Perfect Regret
Page 4

“Can I get another soda, Lyla?” I called out to the bartender over the deafening roar of Generation Rejects’ music. I sat through the remainder of the set and even made myself engage in some seat dancing. Woohoo! Riley Walker was cutting loose! Look out world!
I waited with Maysie while the guys broke down their equipment and basked in the fawning adulation of their fans. “I need to send Vivian and Gracie a text letting them know we’re heading over to the party,” Maysie said pulling out her phone.
“I thought Cole and Vivian broke up,” I commented, nodding my head in the lead singer’s direction as he squeezed a random girl’s ass. Vivian Bailey was Maysie’s former sorority sister. She had graduated in May and was taking a year off to “find herself,” whatever the hell that meant. In my opinion if you need to look, then perhaps you shouldn’t be found.
Vivian and Cole had some sort of friends with benefits situation. Except they weren’t ever friends and I was pretty sure Cole shared those “benefits” with most of the girls who came out to see their shows.
Whatever they had ended a couple of weeks ago in pure Vivian Bailey fashion. Meaning there was lots of screaming. Lots of drama. Lots of piss and vinegar spewed in the most public way possible. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how much of a voyeur into people’s lives you are), it happened to be right after the Rejects’ show downtown. Vivian had been drunk and Cole’s attention was a little too focused on a girl who wasn’t Vivien.
Apparently there had been high volume yelling, some glasses were smashed. Vivian pulled out a clump of hair from the poor girl who had the unfortunate luck of catching Cole’s eye that evening. All in all, it had been a melee of epic proportions. And I had missed it. It was the one time I wished I had let Maysie talk me into joining her. Because watching Vivian lose her shit was better than any reality television show.
Maysie shook her head as she wound up a guitar cable and handed it to Mitch. “Yeah, well Gracie said Cole spent the night last weekend. So who the hell knows….ahh!” Maysie screamed as Jordan grabbed her and bent her low over his arm, kissing her soundly in front of everyone.
His bandmates whistled, Barton’s staff catcalled, and there were a lot of pissed off groupies. I distinctly heard “whore” and “slut” muttered not so quietly. I glared at the group of girls behind me.
“You got a problem?” I asked them pointedly. I eyeballed each of them, giving them the ubiquitous girl once over, taking in their too tight clothes and cheap efforts to look sexy. I curled my lip in disgust and gave them my best sneer.
The girls, three of them, sneered back weakly. “No,” a red head said petulantly, sounding like a child who didn’t get the toy she wanted.
I flicked my fingers in their direction. “Well I think it’s time you leave. Barton’s is closing and this,” I motioned to the group of people who had gathered around the guys as they had their after show beers. “Is a private party.” I leaned in closer. “Meaning you aren’t invited,” I said slowly and purposefully.
The one with the overly styled blonde hair tossed her locks over her shoulder. “Bitch,” she bit out.
I smiled. “You know it,” I said to them as they turned and left.
Maysie had seen the whole exchange and shook her head at me. “Retract the claws she-lion. If I got upset every time one of these girls said something nasty about me, I’d never leave my room. And I’ve been there done that, girlfriend,” she teased.
I shrugged. “What can I say, you bring out my maternal instincts.” Maysie hugged me around the shoulders and I decided to let her. Like I said, she was the touchy-feely kind.
“You ready to head out, baby?” Jordan wrapped his arm around Maysie’s waist and kissed the back of her neck. Her eyes drooped in that way that meant she was melting into a puddle at his feet. I had to look away.
Excessive PDA made me mildly nauseous.
“Maysie says you’re coming this time, Riley. You wanna catch a ride with us?” Jordan asked, tucking his hand into Maysie’s jean pocket, making her giggle.
“I’m cool. I’ll follow you there. You know I like to have my own wheels. Plus, I’ve seen the trailer for the Jordan/Maysie p**n show. I could do without the full feature,” I joked. Jordan laughed and Maysie flushed in embarrassment.
I walked out of the bar, trying not to care that Damien and Jaz were noticeably missing. I hated that it hurt. That I had been brought so low by the one person I had trusted with my heart. Damien Green was a big pile of suck.
