“Who could she get? She’s a marketing person, not a music person. Besides, we’ve checked out all the top guys looking for bands right now.” Quinn got up, grabbed a Twinkie from his bag. “Unless she’s going with some undiscovered guy, and in that case, don’t you think we should have had a chance to vet him first?” He ate the Twinkie in two quick bites. “Besides, how much pull could a social media director have, anyway?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know who she got. I don’t know how she found him.” He pulled out his phone to text her and ask, but saw that she’d beat him to it. He swiped on to her text then groaned out loud as he read it.
Poppy: Sorry, flight delayed. We’ll be there in fifteen
The text had come in close to ten minutes ago.
“What?” Jared asked, pacing toward him.
“The good news is, they should be here in five,” Wyatt said, holding up his phone.
“Who?” Ryder demanded. “Who should be here in five?”
“Whoever the hell Poppy’s got on tap. His flight was late but they’re on their way now.” He held up his phone to show the rest of them her text. “Now you know as much as I do, so can we all just stop freaking out? Everything’s going to be fine.”
At his words, Jared stopped pacing and just stared at him. “Who are you and where the fuck is Wyatt Jennings?”
Wyatt flipped him off and rolled his eyes.
“No, really,” Ryder chimed in. “Usually you’re the doom and gloom guy we have to keep settled. So what’s up with this whole everything will work out persona of yours?”
“Seriously? I’m trying to be reasonable here, and you make it sound like I’m pulling rainbow colored unicorns out of my ass or something. I’m just saying, why freak out if I’ve got a text from Poppy that says she’s going to be here in less than five minutes?”
“You’re right,” Quinn said, hands raised placatingly. “You totally are. It’s just we’re not used to the new, enlightened Wyatt. It’ll take some adjusting.”
He started to flip them all off again, but in the end he just shrugged. Because they were right. Resolving to cut out the drugs had changed him. Meeting Poppy and listening to what she had to say about him—and about his relationship with the rest of the band—had changed him. Chilled him out. Made him more ready to trust that everything wasn’t always about to go to hell.
If he were honest, he’d have to admit he kind of liked his new outlook. Almost as much as he cared about Poppy.
Not that he was going to tell Quinn and the others that. During the last few days, they’d done enough of the Kumbaya sharing shit to last a lifetime. But before he could think up a suitably smart-ass remark, Poppy came rushing into the room, dragging a tall guy in worn jeans and cowboy boots hot on her heels. He was carrying a plain black bass case. “I’m sorry we’re late, guys! So, so sorry! But I want you to meet Drew Fitzpatrick. It turns out he’s a big Shaken Dirty fan.”
“Drew… Holy shit,” Quinn said, dropping his bag—and his second Twinkie—as he all but leaped over the couch to shake Drew’s hand. “I’m Quinn Bradford. I’m a big Drew Fitzpatrick fan.”
Drew grinned as they shook. “I notice you didn’t say you were a big Smoke and Mirrors fan.”
“Yeah, well, you’re the best part of that band. And, to be honest, country isn’t really my thing.”
“A lot of people feel that way,” Drew said with a shrug. “Guess it’s a good thing I don’t feel the same way about rock, huh?”
“Let me get this straight?” Ryder said, climbing off the arm of the couch to stand with the rest of them. “You want Drew Fitzpatrick to play with us tonight?” He looked at Drew. “Don’t you already have a band?”
Drew grimaced. “Yeah, well, let’s just say Quinn isn’t the only person in the room who’s not a Smoke and Mirrors fan at the moment.”
There was a story there, Wyatt thought, even as he tried to wrap his head around the fact that Poppy had just brought Shaken Dirty one of the best bassists in the business. How had she landed him? How the hell did a social media director have the connections to get a star like Drew Fitzpatrick to a club in Austin for a public audition? Just the idea of it was crazy.
Sure, the guy wasn’t a rock star—he played country/rock light, but his fingerings were fucking legendary. Then again, so was his temper.
As the other guys introduced themselves to Drew and got his story, Wyatt wrapped an arm around Poppy’s waist and pulled her to him. She looked up at him with a grin, cheeks flushed and eyes shining, which made him relax even though he still wasn’t sure if what was happening here was a good thing or a bad one.
“You brought us Drew Fitzpatrick.”
“I did,” she said with a smile. “I mean, he’s no box of rare, first edition vinyl, but I’m hoping he’ll do.”
He grinned and shook his head. “You liked the records?”
“I told you last night, I loved the records.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “But thank you again. So much.”
“Hey, lover boy.” Ryder elbowed him in the ribs. “Wanna join the conversation at the grown-ups table?”