“Are you sure? I don’t want you thinking I’m making stuff up. That I’m just being a bitter ex.” I held my phone up, waving it in front of her.
“I’ll pass,” Jaz muttered and left my section. I watched as she stormed into the back of the restaurant. I couldn’t help but snicker. Okay, that felt good. I glanced over toward Damien again and relished in the anger and borderline hatred I felt when I looked at him.
Damien looked up just then, our eyes catching and he lifted his hand in a wave.
So I waved back…with my middle finger.
“He didn’t!” Maysie breathed out, taking a long drink of her Long Island Iced Tea while looking completely appalled after I had filled her in on the Damien and Jaz situation. I was perched up on a barstool beside her, waiting for Generation Rejects to begin their set. I had been cut twenty minutes ago and decided to stay and hang out with Maysie.
My shift had been mostly uneventful. After my confrontation with Jaz, she had wisely kept a healthy distance. Damien wasn’t operating on the same level of mental functioning apparently, as he made a good half a dozen attempts to talk to me throughout the evening. Ignoring someone who was clearly trying to assuage themselves of some hefty feelings of guilt was pretty freaking difficult.
So by the time Maysie had arrived, I was exhausted and ready to inflict considerable bodily harm on the next person who asked for a drink refill. Patience and I were not BFFs right now.
“I can’t believe Jaz would be such a butt,” Maysie commented, shooting a murderous look in the direction of our co-worker. I rolled my eyes as I hopped up on the barstool.
“Really, you can’t? This is the same girl who refuses to wear a bra most days because she likes guys to see her nipples. I don’t think scruples, or something simple like common decency, are in her repertoire,” I remarked, giving Jordan a wane smile as he passed me a soda.
“I know it’s easy to be pissed at Jaz but don’t forget it’s Damien who’s being the jack ass in this equation,” Jordan said reasonably as he wiped down the bar.
“Are you seriously defending her?” Maysie asked incredulously and with more than a little venom. Uh oh. Jordan had better tread very, very carefully.
Jordan cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, picking up on his snafu. “Of course not, baby. Just trying to focus your rage where it really belongs is all,” he said and started backing away. “This is me leaving the conversation. I’d like to keep my appendages.” I couldn’t help but snicker at his hasty retreat.
Maysie patted my back. “You focus your rage wherever you want. Don’t listen to Jordan. He’s entirely too diplomatic. It’s obnoxious,” she said, though her words weren’t said hatefully. And the severity of her criticism was negated by the warm and gooey look she threw her boyfriend’s way. If I was up to full snark levels, I would cut through that warm fuzzy with a very sharp knife. But as it were, I didn’t have it in me.
Paging Riley Walker’s sarcasm…you are needed stat!
I was distracted by a loud commotion toward the front of the restaurant. Looking over my shoulder, I saw a rag tag group of disheveled guys lumbering into the bar. Each one looked as though he had just rolled out of bed, and given who was gracing Barton’s with their illustrious presence, I’m sure that’s exactly what they had done.
The noise level dramatically increased from bearable to pierce my eardrums with an icepick.
Because it seemed wherever Generation Rejects went, rowdiness and an inability to talk at reasonable volumes followed.
Groaning, I pulled a small bottle of ibuprophen out of my apron and shook three capsules into my palm. I swallowed them down without water, grimacing as they stuck in my throat. Maysie cocked her eyebrow at me, her lips twitching in an amused smile. My dislike for Jordan’s music wasn’t a secret, though I tried to curb my vocalizations.