“Absolutely. Any idea where I can find it?”
It was Ryder’s turn to flip him off, and Jared just rolled his eyes, but Quinn and Drew laughed. He shot a look at the bass player, who seemed pretty relaxed considering he was about to go on stage and play in a music genre he had no professional experience with. Wyatt didn’t know if that made him ballsy or suicidal, but he felt a reluctant respect for the guy, whichever it was.
“Seriously, though,” Quinn said when everyone was paying attention again. “How many of our songs do you know?”
“I know the last album really well—I practiced it most of the way here. I’m pretty sure I can keep up with any of those songs. I can probably fake my way through the first half of the second album, but the only song I feel comfortable playing off the first one is ‘Closer.’”
“‘Closer’ it is, then,” Ryder told him before listing off a bunch of songs from their most recent album. “Sound good?”
“Sounds great,” Drew answered. “When are we on?”
“Ten minutes ago.” Jared clapped him on the back before heading for the door. “Come on. Let’s go fuck this place up.”
“Not my favorite thing to fuck,” Drew said as he followed him through the door. “But it’s a close second.”
Quinn was cackling by the time he hit the hallway, and Wyatt was left staring at Poppy, his brow quirked meaningfully.
She shrugged, shooting him a grin that made his dick stand up and the blood rush from his brain even as he tried to get his head in the right space to go out on stage.
“Think of it this way,” she whispered against his lips as she pulled him down for a kiss. “How badly could it go?”
“You didn’t just say that.” He shot her the darkest look he could muster, considering all he really wanted to do was drop down on his knees in front of her and make her come. “Now it’s guaranteed to be completely fucked.”
She reached for his hand, held it tight as she brought it to her lips and kissed his palm. “It won’t. I promise.”
“It really will. Don’t you know anything about backstage superstitions at all?”
“I don’t, no.”
“Well, take it from one who does. Once you tempt fate like that, it’s guaranteed to be an absolute, unmitigated disaster.”
She shook her head with a laugh. “It really won’t.”
“It really will. Mark my words.”
He bent to kiss her but before he could do much more than brush his lips against hers, Jared was sticking his head back through the door. “Pretty fucking hard to be a rock band without a drummer, man.”
“That’s what I keep telling him.” Poppy kissed him, hard, then shoved him toward the stage.
…
It wasn’t a disaster. Wasn’t even close to being a disaster.
Poppy couldn’t wait to tease Wyatt, considering all his doom and gloom prophecies and superstitions.
For now she settled for lifting her glass of club soda to her lips and taking a long sip as Shaken Dirty, along with special guest Drew Fitzpatrick, brought down the fucking roof. They were brilliant, absolutely brilliant—every single one of them completely on their game. And Drew…Drew fit in like he’d been playing with the band for years. Decades.
With him on bass, the songs sounded better than they ever had with Micah.
Not that Micah wasn’t good, because he was. One of the best. But he was smooth as silk and his sound blended seamlessly into the band, so much a part of the music that you didn’t even notice it.
A lot of people would say that was the mark of a good bass player—and it was. But now, after hearing Drew play the same songs, she realized it also wasn’t enough. Drew’s style was much more jagged, much more raw. He tangled his notes up with Jared’s, let them duke it out a little bit for supremacy, and the results were incredibly powerful, roughed up versions of Shaken Dirty’s most celebrated songs.
It was magic, pure magic, and she was standing right in the epicenter of it all, completely spellbound. Just like the rest of the audience, who were so caught up in what was happening on stage that they almost forgot to cheer at the end of a few songs. Almost.
Ryder—in full lead singer mode—was eating up the attention. He was hamming it up with Jared, with the crowd, even with Drew. Laughing, joking, snarling, singing—she could tell he was having the time of his life.
Jared was a little more subdued, but not by much. He was playing off every member of the band, engaging Drew, Quinn, and Wyatt in playing duels that had everyone in the audience—including her—in awe of what they could do.
Quinn was grinning from ear to ear, delivering zingers every once in a while at Ryder and Jared that had the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand.