by Tracy Wolff
She took the steps up to the front door two at a time, gesturing with her good hand for Poppy to follow her. They made their way through the fancy marble foyer, down a winding hallway past what might be the most beautiful music room she’d ever seen, and into a kitchen filled with natural light. And gorgeous, tattooed men.
The four remaining members of Shaken Dirty were sitting around the big, round kitchen table, boxes of pizza spread out before them. Four bright shiny bottles of soda open in front of them. Soda. Not beer. Not scotch. Not even wine coolers. Not that she expected wine coolers, but she sure as hell didn’t expect Cherry Cokes either. Maybe she wasn’t the only one worried about Wyatt falling off the wagon…
They were also talking over and around one another, and laughing while doing it. Jared was telling Wyatt about a Rolling Stones concert he’d attended a few months before, while Quinn and Ryder were arguing about the season premiere of some TV show she’d never heard of. Except both pairs also seemed to be paying attention to what the other pair was talking about because they would interject comments at random moments, which often led to debate and more laughter.
The whole thing was both chaotic and also delightful to watch, the friendship and camaraderie between them more than obvious. At least until Quinn spotted Elise and reached over, mid-sentence, to drag her into his lap so that he could plant a kiss on her.
A very deep, very thorough kiss.
“Geez, man, she’s only been gone an hour,” Jared ribbed him. “I’m pretty sure her tonsils are still intact.”
Quinn flipped him off, keeping his mouth planted firmly on Elise’s. He only glanced up when Ryder looked over at Poppy and raised his brows. “Who are you?”
Suddenly, every guy in the room was looking at her. And while Poppy had had a lot of experience with rock stars through the years, she still wasn’t anywhere close to being prepared for the powerful wave of sexual magnetism that hit her as four of the sexiest alpha males in existence leveled their attention at her.
“Oh, that’s Poppy,” Elise said. “The label sent her over. She’s your new social media director.”
“Oh, really? Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Jared asked right before he burst out laughing. “I’m pretty sure Wyatt’s got a different name for it. Right, man?”
So much for disguises.
Poppy’s cheeks burned at Jared’s amusement—and the dark, wicked look Wyatt was giving her that said he saw right through her attempted disguise. Biting her lip to keep from whimpering, she closed her eyes and prayed that the ground would open up and swallow her down.
Chapter Five
Sadly, the universe had other plans for her, and none of them included an earthquake or hurricane or any other major natural disaster hitting Austin, Texas, at that exact moment. More was the fucking pity.
Jared wasn’t being obnoxious as he grinned at her—he looked more amused than anything else—but still it mortified her. Still it had her wanting to run or hide or at least bury her head like an ostrich and pretend if she couldn’t see them, then they couldn’t see her either.
But that old song by Martha and the Vandellas was playing in her head—“Nowhere to run to, baby, nowhere to hide”—and so she just stood there like a deer in the headlights as Jared smirked at her and Wyatt studied her, his eyes roaming over her from head to toe like he owned her. Or like he wanted to…
She shut that thought down fast, shoved it deep inside of herself where she didn’t have to examine it. Where she didn’t have to admit that a part of her was more than a little intrigued by the idea of belonging to Wyatt, even for a short while.
“You’re our new social media director?” Ryder asked with a smile. “That’s cool.” He got up from the table, extended his hand. “I’m Ryder. It’s nice to meet you.”
She almost laughed at the idea that he thought he had to introduce himself to her. Like she didn’t know who he was? Like most of the Western World didn’t know who he was? Then again, she’d always heard the guys from Shaken Dirty were really nice, really down-to-earth, and not overly affected by the fame that had skyrocketed them so quickly to the top of the charts. It was nice to know some of the rumors in this industry were actually true…and not just the bad ones.
She took his hand, ignoring the instinctive nervousness that came from having all that lead singer sexual magnetism focused directly on her. “Nice to meet you, too, Ryder.”
