Perfect Regret ( BOOK 2) Read online

  Well maybe only a small amount of bitterness.

  Who the hell was I kidding? I was totally freaking bitter.

  “I hear you’re playing tonight. Should be a riot,” I commented, making Jordan chuckle.

  “We’ll convert you yet, Riley. Just wait and see. One day soon, you’ll be our biggest fan,” Jordan said, throwing his dishrag in my face. I rolled my eyes and gave an inelegant snort.

  I had gone with Mays a few times to see Jordan and his band play over the summer. We had spent a weekend in Atlantic City when the guys had performed at Croctail’s Tavern. It wasn’t much of a secret that I kind of hated their music. Generation Rejects were the hard rock, scream so you can’t understand the lyrics stuff. I’m much more of an Indigo Girls, Tegan and Sarah chick. And while I wasn’t going to rush out and tattoo their band logo on my butt cheek, I could still appreciate their talent.

  Because individually the guys were good. Cole, the lead singer, when you could actually understand him, had a great set of pipes. Mitch, the bassist, was pretty killer. And Garrett, when he could stand upright and wasn’t stumbling around on stage like a fool, could play a mean guitar.

  And Jordan, well there was no denying he was damn good on the drums. The band had built a decent following. Maysie had started a fan website and was building their social media presence. She had become their defacto public relations guru. She loved helping out, even if it was starting to eat a lot of her time.

  “Yeah, that’ll be about the time you start doing Sarah McLachlan covers, right?” I joked, tossing the towel back at him. He caught it easily and threw it into the sink.

  “You guys should totally do Possession! I would pay good money to hear that,” Lyla, the other bartender on shift said, walking behind the bar to grab the liquor inventory.

  Jordan choked. “Uh, yeah, I don’t think so,” he said shaking his head. Lyla and I glanced at each other and started laughing. And it felt good. See, I could laugh and be normal and forget that my heart had been put through a meat grinder.

  “What are you guys laughing about?”

  And just like that, my heart twisted into a bloody pile of pulp all over again.

  I looked over at my shoulder to find douche bag extraordinaire, clipping his employee card onto his belt loop. I hated how cute he was, with his stupid dark hair that was just a tad too long and those annoyingly pretty green eyes behind heavy, black-framed glasses. I hated how smart and together he looked. I hated that he looked fine when I felt like a barely held together wreck. I clenched my hands into fists. I was totally going to punch him.

  Jordan immediately picked up on my mood and intervened. “Nothing at all,” he said coolly and I gave him a small smile, letting him know I appreciated his loyalty. Nice to know Jordan Levitt had my back.

  Damien smiled entirely too casually for someone who had so recently dumped his girlfriend. His eyes flickered to me and then away again as though he couldn’t even look at me. “Hey Riley,” he said, sounding as though he had swallowed a mouthful of thumbtacks. And I really wish he had.

  “Hey,” I said back, proud of how unaffected and downright bored I sounded. No one could pull off emotionless bitch like Riley Fucking Walker!

  “Later, guys!” I called out, waving at Jordan and Lyla who were both watching me closely. It was obvious by the way Lyla was staring at both Damien and me that she knew we had broken up. I’m sure we would be the source of endless gossiping and speculation tonight. Maybe it wasn’t too late to pretend I was still sick.

  “Riley, hang on a sec.” I tensed up instantly. Damien’s hand curled around my wrist and I looked down at the offending appendage in shock.

  Was he for real? How dare he touch me? I almost hissed at him like an alley cat getting ready to claw someone’s eyes out.

  I wrenched my arm away and shot him a look of pure death. I wanted him to get sucked ten feet under by the strength of my anger alone. Too bad he continued to stand there, looking obnoxiously concerned.

  “How are you?” he asked in a tone that was completely patronizing. He was looking at me as though he expected me to fall apart at any second. Though to be fair, I had done just that three days ago when he evilly broke my heart.

