Fade Into You (Shaken Dirty #3)(85)

For what had to be the hundredth time since she left, he pulled out his phone. Thought about texting her another apology. About begging her to come back to him. But he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to handle the rejection she was sure to send his way. Wasn’t sure he’d be able to stay sober if she told him to get lost.

And he wanted—needed to stay sober. To prove to her, and himself, that he was a better man than he’d ever thought he was.

Which meant no text. Not today. Not until he was sure he could handle the pain it would cause.

Once they made it into the bar—which was about half full—they snagged a table in the darkest corner. It was just one of the tricks they’d learned through the years, on how to be as unobtrusive as possible.

“First round’s on me,” Ryder said, heading to the bar. He didn’t ask what anyone wanted, but then again, after all these years, they all knew one another’s preferences.

Wyatt settled into a chair and turned his attention to the small stage at the front of the club. Big Bad Wolf was right in the center of it, playing a pretty decent song. He figured he’d go up when the set was done, say hello. Make sure they knew he’d come. But as the song came to an end, Jace’s eyes met his. The kid’s face went slack with shock and then he was surreptitiously pointing him out to his two bandmates.

The others turned to stare at him, too, huge grins on their faces. And then with what could only be described as a cackle of glee, they were launching into a pretty decent cover of Shaken Dirty’s “Closer.” All in all, he decided, it wasn’t a bad way to spend a Friday night.

Ryder came back from the bar with five bottles of Dr Pepper. Wyatt thought about making a comment, but then decided, f*ck it. If his friends wanted to look out for him this way, then who was he to say any differently.

The band finished “Closer” with a drum riff that was pretty damn impressive, then launched into an earlier Shaken Dirty song that had all of the guys grinning and reminiscing as they filled Drew in on ancient history.

At least until Poppy walked up to the table and stopped right in front of Wyatt.

Then the whole group of them went wide-eyed and silent in a hurry. Including Wyatt himself.

His brain was screaming at him to say something to her, but it couldn’t figure out what words he was supposed to say. How could it when all he could think was beautiful and sexy and mine. That’s what really kept his mouth shut—the fear that when he opened it again the only word that would come out was mine.

And she wasn’t his, not anymore. Not ever, really, considering they were over before they’d actually had a chance to begin.

But she was here now, bouncing from one foot to another and looking at him with those big brown eyes of hers. That had to count for something, right? He hated the hope he felt, the way his heart skipped a beat at just the thought of talking to her again. Of kissing her, touching her, making love to her.

“Can I talk to you?” she said, shouting a little to be heard over the music.

For a second, just a second, he thought about turning her away. About telling her he wasn’t interested anymore. It had nearly killed him when she’d walked away from him at Antone’s, had taken every ounce of willpower he had not to drown himself in the bottom of a bottle of tequila.

But refusing to talk to her would be a lot like cutting off his nose to spite his face, so he nodded and said, “Yeah, of course.”

He was aware of the others shifting restlessly beside him—they’d been none too happy when Poppy had run back to New York and taken his heart with her—no matter how many times he’d assured them that it was as much his fault as hers. In fact, Jared looked like he was going to say something, but a quick look from Wyatt shut him up.

He followed her to the door, making sure to catch the attention of the band’s lead singer, to let him know he’d be back. The kid smiled a mile wide and sent him a huge thumbs up that he really hoped didn’t end up blowing his anonymity all to hell as half the bar turned to look at him.

Then again, he had better things to worry about than whether or not he was going to get swamped by fans. Things like what Poppy was doing in Austin and why she wanted to talk to him and—

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out the second they got outside, the words tumbling over each other in her haste to get them out. “I should have told you. It was wrong of me to lie to you and wrong of me to push you to talk to me when I wasn’t being truthful with you. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

That wasn’t what he’d been expecting to hear, and for long seconds he couldn’t answer, not even to accept her apology. But then his brain finally kicked in and he said, “No. I get why you didn’t tell me. It took me a few days to calm down but…I can see why you thought it would only put more pressure on me. I shouldn’t have yelled at you the way I did. Shouldn’t have said those things to you. There’s no excuse for that.” He could still see her face when she asked if he was calling her a whore, and it killed him.

“Yeah, but still. I was wrong not to give you the benefit of the doubt. I should have tried to talk to you after I got to know you.”

“Okay. Sure. Thanks.” He didn’t know what else to say. He knew what he wanted to do—he wanted to drop to his knees in front of her and make her come three or a half dozen times right here in the middle of the Spotlight parking lot. He just wasn’t sure she’d be amenable to that. After all, it was a long way from apologizing to letting a guy go down on you.