“Thanks for helping us out with the social media stuff. Caleb was telling me the label had a plan to change up how we relate to fans on Twitter and stuff. You must be it.”
“I am,” she agreed, mouth dry and pulse pounding at the half-lie. Lying didn’t come easy to her. And betraying these guys’ trust right out of the gate, when they’d been so welcoming? Her stomach churned with discomfort. “I’m really excited to get to work on the new campaign.”
“We like excited around here.” His grin turned just a little wild. “Don’t we, guys?”
The others made muted sounds of agreement, and she found herself blushing for the second time in as many minutes as her eyes met Wyatt’s once again.
“So, introductions,” Ryder continued. “That’s Quinn over there, attached at the tongue to Elise.”
Quinn flipped him off a second time, but he got up to shake her hand as well. As he did, she noticed that his nails were painted the same hot pink as Elise’s motorcycle.
He caught her looking and just grinned. “My woman likes to mess with me when I’m asleep. Turns out there’s no nail polish remover in the house.”
Elise snorted. “Sure, play the victim. Like you didn’t spend half the night before cutting up my underwear.”
He shrugged, did the best he could to look innocent despite the bedroom eyes and tattoos that made him seem anything but. “Crotchless panties. It’s a thing. Right, guys?”
“Absolutely,” Ryder agreed, totally deadpan, and even Jared and Wyatt nodded along. “I always say, a girl can never have too many pairs of crotchless panties.”
“Exactly what I tried to tell her. In fact—”
Elise narrowed her eyes at her fiancé as she cut him off. “If you think I don’t know where the new hiding spot for your Twinkies is, you would be mistaken.”
“As I was saying,” Quinn told the room in general, looking as innocent as a tattooed rock god could. “My credit card’s upstairs in my wallet. Feel free to buy as many panties with full crotches intact as you would like, my love.”
“And Jared says you’re stubborn,” she teased, patting the guitarist on the cheek before sauntering toward the door. “He just doesn’t know you like I do.”
As soon as she left, the other three guys cracked up. “Wow,” Wyatt said, totally deadpan. “I go to rehab for a couple of months and come back to find you totally whipped.”
“You only say that because you didn’t live through what she did to Quinn’s Twinkies the last time he really pissed her off,” Jared told him. “It was ugly.”
“So, so ugly,” Ryder concurred with a shudder.
As the good-natured ribbing continued, Poppy’s fingers itched with the need to be recording this for Snapchat. This was the kind of thing the band’s fans would love, the kind of interaction that would have them glued to social media for hours talking about the guys of Shaken Dirty and who they really were. The fact that she wasn’t actually here to revamp their social media didn’t matter. Marketing was her second love—right behind rock and roll—and just watching these guys for five minutes had given her a million and one ideas about how she could use this to garner them more social media reach and, in turn, more fans.
Get them a head start on the road to being legends…
“So that’s Quinn,” Ryder said, interrupting her train of thought and dragging her right back to the embarrassment of her current predicament. “Jared’s the one who can’t stop grinning like an idiot, and Wyatt’s got that ridiculous excuse for facial hair—”
“It’s called a beard,” Wyatt in
terjected.
“It’s called ridiculous,” Ryder shot back. “Now pretend you have manners and say hello to Poppy, will you?”
“I’m pretty sure Poppy won’t complain about his manners,” Jared said slyly. “And they’ve already said a lot more than hello.”
“Oh, yeah?” Ryder looked concerned. “Have you been around before? I’m usually pretty good with faces, but did I—”
“Oh, no. We’ve never met before,” she rushed to reassure him. “I actually came to the club last night to see you play. I’d planned to introduce myself after your set, but…” She trailed off, unsure of how to finish. What was it about this band that had her constantly feeling like an idiot?
