“Hey, guys!” a bright voice pops in, followed by a slender arm, pale as snow, working its way around Waylon’s arm and squeezing. Ivy’s eyes widen as she looks from me to Waylon, and then back to me. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I say. “Nothing at all.”

Ivy frowns, and Waylon looks murderous. I just shake my head and angle my body toward the guy still standing next to me; miracle of miracles.

“I’ll meet up with you after? Out front?” I smile, as if this is totally normal.

Matt gives me a curious half-smile, one that I’m disappointed to discover doesn’t come with a pair of sink-your-teeth-in dimples. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Sure,” Matt says, before wandering off with a wave.

Bracing myself, I turn back toward Waylon and Ivy.

She’s on her tippy toes, mouth pressed to his ear as she murmurs something I can’t even hope to make out. Even though he’s grimacing, it seems whatever she’s saying is at least stifling some of whatever’s got him all worked up.

Pinching his wrist, she whirls toward me with the fakest of fake grins. “Break time’s over, boys.”

Waylon doesn’t break eye contact with me as Ivy yanks him away, his too-bright green-gold orbs shrinking to slits as he all but stumbles backward.

And because I apparently missed the lesson on poking the bear, I raise my hand and make the sign of devil horns. Rock on, man.

By the time the guys finish with their second encore, I’ve managed to break up a poorly executed mosh pit, save a middle-aged woman from a snapped heel, and escort two overly handsy guys from the premises.

All in all, not a bad night.

It didn’t take long for me to lose sight of Matt and Laney once the guys kicked off their second set, and I haven’t seen them since. It’s probably for the best they made a quick getaway. After that awkward confrontation with Waylon, I wouldn’t blame Matt for ditching. Hell, it kind of killed my mood, too, if I’m being perfectly honest.

Thanks, Way.

If it’s not my dead boyfriend cock-blocking me, it’s my...whatever the fuck Waylon is to me.

The overhead lights flip on in a startling swatch of yellow as I start herding several drunken patrons toward the exit. I ignore their nonsensical ramblings, maintaining vigilance. If there’s any good moment for a fight to break out, it would be now, when the weight of the alcohol has started to sink in, and hearing is at an all-time low from the strain on their ears.