Perfect Regret ( BOOK 2) (4 page)

D
ear 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 fuck 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.

Though the alcohol did nothing to minimize my feelings of total and complete social awkwardness. When I say that the Generation Rejects after parties weren’t my scene, I wasn’t being hateful. Or just making excuses because I thought I was too good to hang out.

I sat on the couch in the worn and shabby living room, watching as people I either didn’t know, or only recognized in passing, engage in a variety of drunken shenanigans. These were people who lived to party. Who lived and breathed for this sort of debauched free for all.

Yeah, ladies and gents, that just ain’t me. And I knew I stuck out like a sore thumb. A great big, stick-in-the-mud thumb.

I could see Vivian sitting on the pool table with Cole stood between her legs. She made a show of pretending not to notice the way he continued to check out every other girl in the room while simultaneously stroking her leg. But even from my vantage point, I could see the tightening around her mouth and the cold steel in her eyes. This had the makings of an explosion of epic proportions. And while I felt bad for Vivian, my sympathy only extended so far. After all, she was the one her put herself in the same crappy situation over and over again with a guy who never intended to change his man whore ways.

Gracie was dancing in a circle across the room. I had spent all of ten minutes hanging out with her earlier before she ditched me for a guy with a buzzed head and gauges in his ears. I never took Gracie to dig the skinhead type but seeing the way she had been pawing the dude all evening, I deduced her tastes were varied in the penis department.

I downed the rest of my beer and prayed it would be enough to enjoy myself. Maysie plopped down beside me, and nudged me with her shoulder. “Your face is gonna freeze like that, just sayin’,” she warned, taking the empty bottle out of my hand and putting it on the coffee table. I plastered a smile on my face and widened my eyes dramatically.

“Better?” I asked through gritted teeth. Maysie grimaced.

“You look like an ax murderer, stop it!” My mouth relaxed and I sighed.

“Do you mind if I head out soon? I’m just not feeling this tonight,” I asked as a girl with too much makeup and had somehow lost half of her clothing, stepped on my foot as she walked by.

“Oh sorry,” she slurred, leaning down precariously to pat the top of my foot. I snatched it back and held up my hand.

“No big. It’s fine,” I said, not really meaning it. That had really hurt! The girl squinted at me as she swayed on her feet.

“Is your name Leah?” she asked suddenly. I glanced at Maysie who was looking amused.

“Can’t say it is,” I replied. The girl grinned and sat down beside me, leaning into my face.

“Good because if you were I’d have to kick your ass. That bitch slept with my boyfriend,” she said unevenly. She stuck her face within an inch of mine forcing me to lean back.

“Have you seen her? Cause I’ma gonna kicksh her ash,” the girl slurred. Jeesh, understanding her almost necessitated a translator.

I pointed over the girl’s shoulder. “I saw her go in there,” I said. Drunk girl fell forward, wrapping her arms around me in what I supposed was meant to be a hug.

“Thanksh so mush. I’ma gonna kicksh her ash,” she mumbled, getting unsteadily to her feet and hobbling in the direction I had sent her.

“Did you know who she was talking about?” Maysie asked after the girl had left.

I shook me head. “Hell no. I just needed my personal space back,” I retorted, digging my cell phone out of my pocket. “Mays, it’s already one in the morning, I really think I’m gonna head out,” I pleaded. Maysie patted my back.

“Okay, okay. I know when you’ve had your fill. Let me go find Jordan and he can give you a lift, you’ve had way too much to drink. He’ll be ready to get out of here anyway.” Maysie smiled at me and held up a finger. “Just give me one minute,” she promised.

“What about my car?” I asked in a panic, not wanting to leave my baby here. Who knows what these people would do to her? Okay, I talked about my car like it was an actual person. What can I say, I was attached to it.

Maysie rolled her eyes. “It’ll be fine. I’ll bring you back in the morning to get it,” she promised. “Now just hang tight, I’ll be right back.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Just make sure that one minute doesn’t turn into twenty. Or I’m hunting you down,” I warned. Maysie grinned and left me alone.

Well not for long.

“This seat taken?”

The cushion sagged under the weight of my new couch buddy. I looked over and had to suppress a groan. Garrett Bellows popped the top off a beer and handed it to me. Hadn’t we already said enough to each other earlier this evening? What could top being labeled a pretentious stuck up? Not much I’m sure.

“You’re lookin’ a little thirsty, sweetheart,” he said before opening his own drink and taking a swig. I held the frosty bottle in my hand, wondering what sort of horrible thing I had done in a past life to warrant these repeated forms of torture.

I wobbled a bit; feeling the full weight of alcohol hit my system. My tongue felt heavy and my lips sort of numb. I thought about saying something nasty right out of the gate, just to get the upper hand. But his following words caught my drunk girl brain off guard.

“It’s all sort of ridiculous, right?” he asked, his voice soft and barely audible over the noise. I squinted at him, feeling my beer goggles slip firmly in place. Because right now, Garrett Bellows was perhaps the best looking guy I had ever seen. Even when I was a hundred percent sober, I could sort of appreciate his looks. There was nothing conventional about the guy who sat beside me.