“But she met Wyatt first and forgot all about the rest of us. Isn’t that right, Wyatt?” Jared continued to poke at the both of them. “In fact—”
“That’s enough, Jare,” Wyatt said, pushing back from the table and crossing the room to take her hand. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Fuck. She went weak at the first touch of his palm against hers, at the first look from those crazy, electric-blue eyes of his. The last time he’d stood this close to her, those eyes had been hidden by shadows, as had most of the rest of him. And still it had taken him less than five minutes to have her coming against his mouth. Here, now, in the bright light of day, he was even more overwhelming. Even more enticing.
Despite her best intentions, and the very stern talking-to she’d given herself in the shower that morning, she could feel her knees tremble and her panties grow damp just from the look in his eyes. Just from the promise of dark sex and darker pleasure that rolled off him in waves.
He was too sexy for his own good. Definitely too sexy for the good of her mental health. Oh, she’d always known he was hot—it was pretty hard to miss it, after all. But since he’d gone to rehab, he looked different.
Sure, his height was the same—all six feet, two inches of it—as were his razor-sharp cheekbones and long, lean build. But everything else had changed. His perennially long, caramel-colored hair had been cut into a shaggy fringe that almost completely covered one of those Pacific Ocean blue eyes. His usual irregular scruff had been trimmed into a neat beard and the ring he normally wore on the right-hand corner of his bottom lip was long gone.
Was it any wonder she hadn’t recognized him in the shadows last night? Without a clear look at his face, and with his black and white tattoo sleeves covered, there was nothing about him that screamed Wyatt Jennings. At least not the Wyatt Jennings she and the public were used to.
That wasn’t to say he wasn’t still the hottest thing she’d ever seen. Because he was. Oh God, he was. And when she added in the ripped jeans and tight black T-shirt that showed off both his model’s build and his spooky and spectacular tattoos to their best advantage, was it any wonder she was practically salivating? Any wonder that for long seconds all she could think about was what it felt like to have his mouth on her clit and his fingers inside of her?
Not what you’re here for, she reminded herself a little desperately. Not what you’re supposed to be thinking about. But how could she not think about it when Wyatt was standing right in front of her, looking like that? Looking at her like that?
Then again, everyone in the room was currently looking at her expectantly, like she was supposed to say something. She wracked her brain, tried to remember the one sentence Wyatt had said to her. But he’d said it after he’d taken her hand, and since her entire body had turned into a live electrical wire at the first brush of his skin against hers, she had no idea what that one, simple sentence had been.
Finally Quinn—who was definitely the most social of the group—took pity on her. “So, you guys met at Antone’s last night?”
“Yeah. We did.” Wyatt still didn’t drop her hand. “Although I didn’t realize who Poppy was at the time.”
“I didn’t know who Wyatt was, either,” she blurted out as she fought her way through the sensual haze his proximity put her in. “At least not until Jared came looking for him. It was dark and he looks different than he used to and I totally feel like an idiot. If I’d known—” She cut herself off when she realized she was babbling.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Wyatt told her, half-amused and half-soothing. “I’m just the drummer. Nobody ever recognizes me.”
“Right,” Jared agreed, and though his words dripped with sarcasm she couldn’t help noticing that his eyes—and his smile—had warmed considerably when he looked at her. “You’re such a wallflower I’m surprised anyone even knows you’re in the band.”
“Yeah, well, we can’t all be fame-whore lead guitarists,” Wyatt shot back.
“Fame is the burden I have to bear,” Jared answered primly. “It’s not my fault I’m the pretty one.”
Poppy burst out laughing. She couldn’t help it. The whole group was a lot funnier than their bad-boy images led people to believe, and she loved it. Loved pretty much everything about them.
Jared lifted a brow at her, pretended to look injured. “Excuse me, but is all that laughter supposed to imply I’m not the pretty one?”
“No, of course not! You’re totally the pretty one. You’re the prettiest, absolutely.”
“Oh, yeah?” Wyatt’s brows shot up.
“Excuse you,” Ryder chimed in, all twinkling eyes and mock-offense. “I’m the lead singer. I’m supposed to be the pretty one.”
