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.