“Time to let your hair down, Riley. Fun is definitely on the agenda,” Jordan said as I unlocked my car. I pumped my fist in the air and let out a whoop.
“Hell to the yeah!” I hollered. Jordan didn’t miss the heavily laced sarcasm, thus warranting an affectionate smack on the back of the head for yours truly.
“Do you need me to kick his ass, Ri? I will you know. Just say the word and Damien’s face will get up close and personal with Mr. I-Will-Break-Your-Nose.” Jordan held up his fist and smacked it into his palm in a feigned threatening gesture.
Maysie and I laughed. Jordan was a good guy. And I was lucky to have such great friends willing to commit assault and battery on my behalf. It really did give a girl the case of the tingles.
I held up my own fist and shook it. “I think Miss I-Will-Mess-You-Up has first dibs.” Jordan grinned and bumped my knuckles with his.
“Well if she needs backup, let this guy know,” he told me as he pulled Maysie towards his monstrosity of a truck. Getting into my car and turning on my music, I felt just a tiny bit better.
Dear god on everything that is holy, please don’t let me strangle this guy! I gnashed my teeth together, feeling the overwhelming urge to smack the crap out of Maysie for dragging me to the seventh level of hell with her.
Sure, this may be her thing. She played the part of rock star girlfriend really well. And more power to her. But she had gotten a wild hair up her ass thinking I needed to party, enjoy my youth, blah blah blah. And I had, in a moment of institutional crazies, agreed.
So here I was, surrounding myself with drunken jackasses as they tried to rub against each other (or me if I wasn’t paying attention) in some sort of scary mating ritual. Sorry, I missed that episode of Wild Planet. I know I had intended to let my dormant bad girl out to play but instead this whole scene had her in permanent hiding.
“Don’t you think?”
Huh?
I blinked in exaggerated slowness, making it clear that I hadn’t heard a damn thing he had said. He being none other than Garrett Bellows.
Garrett wasn’t put off by my blatant disinterest. I think the dude could talk to a brick wall. I was just surprised he had chosen to share his sparkling wit with me. Though it could be the fact that I was the one person in the room who couldn’t give a shit about anything he had to say. It was sort of like how cats always gravitated toward the one person who hated them the most. It was some sort of passive aggressive mind fuck. Oh you don’t like me? Well now I’m going to be all up in your face.
And like flies to garbage, Garrett had circled around me all evening until he had finally cornered me. It was as though he had been lying in wait for his chance to bore me to death. We had been engaged in a one-sided conversation for the past fifteen minutes. One-sided meaning that he was talking and I couldn’t care less. I had tuned out around the time he started waxing poetic about surfing at night during some trip to Hawaii last year.
I really hated these pseudo-philosophical types. You know the ones that smoked a bowl or two and suddenly they were Plato reincarnate, talking about the meaning of life and how it had to be a government conspiracy that McDonald’s only rolled out the McRib a few times a year.
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to run that by me again. I was too busy trying to remember why the hell I let Maysie talk me into coming here in the first place,” I said, infusing more than a little bit of jerk into my tone. Okay, so maybe the guy didn’t deserve to have a firsthand encounter with Riley Walker, mega witch, but I was in a bad mood and feeling a little heartbroken; which made me rude and more than a little punchy. Plus, Mr. Lead Guitar Player was the last person I wanted to be sharing air space with.
I fully expected Garrett to call me a bitch and leave me alone to stew in my bitter juices. I was really hoping he would anyway. It would give me an excuse to be justified in my feelings of annoyance and outrage where he was concerned. But the idiot did no such thing.
Instead he laughed. He freaking laughed! Was he missing a few of those brain cells that were required to recognize when someone was being a complete and total f**k face to you? Oh god, maybe he thought my attitude was endearing! Great, I hadn’t thought that maybe he was one of those crazies who got off on bitchy girls.
Retreat Riley! Retreat!
“You have one huge ass chip on your shoulder. Does it work for you?” Garrett asked lazily and my eyes snapped up to his. He spoke in that slow drawl of his that was either meant to be dead sexy or a perfect cure for insomnia.