  I gave him the fakest, brightest smile I could muster. “Oh, I’m fine. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me.” I patted his back condescendingly, my lip curling in disgust. “It’s amazing what losing a year’s worth of shit can do for your outlook on life,” I said nastily, turning my back on him. I didn’t wait for him to say another word. Instead I walked straight to my section and started my shift checklist.

  That should have felt good. I wish I could tap dance on the eviscerated remains of our relationship but instead I just felt like icky. Because I didn’t enjoy being nasty to Damien. But at this point it felt like an imperative necessity. I just couldn’t let him know how utterly destroyed I have been. That would be like conceding defeat in some way.

  And Riley Walker didn’t do defeat.

  “Hey Riley,” a perky voice piped up behind me. I felt my shoulders tense and my teeth clench. I continued to wipe down my tables, even though they were so clean you could lick your food off them.

  “Hey,” I responded less than enthusiastically. Jaz Digby was not my favorite person on the planet. She was entirely too enthusiastic about the monotonous routine that defined our roles as wait staff at Barton’s Bar and Grill. I don’t think the girl ever got pissed off and people like that bothered me on a molecular level. There was something wrong about someone that continued to smile while being chewed out by a disgruntled customer. People like that weren’t to be trusted.

  The only reason I tolerated her on any level was that Maysie liked her, in that sweet, deluded way of hers.

  Jaz sat down at the table I was meticulously scrubbing. She started to rearrange the salt and pepper shakers and given my current state of mind, she might as well be clubbing baby seals. It pissed me off that much. I reached over and quickly put them back the way I had them originally.

  Jaz pursed her lips but wisely didn’t say anything. She leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees and cupped her chin. “So I hear you and Damien are kaput,” she said, dropping all pretense of friendliness. She sounded entirely too happy about it actually.

  “And that’s your business because?” I asked shortly, turning my back on her and started to sweep up the carpet underneath the tables.

  “Because he asked me out and I wanted to make sure that was cool with you,” she said, her lips twisted into a fake smile, her eyes sparkling.

  I would have laughed if her words hadn’t just drilled a hole straight into my gut. Was she for real? Or had she burned away the last of her brain cells with her curling iron?

  Though I guess it was nice to know we were past pretending to like each other. Acting like she didn’t drive me nuts was more effort than it was worth most days. Plus, I always knew Jaz was a fake ass harpy. Happy to see that my instincts were spot on.

  I tried to focus on the blinding rage instead of the knot in my gut that made me want to vomit at the news that not only was Damien all ready asking other girls out, but he had in fact, asked out one of our co-workers. And one that I would have traded easily for a shirt I didn’t like.

  Did his asshattery know no bounds?

  I held my feelings mercifully in check. I continued to sweep as though my heart hadn’t been shredded to pieces at my feet. I blanked my face and turned to look at Jaz, who seemed both pleased and genuinely perplexed as to whether she had broken a sacred rule of girldome. Thou shalt not date other girl’s jerkwad of an ex within seventy-two hours of break up.

  Wasn’t that standard knowledge? Did Jaz not read the handbook on how not to get yourself bitch slapped?

  “Do what you want,” I said, trying not to strangle on the words. Jaz raised
her eyebrows.

  “Really? Because I’d be devastated if the guy I had dated for over a year asked another girl out less than a week after he dumped me,” Jaz stood up and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “And if it bothers you, I swear I won’t do it,” she lied through her teeth.

  I squared my shoulders and laughed humorlessly. “It will take more than Damien Green to devastate me,” I leaned in and whispered in Jaz’s ear. “Maybe you’re better equipped than I was to deal with his weird blow up doll fetish and the fact he needs to wear a dress while he has sex.” I shrugged.

  Jaz’s face went a little pale. “That’s not true, is it? I mean, I get that you’re upset that he asked me out but making stuff up is wrong, Riley,” she choked out, looking across the restaurant to where Damien was talking to a few of the other servers.

  “I understand you’d think that, but here, I’ve got pictures…” I stated, pulling out my phone and making a show of scrolling through, looking for the non-existent photographs. Jaz shook her head.

