Somehow, Heidi holds in her snort until she’s out of earshot. “She’s cute.” She takes a swig of her banana bread–flavored beer. I’m a big fan of trying new flavors, but I can’t help but wrinkle up my nose at the bottle. “Bet she gets them a bunch of gigs.”
“Maybe.” I focus my eyes back to the stage. The band has changed songs, and now, they’re playing a metal version of Heart’s “Crazy on You” that literally gives me chills. It’s a feeling that very few bands have been able to bring out in me, and I’ve got a good feeling about Hazard Anthem’s future. “They could probably be managed by a fucking ogre and still hit it big.”
As my gaze skims back over Wyatt, I bite the inside of my lip. He’s sweaty from the heat and exertion. When he’s in his element like this, playing incredible music, it takes my breath away.
With a thoughtful look on her face, Heidi runs her finger in a circle around the neck of her beer bottle. “You think that’s why Cal and Wyatt are helping them out? I mean, you don’t think they’re thinking about leaving Your Toxic Sequel, do you?”
Wyatt told me before that he has no plans to leave the band, so I decide to take him for his word. “I think YTS will be alright.”
She breathes a relieved sigh before twisting around in her seat to watch the band perform. She taps her fingers on the table, singing along with the lyrics but getting seventy-five percent of them wrong. “You’re right. They are kick-ass,” she says once the song ends.
My sight is still connected with Wyatt’s midnight blue eyes as I murmur, “Absolutely amazing.”
Chapter Eight
My appreciation for Hazard Anthem’s music only grows over the next hour during the band’s seven-song set. The lead singer has a range that reminds me of M. Shadows, and I find myself developing a bit of a voice crush on him. The band performs a little of everything from the angst-filled and powerful to a couple more covers to even the upbeat innuendo-laced music that put Your Toxic Sequel on the map.
The moment their set is finished and they’ve torn down their equipment for the next band, the lead singer maneuvers through the crowd in our direction, seemingly oblivious to the female hands grasping at various parts of his body. Before I can say a word, he jerks me into a hug.
When I go entirely still, he pulls back a little, narrowing his dark eyes. “Ah shit, please tell me you’re Kylie.”
“Yeah, I am.”
He wraps his arms around me again, and Heidi makes a face at his back. “I’ve been wanting to meet the infamous Kylie Wolfe since Cal started playing with YTS.”
“You’re his cousin?” It’s a stupid question. They look similar, except this guy is built and has short, spiky black hair as opposed to Cal’s lanky stature and shoulder-length locks.
“Nate Romero,” he says. When his dark eyes brush over Heidi, he grins. “You must be—”
Since none of us know exactly what Cal has told his cousin about Heidi, she clears her throat. “Heidi Wright. Nice to meet you.” She lifts her chin slightly to take in Cal, who’s walking toward us and clutching two bottles of some specialty beer.
“What?” Heidi’s voice has dropped to the low, seductive purr she no doubt uses on her customers. “No PBR tonight?”
Cal’s lips jerk into a grin. “Fuck you, Heidi.”
“You were right.” When Nate glances back at his cousin, I swear Cal’s olive complexion goes scarlet. “She is fucking hot.” He dips his attention back down to me. “I’d tell you the same, but McCrae would fuck me up in the parking lot.”
Wyatt has mentioned me. In a way, it makes Nate assume that we’re a couple.
Good God, what has been said about me?
I pull at the neck of my T-shirt, stretching out the tip of the sequin anchor on the nautical print. “Where’s your drummer?” I peek around the crowd in search of the bald man who was on stage up until a few minutes ago. As much as I hate to admit it, his skill is almost as mind-blowingly good as Sinjin’s.
Nate turns and scans the area before he finally points to the far corner of the bar. “Ben’s over there with Terra and Wyatt,” he says. Of course, hearing that Terra’s with Wyatt makes my stomach clench. Looking back at me, Nate mistakes my abrupt smile for something else—anticipation. “You wanna go over?”
I consider this for a moment, but then decide against it. There’s a nearly full bottle of Corona on my table—my fourth drink in the last hour—and I’ve gotten to the point where I’ve started to want to hug the bottles. “Maybe in a few.” I jab my index finger toward the small group of women who’ve edged their way up to Cal. One is glancing in Nate’s direction, tapping the cap end of a permanent marker against her hip. “I think you’re being summoned.” I want to advise him that he’s going to need more security soon, that there should already be more security since my guys are playing, but I stop before I say anything. I remind myself that I’m here as a music lover and not my brother’s assistant.
Nate flushes, racking up a few more good points with me because he obviously hasn’t let this world go to his head yet. “Looks like I am. See you in a little.”
When I shimmy back onto my seat, Heidi casts a sharp look in my direction.
“What?” I ask.
She runs her thumb around the neck of the bottle she’s been nursing for twenty minutes. “We’re going over there.”
I put my Corona to my lips and tip it back, drinking it entirely too fast. My nose is burning when I slap the empty bottle onto the wooden table. “If you feed me that bullshit about claiming Wyatt, I’m probably going to—”
She cuts me off. “Hey, Kylie.” I press my lips together, waiting for her to continue. “You need to get your tipsy ass over there and claim Prince Albert.”
“He got rid of that,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Whatever. Point is, you’ve said it yourself, that this is it for you guys, that you’re done with the games once we go home. So, why the fuck are you just sitting around and wasting the time you have left?”
This is another reason why Heidi and I get along. I’m not close to many women because I’ve felt the bitter sting of disloyalty, and it’s left a foul taste in my mouth, but Heidi tells me like it is. She doesn’t hold anything back even when her thoughts are all over the place.
“I’m not tipsy,” I tell her.
She stands and adjusts her tight jeans. “And I’m not sober, Ky.” She grabs my hand, hauling me off in Wyatt’s general direction. As she passes Nate, Cal, and the women they’re mingling with, she skims her hand across the crotch of Cal’s jeans.
He stiffens and screws up signing the R at the beginning of his last name on the breasts in front of his face.
Wyatt’s eyes drink me in long before I step into his bubble. “Bluebird.” His hands touch the first thing he can grab, my forearm, and he brings me to his side. This is such an intimate gesture that my lips part slightly. Completely hypersensitive to my every move, his head bends a little. “You’re fucking me up again,” he says so softly that only I can hear him.
Right. And he’s not doing the same thing to me? As his delicious scent of cologne mixed with sweat teases my nose, I dart my tongue across my lips. Before I can make a fool of myself, I glance away from him to Hazard Anthem’s drummer. “Your sound is incredible.”
Wyatt’s mouth moves against my ear, and I can feel his labret slide up against one of my earrings as he opens his mouth to say something. I go perfectly still because I know he’s about to say something that will result in him owning my panties by the end of the night.
Then, he pulls away, grinning suggestively. As he introduces me to the drummer, I realize he’s thinking of a hundred creative ways to fuck me in this bar, and it sends a thrill of pleasure through me.
“You’ve already met Terra, but this motherfucker is Ben Dillinger. Ben, this is Kylie and Heidi.” Wyatt jerks his head from me to my best friend, who’s standing a couple feet away, typing something into her phone.