Maysie, clearly bent on an intervention, came over and sat down on the bed. She put her arm around my shoulders and I tried to shrink away from her.
I hated the touchy feely stuff and she knew it. I wasn’t the kind of girl who squealed and hugged her friends. Sheesh, I wasn’t five. I had successfully avoided the stereotypical trappings of my gender and was proud of it. I wasn’t some crazy fem Nazi. But I sure as hell didn’t spend hours doing my hair and make up. And I most definitely didn’t moan about why a guy didn’t call me. I hated each and every show on E! and I refused to upgrade our cable package just because the Style network was now available.
So why, do you ask, was I subjecting my eardrums and sanity to an over-indulgence in feel sorry for myselfitis, which was a clear sign of estrogen gone wild?
Damien Green happened, that’s why.
Stupid, too-cute-for-his-own-good and recent Riley dumper Damien Green.
“You’re supposed to be at Barton’s in thirty minutes. Maybe you should get up and get dressed. Do that whole shower and grooming thing that most people do,” Maysie remarked, squeezing me tightly, with a grin. I glowered at her with every ounce of baleful irritation I could summon.
Maysie tossed her annoyingly shiny hair over her shoulder and winked. Looking at my best friend, I couldn’t help but wonder for the millionth time what sort of crack fate had been smoking when it threw the two of us together, thus creating the most unlikely friendship in the history of unlikely friendships.
Maysie Ardin was my polar opposite in every way. She was girlie and gorgeous and way too into shopping and color coordination. Whereas my wardrobe was monochromatic in color and style. I didn’t do skirts, I sure as hell kept all flesh from the ankle upwards perfectly covered.
Not that I was a prude. Screw that. I just hated dressing like I was headed for a nightclub at ten in the morning.
But Maysie, she treated fashion like a religion. If you need more convincing that our friendship was a result of something far more whacked than coincidence, take this on for size. She had rushed a sorority! The unholy pinnacle of the stereotypical bullshit college experience.
Though, to be fair, she had woken up and smelled the fake about the illustrious Greek system after the majority of her so called sisters had single handedly trashed her reputation last school year.
The girl had been put through the ringer. But I thought she had come out on the other side for the better. And seeing the concern and understanding on her face, I knew why we were friends and always would be. Because my girl was loyal to a fault.
“Yeah, yeah. Personal hygiene is overrated,” I muttered, getting to my feet and going over to my dresser to pull together my outfit for work. Thank goodness it only consisted of a polo shirt and black pants. Given the level ten crappiness of my mood, I didn’t think I’d be able to put together anything more complicated.
“Is he working tonight?” Maysie asked and I tried not to flinch. Christ, this was almost comical if it wasn’t so damn depressing.
Damien was just a guy. Sure he was the guy I had dated for over an entire year. The guy who I had talked about marriage and a future with. A guy who I had been able to see in my life for the long haul. And now he was just a guy who had put me out like yesterday’s trash for no real reason other than, “he needed something more.”
“Yeah, I think so,” I answered her, feeling the heavy dread of my evening crash down on top of me like a three ton weight. Yep, a three ton weight of nasty, funky dread. Sounds like the makings of perfect night to me.
“Just try to ignore him, Riley. Jordan will be there. I know Jaz is working too. Try not to breathe the same gnarly air. He’s not worth it,” Maysie fumed and I appreciated her mama bear protectiveness.