He’s talking with a blond dude, who I recognize as his backup singer and guitarist, Arrow. Arrow is tall—just a tiny bit shorter than Jace—and his hair is shaggy and styled into a messy look. I filter through all of Avery’s past babbling, trying to remember something about the guy. All that pops into my head is: he’s the oldest member of the band at twenty-one, and he’s Jace’s cousin. I mentally curse myself for not being able to remember more; maybe I should have paid closer attention to all of Avery’s ramblings about Tone Deaf. If I’m going to avoid coming off as completely clueless, it’d help to know more than just his age.
My mouth starts drying out as I approach the two. I stumble, and then bite my lip to keep a curse from escaping. What’s wrong with me? I used to be in these guys’ shoes; I was the musical prodigy, the one performing in front of huge crowds. I have no excuse for being so anxious.
Jace and Arrow both lean over the guitar, and Jace gestures excitedly to a tiny box clipped to the instrument’s fret board—probably some sort of fancy gadget to enhance the guitar’s sound. Tony must call out a greeting, because Arrow looks up at us, but Jace keeps his attention steadily focused on his instrument.
I walk toward them, emerging from behind Tony and keeping my hands at my sides. I want them to know that I’m not going to go all fangirly on them, trying to tackle-hug them or dropping down on one knee to propose. Arrow shoots me an approving look tainted with surprise, like he was expecting me to do both those things. Jace glances up from his guitar just long enough to give me a small wave.
I urge my hand to work. Move, move, move! But I’m frozen. I’m only two yards away from Jace, so close to the music icon and . . . I can’t move.
Suddenly, I get it. Like, really, really get it. In that frozen moment, it makes total sense that Jace has so many thousands of fans. He’s stunning—tall frame, lean muscle, sharp facial features. Piercing eyes so blue that I wonder if he’s wearing colored contacts. Black hair styled into a fauxhawk, with the tips dyed cyan.
But it’s not just his looks. Actually, it’s the way he handles his guitar that really grabs my attention. Standing there with the instrument in his hands, he looks ready to burst with confidence. Not cockiness, but confidence, like he knows the music, and he’s sure the music knows him.
“Hey,” he says. And just like that, he sets down the guitar, and his expression changes. Now it’s that pained, fake smile he was wearing when he announced the raffle. “I guess you’re the lucky girl.”
I nod and do my best to smile. “Um, yeah. I guess I am.”
He laughs. “You guess you are? You’re not sure you’re lucky?”
I blush and then quickly look at my feet, knowing my freckles are about to pop out like polka dots. Even makeup can’t hide my Irish blood when I get flustered. But I force away my embarrassment and look back up at him, carefully watching his lips.
“I know I’m lucky,” I amend, and I let my smile grow.
Arrow chuckles and elbows Jace in the side. “Looks like you’ve got a live one here, Jace.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Live one?”
Jace rolls his eyes at Arrow and then turns back to me. “Yeah, a live one. You know, a girl who isn’t trapped in la-la-Jace-land, where they’re married to me and we make passionate love twenty-four-seven.”
“Oh,” I say lamely.
Jace cocks his head. “Are you English? You sound like it.”
Tony speaks up. “No. Jace, she’s . . . deaf. ” He cringes as he says it and shoots me an apologetic look.
I’m about to tell him he has nothing to be sorry for, but then I see Jace’s expression change. His smile disappears. His chiseled jaw snaps shut. His eyes narrow into an accusing glare. And he’s staring. Right. At. Me.
“Oh,” he says, echoing my previous response in cold mockery. He whips his gaze to Tony, and without even trying to hide the words his lips form, he says, “Today of all days you want me to deal with some deaf chick? Seriously?”
“Take it easy, Jace,” Arrow says. “It was a random raffle, it’s not like anyone knew.”
I edge back a few steps. I’m used to all types of frustrating reactions to my deafness—pity, concern, ignorance. But hostility? This is a new one.
I cross my arms over my chest and straighten my shoulders. Just because I can’t pull off an intimidating look doesn’t mean I’m going to cower. I scan Jace over, mentally cursing as I take in his all-too-familiar body language—clenched fist, tight jaw, wide stance. He’s officially pissed, and I officially need to get the hell out of here.
“She’s the winner, Jace,” Tony says firmly. “Just give her the tour and be done with it, okay?”
Jace doesn’t reply; he just keeps glaring at me, like he thinks that if he glares hard enough, I’ll explode into bits of pitiful, useless dust. My eyes keep shifting to his clenched fist, watching for even the slightest twitch. My instincts scream at me to bolt, but fear claws at my brain, setting off all sorts of sirens and turning my legs shaky.
“Do you sign?” Jace demands.
Arrow groans and elbows his bandmate in the side, sharper this time. Jace cusses and shoots him a dirty look. Then his attention is back to me, giving me an even dirtier look.
“Dude, let’s go,” Arrow says. “If you’re not going to give her the tour, just leave the girl alone.”
Jace ignores Arrow, his eyes laser-focused on me. “I asked you a question. Do you sign?”