“Yes, but you’re the too-hot-to-be-human sex god,” she explained, tongue firmly in cheek. “You can’t be both—that’s the rule. So sorry you have to settle.”
“Sex god?” Ryder stroked his chin like he was thinking it over. “I like it. Make sure to mention that to Jamison when you meet her, will you? I mean, not that she doesn’t know that already, of course, but still—”
Jared threw a piece of pizza crust straight at his face. “Dude, that’s my sister.”
“Yeah, well, I try not to hold that against her.” Ryder grabbed the crust before it could hit him, immediately shooting it back at Jared. It bounced off the guitarist’s forehead before landing on the floor by his feet.
“So what am I, then?” Quinn asked as he stepped between them in an effort to keep the peace.
“Definitely the sexy one,” Elise called from the next room.
Quinn grinned as he pretended to buff his nails on his shirt before blowing on them.
“Do you guys seriously never go online and read what the fans have to say about you?” Poppy asked, incredulous.
“We interact with them on Twitter sometimes,” Quinn told her. “And do online Q and A’s or webcasts.”
“A few podcasts here and there,” Jared added.
“I tweet about shows and new songs we’re working on,” Ryder volunteered.
“Yeah, but do you check and see what the fans say after you tweet? And what about Tumblr? Instagram? Fan fic? You don’t look at any of that stuff at all?”
They stared at her blankly, and she knew she was going to have her work cut out for her. Someone obviously needed to take these guys in hand or the pop machine that ruled music today was going to roll right over them.
“Oh my God,” she told them, settling her briefcase and the cupcakes on the table. “I have so much to teach you. And the first thing is that you should be in touch with your fan base. You should know—good or bad—what they’re saying about you so you can effectively counter it if you need to.”
“What if we don’t want to know?” Wyatt asked. “I mean, right now we’re not exactly in the best of shape, thanks to me.”
“Stop,” Quinn told him, delivering a sharp shove to his shoulder. “The mess we’re in now has way more to do with Micah than it does you.”
“We didn’t cancel the tour because of Micah—”
“Pretty hard to play stadiums without a bass player,” Ryder told him.
“Harder to play them without a drummer,” Wyatt countered.
“Well, then we’re damn lucky we’ve got the best drummer aroun
d, aren’t we?”
“That’s debatable.”
“No, it really isn’t,” Quinn said quietly.
“He’s right. And you’d see that if you went on social media more,” Poppy said, jumping in with a desperate attempt to divert the conversation back to the original topic. She hated the look on Wyatt’s face, the tenseness in his shoulders. The way the teasing light had gone out of his eyes. “The fans would love to hear from you, love to know how well you’re doing. Plus it’d be a chance to get more buzz going about the upcoming tour.”
“So the fans really pay that close of attention to our tweets?” Jared asked a little incredulously.
She laughed. “You really never have been on Tumblr, have you? They pretty much dissect everything you do. Everything you say. Everything you tweet… Plus, like I said before, they’ve totally got descriptions for each of you.”
“You mean you weren’t making that up?” Jared demanded. “They actually think I’m the pretty one?” He did not look impressed.
“Definitely,” she answered with an apologetic shrug. “You’re the really pretty, really nice one. Ryder is the dark sex god. Quinn is the hot, funny one with the great ass—”
“I second that!” Elise once again called in from the other room.
“Me, too,” Poppy agreed wholeheartedly.
Quinn glanced over his shoulder and down, a contemplative frown on his face. “I don’t think my ass is any better than anybody else’s in the band.”
“Then you’d be wrong.” This time she and Elise said it at the same time.
“Hey!” Ryder pretended to be offended. “You didn’t have to say that quite so enthusiastically. Sex gods have feelings, too, you know.”
“So, what about Wyatt?” Quinn asked in an obvious ploy to get the conversation away from the merits of his ass. “What do the fans call him?”
“You mean you really can’t guess?” Wyatt said with a laugh. “I’m the fucked up basket case who can’t keep his shit together. I don’t think any of us need to go on Tumblr to know that.”