Jordan was very protective of his band and I learned early on that it was one of the few things he would cut you off at the knees for. That and hurting Maysie in any way.
So if you wanted to be friends with Jordan Levitt, be nice to Maysie and don’t diss Generation Rejects.
“Piper! My man, three pints of your finest ale,” Cole, the lead singer shouted, affecting one of the worst British accents I had ever heard. His use of the misogynistic nickname for Maysie’s boyfriend set my teeth on edge. Being called the Pied Piper of Pussy was not a compliment in my book. It was just sad.
Jordan immediately uncapped three beers and placed them on the bar.
“Guess I should go clock out,” I said hurriedly, trying to make an escape before the horde descended. It’s not that I disliked the guys from Generation Rejects. Well, not completely. I know I probably sound totally stuck up, but the truth was they annoyed the hell out of me.
And it wasn’t just them, or their screamy music; it was the atmosphere that surrounded them. It so wasn’t my scene. Yeah, yeah, I know, I should just take the stick out of my butt, right?
Well let’s just say that my history with Generation Rejects shows or parties involved being vomited on, catching an elbow to the nose in a mosh pit, having my hair lit on fire by a crazy jealous ex of one of the band members because she knew I was “flirting with her man” (Uh, yeah, I wasn’t). And who could forget about the time some scary dude that looked as though he’d wandered off the mountaintop followed me around a party because I “looked purty.”
So pardon me if I tended to get full on hives when I knew my evening would involve Cole, Mitch or Garrett in any way.
“Rushing off?” a slow drawl asked just as I was about to make my escape. I glanced over my shoulder to see a decent looking guy with chin length blond hair and heavy lidded blue eyes gazing at me blankly. Meet Garrett Bellows, lead guitarist and total pothead. I can’t remember a time I had seen him that he wasn’t half lit and barely standing. The guy liked to party and sorry to say, had “loser” written all over him.
Yes, I was making a judgment. Perhaps an unfair one, but I had never shared more than a half a dozen words with this guy that wasn’t tinged with deteriorating sobriety. He seemed like a happy guy. He was always in a good mood, except when he spoke to me.
I wasn’t sure when we had become contentious adversaries. Maybe it was the night I had accompanied Maysie to one of the Reject’s infamous after parties and accidentally sent the keg rolling down the hill into the creek behind Garrett’s house.
I know, party foul, but I wasn’t the asshole that had propped the stupid thing up on cinderblocks at the top of a steep incline. And it was totally Maysie’s fault for making me wear those stupid heels that should carry warnings about broken necks and public mortification caused from falling on your ass.
So Garrett had been pissed and maybe I had called him an “unwashed waste of space.” Sue me; I don’t like being yelled at.
Then there was the time I had gotten drunk at one of their shows and I walked into the girls’ bathroom, only to find Garrett screwing some girl in a stall, with the door open. I mean, who does that? It’s completely gross!
Drunken Riley has zero filter (well less than zero because sober Riley’s filter was deficient enough) and I had kind of made a nasty comment about herpes. Well, I alluded to Garrett having herpes and maybe the girl should think before letting him stick his diseased penis in any of her orifices.
I don’t know why I had said that. I was ignorant of any venereal diseases where Garrett was concerned and that was a really shitty thing to say about someone I didn’t even know. All I can say in my defense is I was rendered blind by the sight and spewed out the first thing that came to mind to make it stop.
Come on! They were having sex. On top of a toilet. That is beyond nasty.