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.
I glanced over to the bar to where Garrett was now schmoozing it up with a couple of girls I recognized from their honorary barfly status at Barton’s. “I think he’s over it,” I smirked, nodding his direction.
As if he could feel the weight of my stare, Garrett’s eyes met mine over the shoulder of the girl straddling his lap. I should have looked away. The whole thing was horribly embarrassing. But I voyeuristically watched as Garrett gripped her hips and ground the girl onto his groin.
My cheeks felt hot and I forced myself to look away. I swallowed thickly and turned back to Maysie who was watching me with a puzzled look on her face. I smiled thinly and wiped down the last table.
“I think you should come with me to the after party. It would do you good,” Maysie commented. I fell down into a chair beside my roommate. A refusal was on the tip of my tongue. I had a million and one instant excuses ready. I’m tired. I’ve got a killer headache. I have an early shift tomorrow.
But then I noticed Jaz and Damien talking in a corner. I knew body language and there was an uncomfortable amount of sexual awareness between the two. My heart hurt in my chest and I felt dangerously close to crying again.
Then I looked back at the bar and was startled to find Garrett still watching me. The girl who had been dry humping his crotch was gone and he was slowly nursing a beer. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a drink, his eyebrow cocking as he looked at me. He lowered the drink and an annoying smirk lifted his mouth.
Damn, I wanted to punch that smirk off his obnoxious mouth.
I straightened my back and got to my feet, picking up the rag from the table and bunching it in my clenched hand. “You know what, I think I will come,” I said firmly. Maysie blinked a few times in surprise.
“Wow, I was expecting to have to argue with you a bit more than that. What’s gotten into you?” she teased. I noticed Garrett, Jordan, and the other guys were starting to get ready for their set. This would have normally been my cue to run for the hills.
But not tonight.
Tonight I felt like being unpredictable.
I turned and grinned at Maysie. “I feel like being a bit of a bad girl,” I said and Maysie laughed.
“Riley Walker a bad girl? Now that I got to see.”
Well, just maybe she would.
An hour later I had changed into my favorite jeans and shirt that I had hand stitched myself. Yes, I, on occasion, liked to make my own clothes. And I didn’t care what anyone thought about it. I was proud of my pretty, patchwork shirt, and it made me feel good to wear it. It really was all about the small stuff at this point.
So here I was once again sat beside Maysie at the bar, trying not to stare at Damien and Jaz as they laughed in a booth five feet away. Generation Rejects were three songs in and the place was packed.