“Does what work for me?” I asked him warily, not sure where he was going with this. He pushed a hand through his hair and narrowed a pair of thoughtful blue eyes in my direction. I couldn’t really make up my mind if I thought Garrett was good looking or not. His dirty blond hair was on the longish side, hanging down to his shoulders. I wasn’t typically into guys with long hair, but for this dude, it sort of worked it. He wasn’t overly tall, probably coming in around five foot eleven with a wiry frame that he seemed to like to show off by the amount of time he spent without a shirt on. Though if I had abs that defined, I’d probably be topless all the time, tits and all.
His cornflower blue eyes could have been appealing if they weren’t blood shot and glazed over. He exuded that laid back couldn’t give a toss demeanor that only came after inhaling a copious amount of THC into your system. And given the number of chicks who had attempted to get his attention since he had plopped down beside me to begin the most asinine conversation in history; he must have some sort of magnetism. Too bad I was wearing my armor of snark and not remotely susceptible to any of his possible charms.
I could admit that I had already dismissed him as a small-brained stoner who was smoking away the last of his brain cells. We had never carried on a meaningful conversation and I had never expected him to bother having one with me. But then his question and following statement caught me off guard.
Garrett leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He waved a hand in my direction. “This. The whole ‘I’m a bitch so stay away’ act. I get that this probably isn’t your scene. I bet you’d rather be at some eco-warrior recycling meeting or something. You seem like the idealistic save the world type.” I bristled at his annoyingly astute observation.
“Wow, so you picked that all up from the complete lack of conversation we were having? Can I add deluded quasi-psychic to your resume. Right under wannabe rock star?” I said rather nastily, not wanting to give anybody the upper hand. Particularly this grunged out dope head whose eyes seemed to have cleared a bit. And I couldn’t help but notice that yeah, they were pretty appealing.
How obnoxious.
“Well, you’re wearing Reco jeans, which points to the fact that you think you’re environmentally conscious but in reality it smacks of pretention, if you ask me.” I opened my mouth to tell him he could take his bullshit preconceptions and shove them straight where the sun don’t shine. But I didn’t get a chance because he just kept going.
“And then there’s that shirt. I’m sure you spent a long time stitching all those patches together. Does that make you feel better than everyone else? The fact that you sew your own clothes and wear pants made from plant shit? Because I bet you just feel really lonely. And sad. So you throw out this attitude and judgmental BS hoping no one calls you on it. And if they do, that only proves they aren’t worth your notice or your time.” Garrett delivered his stinging critique with an annoyingly blasé smile. Like he was commenting on the damn weather. When in truth, he was flaying me alive. I wanted to punch him in his stupidly attractive face. Because yes damn it, I suddenly realized he was pretty damn cute. And I hated him.
“Whatever,” I hissed getting to my feet. Garrett laughed and I realized I had reacted just as he expected me to. Well, who cares, I didn’t need this crap.
“Have fun dulling your senses and killing your brain cells,” I bit out as he pulled a joint from his pocket and lit up.
He pulled in a lung full of smoke and slowly exhaled. “And you enjoy standing up on your soap box while you dole out your all-important criticisms. I’m sure it’ll make for a fun evening,” he said drolly as he turned to a pretty girl who sat down beside him, taking the seat I had just vacated. She giggled and leaned into him as he slung an arm around her shoulders. He literally turned his back to me as though I had been dismissed.
What a dick!
I stood there fuming. No one out bantered Riley Walker. Especially not a guitar playing, pot smoking, needs a haircut in the worst way, jackass.
So I stormed off. It was only much later that I realized Garrett Bellows had done something more than piss me off and incited my urge to maim and kill. He had made me forget about Damien. And for the first time in a week I hadn’t been depressed and miserable.
Huh. Interesting.
I was on beer number four and I was teetering on the edge of full-blown drunkenness. I will admit to being a lightweight and embrace it, damn it! My liver was still intact and I didn’t binge on the weekends. Drinking wasn’t a recreational hobby that I indulged in often. So when I chose to imbibe, it never took me long to feel like a raging lush.