Fade Into You (Shaken Dirty #3)(57)

There were a few people in the lobby—getting mail, talking to the doorman, waiting for the elevator—so he shoved his hands in his pockets and kept his head bowed as he made his way to the door. The last thing he needed right now was to be recognized. He loved Shaken Dirty’s fans, loved that people listened to their music, but after what Poppy had pulled out of him upstairs, he felt like if he had to stop for pictures and autographs he would probably lose his shit right there. Add in the fact that he was still packing a semi, and being recognized just wasn’t an option.

He slunk toward the main doors of the apartment building, his keys already in his hands. This was downtown Austin—a notorious music city, and Shaken Dirty’s home town. It was still early and people were walking to work, which meant traversing the block and a half to where he’d parked his car was going to be more complicated than he anticipated.

Still, he was determined, so he kept his head down and his shoulders hunched. He wanted a cigarette, desperately, but when he reached into his pocket all he found were more of Poppy’s damn lollipops. She must have put them in there when he was still asleep.

Despite the turmoil churning up his insides, he couldn’t help smiling a little at her persistence. At her utter determination to save him—even from himself. It felt strange to have someone who cared so much, someone who wanted what was best for him just because he mattered. It made his skin itch a little, but it also felt…good. Damn good. Too bad she was only assigned to the band for a little while.

Then again, that was probably for the best. She could see the good in him now because she didn’t know him well. The longer she stuck around, the more likely it was that he’d disappoint her. That she’d end up seeing him how he really was instead of how she wanted to see him.

Though he wanted a cigarette—or at least something to do with his hands—he figured walking down the crowded street with a lollipop in his mouth would only draw more attention to himself. So he forced himself to wait. Just like he forced himself to wait before he started thinking about what she’d said to him. About it not being his fault. About him being a better man than he thought he was. About—

He cut the thoughts off even as he sped up, determined to make it to his car before he freaked out completely. He’d almost made it, too, the entrance to the parking garage in sight when he noticed three guys who looked like they were still in high school elbowing one another and nodding in his direction.

Fuck. That’s what he got for walking around downtown Austin with his very recognizable tats on full display.

He started to speed up, but it was too late and he knew it. There was no way he was going to make it to his car before they got to him, so f*ck it. Just f*ck it.

He ducked inside the entrance to the parking garage so at least they wouldn’t be on the street, drawing more attention, and then waited the thirty seconds he figured it would take the kids to catch up. Turned out they must have been all but running, because they got there in fifteen.

The first one spotted him and stopped in his tracks, and Wyatt watched—amused despite himself—as first one, then the other, of his friends careened straight into his back.

He waited for them to say something, but they didn’t. Instead, they just stood there, eyes wide and mouths open, and stared at him. And stared at him. And stared at him.

Because it was getting awkward—and because he didn’t know how long it would be before someone else came along—he stepped forward. “Hey, how are you? I’m Wyatt Jennings.”

“I know. I mean, I recognize you. I mean, I know. You’re Wyatt Jennings.”

He laughed and held out a hand. “Pretty much what I just said, kid.”

“Right, of course. Sorry.” He blushed wildly, but still made no move to shake his hand. Wyatt was starting to think he was going to be left hanging when one of the guy’s friends nudged him hard.

“Oh, um, I’m Dylan. Dylan Waters,” he said as he finally grabbed on to Wyatt’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “And these are my friends and bandmates, Billy Freeman and Jace Brooks.”

“Nice to meet you guys,” Wyatt said as he wrestled his hand away from Dylan’s very enthusiastic grip and extended it to first Billy and then Jace. “So you guys have a band?”

“Yeah,” Billy said. “Big Bad Wolf. We’re just starting out, but yeah. We’re trying to put a show together, get some gigs.”

“That’s awesome. What kind of music do you play?” Judging from their appearances, he was going with punk.

“Rock,” Dylan said. “Like you. We even cover a couple of your songs.”

“Oh, yeah? Which ones?”

“‘Entice’ and ‘Drowning.’”

“Really?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise, since both were solid songs that had performed well, but they were definitely not Shaken Dirty’s biggest hits. “I wrote both of those.”

“Believe me,” Billy told him, “we know. Jace reminds us of that fact pretty much twenty times a day. He’s like, seriously, your biggest fan. He worships you and bores us daily with endless facts.”

“I mean, we’re all huge fans,” Dylan said, glaring at Billy. “It’s not like he actually bores us, ‘cuz we could pretty much talk about Shaken Dirty all day, but—”

Wyatt laughed. “It’s okay. I promise, I didn’t take offense. I’d get bored, too, if I had to hear about myself all day. So much better to just play music, huh?”