“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