“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.”
Chapter Six
The room grew silent around him, the good-natured bantering evaporating into thin air.
And fuck. Just fuck.
He couldn’t believe he’d said that, couldn’t believe he’d fucking blurted that shit out. Everyone had been joking around, having a good time, and he’d busted it wide open. As usual.
He should have just kept his mouth shut, should have just grinned and borne whatever Poppy was going to come up with. But he couldn’t stand the idea of her fumbling around trying to figure out what to say in an effort to keep him from feeling bad. Better to just get that shit out there than try to keep it buried under the rug. After all, facing the truth about himself instead of running from it was one of the twelve steps…
Still, he felt like a total ass. Or, worse, like the basket case everyone considered him. But he couldn’t say all that, couldn’t get it out when his friends were looking at him with a mix of exasperation and pity and trepidation.
So instead he started to apologize, but before he could do much more than open his mouth, Poppy jumped in with a roll of her eyes. “Actually, Micah’s always been considered the fuck-up—even before we started spinning him that way two months ago. You’re the dark and brooding one.”
“Wow.” Quinn’s brows shot up. “The fans know us better than I thought they did.” He looked impressed, which did nothing to make Wyatt feel better.
“I told you,” Poppy continued. “They analyze your every move. They spend a lot of time trying to figure out who you really are when you aren’t onstage.”
“Huh.” Jared ran a hand across the back of his neck, “Am I the only one creeped out by that idea?”
“No, no you’re not,” Ryder answered quietly. “I mean, I’m sure it’s harmless, but—”
“They’re wrong.” While the others were busy discussing the problems with fans who paid too close of attention to them, Wyatt reached past Poppy and picked up his bottle of soda from the table. “I don’t brood.”
Turned out the others weren’t as distracted as he thought, because the whole room cracked up at his words, including Poppy. Or maybe, especially Poppy.
“Certainly not,” she agreed easily. “There’s absolutely nothing broody or tortured about that scowl you’re wearing at this very moment.”
He jerked his chin up, tried his best to smooth out his expression. “I’m not scowling!”
“Seriously, dude, your entire being is one big, tortured scowl,” she shot back, trailing a soft hand down his arm. “Even your tats are broody. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. It definitely works.”
“You make it sound like it’s all an act. I’m not trying to be that guy.”
“Of course you aren’t. I know that.” She slipped past him and grabbed a piece of pizza out of the box before batting her eyes in his direction. “And so do the fans. It’s why they respond. Because you are that guy. You don’t have to try. And the fact that you have the second best ass in the band definitely doesn’t hurt.”
He still didn’t like the way she made it sound, still wanted to argue with her about her perception of him. But the more he argued, the more of an issue it became, and the last thing he wanted was to have to actually explain anything. And he definitely didn’t want to let the woman in charge of the band’s social media—and could he ask how the fuck that was even a real job—into his head even superficially.
He was trying to be subtle about his discomfort, trying not to let her or the others see just how freaked out this whole conversation was making him, but it must not have worked because the next thing he knew, Ryder was totally throwing himself in front of the bus for him.
“Second best ass?” he demanded, deflecting her attention off of Wyatt and back on to him. “Really? If his is second, where exactly does mine rank? I mean, at this rate you’re going to give me a complex.”