  “No!” she said sharply and I looked up.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want you thinking I’m making stuff up. That I’m just being a bitter ex.” I held my phone up, waving it in front of her.

  “I’ll pass,” Jaz muttered and left my section. I watched as she stormed into the back of the restaurant. I couldn’t help but snicker. Okay, that felt good. I glanced over toward Damien again and relished in the anger and borderline hatred I felt when I looked at him.

  Damien looked up just then, our eyes catching and he lifted his hand in a wave.

  So I waved back…with my middle finger.

  “He didn’t!” Maysie breathed out, taking a long drink of her Long Island Iced Tea while looking completely appalled after I had filled her in on the Damien and Jaz situation. I was perched up on a barstool beside her, waiting for Generation Rejects to begin their set. I had been cut twenty minutes ago and decided to stay and hang out with Maysie.

  My shift had been mostly uneventful. After my confrontation with Jaz, she had wisely kept a healthy distance. Damien wasn’t operating on the same level of mental functioning apparently, as he made a good half a dozen attempts to talk to me throughout the evening. Ignoring someone who was clearly trying to assuage themselves of some hefty feelings of guilt was pretty freaking difficult.

  So by the time Maysie had arrived, I was exhausted and ready to inflict considerable bodily harm on the next person who asked for a drink refill. Patience and I were not BFFs right now.

  “I can’t believe Jaz would be such a butt,” Maysie commented, shooting a murderous look in the direction of our co-worker. I rolled my eyes as I hopped up on the barstool.

  “Really, you can’t? This is the same girl who refuses to wear a bra most days because she likes guys to see her nipples. I don’t think scruples, or something simple like common decency, are in her repertoire,” I remarked, giving Jordan a wane smile as he passed me a soda.

  “I know it’s easy to be pissed at Jaz but don’t forget it’s Damien who’s being the jack ass in this equation,” Jordan said reasonably as he wiped down the bar.

  “Are you seriously defending her?” Maysie asked incredulously and with more than a little venom. Uh oh. Jordan had better tread very, very carefully.

  Jordan cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, picking up on his snafu. “Of course not, baby. Just trying to focus your rage where it really belongs is all,” he said and started backing away. “This is me leaving the conversation. I’d like to keep my appendages.” I couldn’t help but snicker at his hasty retreat.

  Maysie patted my back. “You focus your rage wherever you want. Don’t listen to Jordan. He’s entirely too diplomatic. It’s obnoxious,” she said, though her words weren’t said hatefully. And the severity of her criticism was negated by the warm and gooey look she threw her boyfriend’s way. If I was up to full snark levels, I would cut through that warm fuzzy with a very sharp knife. But as it were, I didn’t have it in me.

  Paging Riley Walker’s sarcasm…you are needed stat!

  I was distracted by a loud commotion toward the front of the restaurant. Looking over my shoulder, I saw a rag tag group of disheveled guys lumbering into the bar. Each one looked as though he had just rolled out of bed, and given who was gracing Barton’s with their illustrious presence, I’m sure that’s exactly what they had done.

  The noise level dramatically increased from bearable to pierce my eardrums with an icepick.

  Because it seemed wherever Generation Rejects went, rowdiness and an inability to talk at reasonable volumes followed.

  Groaning, I pulled a small bottle of ibuprophen out of my apron and shook three capsules into my palm. I swallowed them down without water, grimacing as they stuck in my throat. Maysie cocked her eyebrow at me, her lips twitching in an amused smile. My dislike for Jordan’s music wasn’t a secret, though I tried to curb my vocalizations.

  Jordan was very protective of his band and I learned early on that it was one of the few things he would cut you off at the knees for. That and hurting Maysie in any way.

  So if you wanted to be friends with Jordan Levitt, be nice to Maysie and don’t diss Generation Rejects.

