Perfect Regret (Bad Rep #2)(17)
Author: A. Meredith Walters

“So we’re playing like it didn’t happen,” he stated rather than asked. He looked at me with an unreadable expression. I couldn’t tell whether this is how he wanted it to be or rather it bothered him. Garrett Bellows was apparently a guy with few emotions. His expression was bland and unconcerned as though we were talking about the latest football stats as opposed to our round of naked twister.

“Like what didn’t happen?” I asked pointedly, narrowing my eyes, waiting for him to say something else to piss me off.

Garrett didn’t say anything for a moment. He simply watched me as though trying to see something. What, I didn’t know. And I refused to care either.

Finally he nodded. “Good,” was all he said. He picked up his thermos and walked out of the break room without another look in my direction. I should have been relieved that our secret rendezvous would remain a secret. But relief wasn’t exactly what I was feeling. And I refused to admit to myself that it was disappointment that fluttered in my stomach.

7

“I call girls’ night!” Maysie yelled coming in the front door and throwing her book bag on the couch. I sat with my feet propped up on the coffee table, dutifully highlighting and making notes while I forced myself to read through my grammatical structure textbook.

Maysie snatched my highlighter and capped it, shoving my legs as she pushed passed me. “Sorry if I’m in your way,” I muttered, closing my book and deciding that giving my roommate the attention she desired was easier than ignoring her. Maysie was like a neglected cat when she was ignored. Rubbing up on you until you either smacked her away or gave up and began to rub her.

“So, girls’ night. You, Gracie, Viv, and me. Bars, booze, boys. The three Bs necessary for a good time. You are not allowed to say no. You are not allowed to bitch about how you have homework. You are going to put a smile on that pretty face of yours and you are going to suffer through an evening of laughing and fun. Think you can handle that?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow, waiting for me to start complaining.

“Will there be drunken tattoos and really bad karaoke,” I asked, sighing. Maysie grinned and it was a truly evil sight. The girl was ruthless when it came to piling on the peer pressure.

“There just might be, Ri,” she laughed and rubbed her hands together like a cheesy Bond villain.

“Fine. But you are not permitted to pick out my clothes. If I choose to wear my combat boots, I will and you are not allowed to make one disparaging remark about them. In fact, since I’m being made to do something against my will, I insist on it,” I warned, shaking my finger in her face.

Maysie rolled her eyes and snorted. “As if you’d let me get you within ten feet of a curling iron or a mini skirt. You are just no fun,” she pouted and I let out a huff of indignation.

“I’m more fun than you can handle, girlfriend,” I replied, snapping my fingers in her face and giving her my best sex face. Maysie dissolved into a fit of giggles before jumping to her feet to hurry into the kitchen.

“Vivian and Gracie are on their way over, we’re cabbing it tonight, so let’s pre-game!” Maysie said excitedly coming back into the living room with a bottle of Vodka and a jug of orange juice.

“Uh, sweetheart, I didn’t check the looking for liver failure box on my college application. I’m quite happy to sail this boat sober. Someone’s got to make sure we don’t end up in Mexico with a guy named Bubba,” I stated, pushing the make-me-puke cocktail out of my face.

I had done the drunk thing. I had played the part of Riley who makes bad decisions. I was thinking of getting the I got drunk and sexed up a random T-shirt just so I could advertise my shame. I had no plans of repeating that particular evening anytime soon. And when Maysie and the girls got their party on, mayhem was sure to follow.

“I’m not crying in my Wheaties anymore, Mays. There’s no need to force me into a night of debauchery with the delusion of doing me a favor. I’ve donned my cape and am Super Riley once again,” I proclaimed.

Maysie huffed. “I warned you that saying ‘no’ wasn’t an option.” She waggled her eyebrows and I threw up my hands in defeat.

At that moment, our door flew open and Vivian waltzed into the room, wearing her “ready to f**k” outfit consisting of red mini-dress and hooker heals. Her hair was over curled and over styled and her makeup would have to be scraped off in the morning but she owned it. I could admit I dug her self-confidence. There was something appealing about being that self-assured.

I had never suffered from poor self-esteem. I didn’t spend endless hours wondering why people didn’t like me or moaning about the way I looked. That had been Maysie’s hang-up for years. I’ll admit it used to drive me crazy. There was only so much backstroking a gal could stomach before you resorted to shaking the shit out of your friend and telling her to grow up.

I had performed varying degrees of tough love on my best friend in the past and wasn’t shy in telling people what I thought. But even I would never feel comfortable enough to let my body hang all out like that. I wasn’t sure if it was a niggling lack of confidence or a greater sense of pride. But whatever it was, Vivian didn’t give a crap and for that I could appreciate her.

“What’s up my bitches!” she yelled, dropping her coat on the floor and putting a grocery bag full of beer on the TV stand. Gracie came in behind her, looking much more subdued in a jean skirt and frilly top. But even she exuded a crazy energy. These girls were ready to get their party on whether I wanted to or not.

“Where are we going tonight? And please tell me you aren’t wearing that, Riley,” Vivian said, plopping down beside me on the couch. Her dress rode up and I could see way too much of her leopard print underwear.

“Well at least I’m not waving my vagina around like a flag,” I said, giving her a pointed look.

Vivian let out a pleased cackle and did nothing to pull her skirt down. “Damn straight! This flag is saying single and ready to mingle!” she shouted. Clearly Vivian had already been at the happy sauce.

Gracie rolled her eyes. “She and Cole had a fight. They broke up again,” Gracie explained, pulling a beer out of the bag and popping the top before sitting down on the loveseat.

“Don’t you have to be doing something more than banging in order to break up?” I asked.

Vivian leaned over and grabbed the beer out of Gracie’s hand. “I thought we had a meaningful relationship built on the appreciation of each other’s bodies. But it came to my attention that mine is not the only body Cole has an appreciation for. So he can go to hell. These legs will never spread for him again!” Vivian declared, waving her beer in a wide circle before drinking half its contents.