The Unlikeable Demon Hunter (Nava Katz #1)(36)

Chill was pretty small. A couple of booths and standing tables carved from ice in addition to the bar itself. Not the floor though. They'd avoided that potential lawsuit. Purple and green strip lights illuminated the larger ice panels on the walls. Shelves had been carved out to display vodka bottles from around the world.

Drio was already there, chatting with Samson's buddies. He nodded as we came in but didn't come over to say hi. Other than them and Samson, I didn't recognize any of the fifteen or so other people.

"Ro darling," came a familiar British lilt as a puffy jacketed figure turned. Poppy, the actress from the other night was here, looking less girl-next-door and more blonde bombshell, with big blown out hair, and sexy smoky eyes. "Thank you for returning my scarf."

Get your own rock star.

"My pleasure," Rohan replied in a rumbly voice. I barely turned my sputter into a cough.

Samson glanced over at our arrival, saluting Rohan with his glass. "All hail the esteemed Rohan Mitra."

"What a douche," Rohan muttered. His smile brightened, his hand slipped from my back, and he crossed over to join the actor. He made it all of ten feet before he was accosted by three men who enthusiastically barked Fugue State Five song titles at him in Czech accents.

Rohan handled them graciously.

I made my way to the bar and ordered a chocolate vodka, shrugging deeper into my double coats. The bartender handed it over saying that drinks were on Samson's tab. It would have been a point in his favor but if your modus operandi was to make people feel bad about themselves, alcohol was a handy tool to speed things along. As was being rich enough to pay the tab for the common people.

The vodka was served in a frozen shot glass. It was so cold in here, that the alcohol, which tasted like a melted chocolate bar, had thickened to a syrup that slid down my throat like silk. I gave a thumbs-up as I handed the glass back, remarking on the experience, and the bartender explained that the cold removed the normal sting when drinking it. Definitely a plus. 

Putting my back to the bar, I checked out the various groups. None of them looked particularly interesting. Other than Samson's posse, who Drio had covered, I doubted anyone had any information that could help us. I wasn't there for small talk, so I crossed over to Rohan and Samson.

I moved into place on Rohan's left in time to see Poppy press a shot into his hand. She maintained physical contact while counting down for them to shoot their drinks back. Snowflake didn't protest the blatant move, nor did he introduce me. Or seem to notice I existed.

Drink downed, Poppy laughed, catching a drop with her tongue that brought both Samson's and Rohan's gaze to her lips. Oh, she was good. Every move she made was calculated to keep their attention on her. Under other circumstances, I'd have bought her a drink in admiration.

I kept my bored look in place, eyes scanning the room as if seeking more interesting climes, while mentally cataloguing all the damage my magic could do to her.

Poppy was even able to keep up with the music discussion the men veered onto. Impressive since they were chatting about some obscure New York band. Since I had nothing to contribute, I did what I did best: objectified the fuck out of the guys. Samson looked smug. He was "on" constantly, a high wattage performance of his cool, funny charm, complete with expansive gestures that were as put on as his perfect tan and artfully tousled hair.

Rohan, on the other hand, with his lazy stance, exuded confidence. His movements came with an economy of motion: a half-grin here, a wry comment there. He upstaged Samson's showmanship with an understated cool. Rohan was every inch the sexy rock star even in that dumb jacket. This wasn't bias. More like objective evidence based on the sidelong glances and awestruck stares he was getting.

With one sly sideways glance from Poppy before she gave me the tiniest smirk. The English Rose showing her thorns.

Time for her to learn the pecking order. I placed Rohan's hand on my ass under my jackets. Samson shot me the briefest glance at that. Rohan didn't. Didn't even pause his lyrical waxings about this one particular band. Though he did idly stroke along the base of my spine as he spoke.

I stared Poppy down, my bored expression unchanging, and my position unmovable until she gave up and moved on under the pretense of greeting a new arrival.

Ooh, being that girl was fun.

"Restless Landing opened for you on your last tour, right?" Samson asked. Interesting. Seems he'd researched Rohan.

"Yeah," Rohan said.

"I know Aaron."

"Hell of a drummer." Rohan sipped the beer that one of his three fanboys had pressed into his hand.

I wiggled my toes to keep them from going numb in the cold and pulled my hands up inside my sleeves.