  “Piper! My man, three pints of your finest ale,” Cole, the lead singer shouted, affecting one of the worst British accents I had ever heard. His use of the misogynistic nickname for Maysie’s boyfriend set my teeth on edge. Being called the Pied Piper of Pussy was not a compliment in my book. It was just sad.

  Jordan immediately uncapped three beers and placed them on the bar.

  “Guess I should go clock out,” I said hurriedly, trying to make an escape before the horde descended. It’s not that I disliked the guys from Generation Rejects. Well, not completely. I know I probably sound totally stuck up, but the truth was they annoyed the hell out of me.

  And it wasn’t just them, or their screamy music; it was the atmosphere that surrounded them. It so wasn’t my scene. Yeah, yeah, I know, I should just take the stick out of my butt, right?

  Well let’s just say that my history with Generation Rejects shows or parties involved being vomited on, catching an elbow to the nose in a mosh pit, having my hair lit on fire by a crazy jealous ex of one of the band members because she knew I was “flirting with her man” (Uh, yeah, I wasn’t). And who could forget about the time some scary dude that looked as though he’d wandered off the mountaintop followed me around a party because I “looked purty.”

  So pardon me if I tended to get full on hives when I knew my evening would involve Cole, Mitch or Garrett in any way.

  “Rushing off?” a slow drawl asked just as I was about to make my escape. I glanced over my shoulder to see a decent looking guy with chin length blond hair and heavy lidded blue eyes gazing at me blankly. Meet Garrett Bellows, lead guitarist and total pothead. I can’t remember a time I had seen him that he wasn’t half lit and barely standing. The guy liked to party and sorry to say, had “loser” written all over him.

  Yes, I was making a judgment. Perhaps an unfair one, but I had never shared more than a half a dozen words with this guy that wasn’t tinged with deteriorating sobriety. He seemed like a happy guy. He was always in a good mood, except when he spoke to me.

  I wasn’t sure when we had become contentious adversaries. Maybe it was the night I had accompanied Maysie to one of the Reject’s infamous after parties and accidentally sent the keg rolling down the hill into the creek behind Garrett’s house.

  I know, party foul, but I wasn’t the asshole that had propped the stupid thing up on cinderblocks at the top of a steep incline. And it was totally Maysie’s fault for making me wear those stupid heels that should carry warnings about broken necks and public mortification caused from falling on your ass.

  So Garrett had been pissed and maybe I had called him an “unwashed waste of space.” Sue
me; I don’t like being yelled at.

  Then there was the time I had gotten drunk at one of their shows and I walked into the girls’ bathroom, only to find Garrett screwing some girl in a stall, with the door open. I mean, who does that? It’s completely gross!

  Drunken Riley has zero filter (well less than zero because sober Riley’s filter was deficient enough) and I had kind of made a nasty comment about herpes. Well, I alluded to Garrett having herpes and maybe the girl should think before letting him stick his diseased penis in any of her orifices.

  I don’t know why I had said that. I was ignorant of any venereal diseases where Garrett was concerned and that was a really shitty thing to say about someone I didn’t even know. All I can say in my defense is I was rendered blind by the sight and spewed out the first thing that came to mind to make it stop.

  Come on! They were having sex. On top of a toilet. That is beyond nasty.

  So you can see why I was not Garrett Bellows’ favorite person. And my thoughts about him were anything but pleasant. I don’t think I was unjustified in my feelings of overall disgust.

  Looking at him standing in front of me, I couldn’t see past the blood shot eyes, messy shirt, and torn jeans. And I didn’t want to either. Garrett was who he was and I knew without a doubt that we were never destined to mix. Not that he would give a crap what I thought about him anyway.

  So I cocked my head to the side and regarded him coldly before replying.

  “Not fast enough, apparently,” I quipped, turning my back on him as I headed back to my section to clock myself out.

  “You really should give the poor guy a break. I think he’ll need stitches from your particular brand of razor sharp bitchiness,” Maysie said. She had followed me to my section and was now lounging with her feet propped up on one of the chairs.