“Okay, enough with the sob fest. I’ve got to get to work,” I opened the car door and threw Maysie her school bag that she had left on the passenger seat.
“I’ll be in later. Generation Rejects are playing tonight at nine. So at least you’ll make good tips. And seriously, don’t even talk to the douche. Jordan’ll look out for you.” Maysie kissed my cheek before I could stop her and hurried back into our apartment.
I got in my car and headed to work, not looking forward to my evening.
Mega tips or not.
Once I arrived at Barton’s I was happy to see that I had gotten there before Damien so I was able to clock in, deliver my mandatory hello to Moore, give my customary middle finger greeting to the smarmy dishwashers Paco and Fed before heading into the dining room. It was dead, which wasn’t surprising. It was only three-thirty on a Saturday. Most of the people who would frequent Barton’s were most likely still hung over from the night before. The place wasn’t what you would call a “family joint.”
“Hey, Jordan,” I called out as I grabbed a mint from the bowl at the end of the bar and popped it in my mouth.
Jordan looked up and gave me a toothy smile. Damn, the guy really did have a nice face. “Afternoon, Riley. How’s it going?” he asked as he hefted a rack of glasses up onto the counter. It really should be illegal to have muscles like that. Yes, I was ogling my best friend’s man. Come on, his arms were incredible! Even I wasn’t immune to the charms of Jordan Levitt.
Jordan and the rest of his band had only just gotten back from eight weeks on the road. Generation Rejects had played up and down the east coast for most of the summer. They had slowly built a solid fan base and some great contacts in the industry. Once back in Virginia, they had booked time in a local studio to record their demo. Maysie had said they hoped to get it out to more promoters in the hopes of getting back out on tour. But until then, Jordan had decided to come back and work at Barton’s. And I know that decision had everything to do with the girlfriend he could never leave behind.
Despite my staunch belief in the fact that love blows, I knew that what Jordan had with Maysie was the real deal. So even if I grew old, adopt fifty cats and became the woman with blue hair that scares kids off her porch, at least my best friend had found something worth holding onto. And I could say that without an ounce of bitterness.
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.