-ta."
Cassian's grin twists into a smirk. "Whatever you say, sweetheart. Just trying to ensure you get that WAG wedding of yours."
Nesta rolls her eyes with a soft sigh. "You're not going to let that go, are you?"
"What can I say," Cassian says, his hazel eyes practically simmering as he reaches toward Nesta's face, twirling a strand of hair that's fallen from her up-do around his finger. "I think you'd look amazing in white."
"I wouldn't be wearing white," Nesta reminds him, smacking his hand away.
"The deed is done," Emerie announces, returning to the bar. "And I got her number. This is going to be too good."
All three of them watch as a pretty woman with white hair braided back and falling along her spine strides across the restaurant. She walks over to the table, putting on a wide smile and her best act as she talks and gushes to Gwyn. She pulls out her phone, and Nesta has to cover her mouth to hide her snort when the woman holds it out for Azriel without a second glance.
"Look at his face," Cassian says through a laugh.
Azriel certainly looks less than impressed with the turn of events, but he takes the phone, snapping a picture of them. The woman walks away after the photo is taken, offering Emerie a smirk and a wink as she strolls past the bar and back toward her own table. When they're finally alone again, Azriel leans in closer to Gwyn to say something.
"Do you think he's asking her if she wants to get out of here?" Nesta asks.
"If Gwyn's lucky," Emerie offers, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
Azriel pushes up from his seat and the table, but Gwyn doesn't make any move to stand, and instead of heading toward the door, his strides take him way across the restaurant. Toward the bar.
"Why the fuck is he coming over here?" Nesta hisses, ducking her head to avoid eye contact.
"I think the bathroom's are over here, but besides, he doesn't know us, so it's not like he would recognize us," Emerie says, but she matches Nesta's movements all the same, focusing hard on stirring the ice at the bottom of her drink.
"Is this supposed to be a disguise?" a deep voice asks from behind them.
Nesta's heart stops beating for a moment. She whips around, and sure enough, Azriel is now standing right behind them, in all his model athlete glory, but his attention isn't on Nesta or Emerie.
"I thought the glasses and baseball cap were perfect," Cassian says, shoving at Azriel good-naturedly, clearly friendly with the other man.
"All that's missing is a fake mustache."
"Next time."
"Whatever, idiot," Azriel tells him, his voice quietly teasing as he turns to continue toward the bathrooms. "See you at practice tomorrow."
"Practice?" Nesta blurts out before she can stop herself, her jaw slackening as she looks toward Cassian with wide eyes.
Cassian chuckles a bit self-deprecatingly, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. "Sorry. Didn't I mention? Az and I are teammates."
"You're a Washington Capital too?" Emerie asks, caught between shock and laughing.
Cassian shrugs off the question easily, turning his attention fully back to Nesta. He leans in close to her again, throwing his arm along the back of her bar seat, practically caging her in with his large frame and warmth, trapping her in his orbit. He has that same lopsided smile he's practically been wearing the whole time stretched across his face, but it's softer somehow.
"What do you say, Nes? You. Me. Dinner. We won't tell these fuckers where, so they can't return the favor, and in a year's time we can make sure you get that WAG wedding."