Perfect Regret (Bad Rep #2)(26)
Author: A. Meredith Walters

You want me to need you.

You’ll be waiting awhile,

Piercing my world

with the ice of your smile.

Your touch is toxic

Your heart’s a mess

Which is why you’ll always be

My perfect regret.

My perfect regret.

Regret…

Garrett’s voice faded into a soft hum as he strummed his guitar in a complicated dance along the strings. His song gave me chills. Seriously, I had goose bumps on my arms. The hair was literally standing up on the back of my neck.

When Garrett had finished, Cole let out a whistle. “Damn, that was a new one. Good shit,” he said, getting to his feet with the empty pitcher. I swallowed thickly, wondering, perhaps a bit vainly, whether I had been the muse of that particular song. The words rang a little too close to home for my liking.

Garrett played a few more covers and one more original song. When he was finished, our table erupted in applause and I clapped along with them. Garrett put his guitar back in the case and walked over to our group. Jordan clapped him on the back and Maysie gave him a hug.

Gracie tried to get to her feet, finally succeeding after much effort. “Garrett!” she squealed and practically fell on him as she attempted to wrap her arms around him. He laughed and helped her back into her seat.

“A little too much to drink again, huh, G?” he said with an obvious affection that annoyed the shit out of me. G? Garrett called her G? His use of my nickname for her bugged me more than it should. He accepted praise from the rest of his friends and purposefully ignored me the entire time. Okay, so this is how it was going to be obviously. How quickly the two of us fell back into our comfortable pattern of loathing and disdain for one another.

Garrett sat down across from me and Cole poured him a beer, which he accepted with a thanks before finishing it in one gulp. Vivian gave him a one armed hug, which he returned easily. I was the only one with my awkward hat on, feeling all kinds of socially dysfunctional.

“Good job,” I finally interjected because I couldn’t stand the thick layers of discomfort a moment longer. It wasn’t Garrett’s discomfort. It was clear he couldn’t give a shit whether I was here or not. The discomfort was mine alone and I thought I was going to gag on it.

Garrett looked at me over the rim of his mug as he took a drink of beer number two. His blond eyebrow arched as he set the glass down on the table. I gave him a weak impression of a smile. “Really, that was great. I wish you guys played that kind of music all the time. I might actually start to enjoy your shows,” I said, hoping my lack of composure could be hidden by a hefty dose of sarcasm.

Garrett didn’t respond, he only stared at me, his face void of all emotion. No verbal joisting. No snappy comeback. No barely laced annoyance. Just a big heap of nothing. And that bugged me…a lot.

I was starting to hate the lack of anything resembling an expression on his face.

Mitch took pity on the gaping sea of disquiet brewing between his bandmate and me and rustled my hair. “No way, Riley. We have an image as hardcore bad asses to protect,” he said and I smiled at him in appreciation. A silent thank you for rescuing me from Garrett’s icy attack of silence.

“Of course, can’t forget about the all important bad assery,” I agreed, my eyes flicking back to Garrett who had turned away from me. Like I wasn’t even there.

“I really dug that Perfect Regret song, dude. Is that new?” Jordan asked Garrett, who gave him a shy smile. See, there it was again! That lovely, unguarded side of Garrett that I wanted to wrap in a blanket and cuddle to death.

“Yeah, it’s new. I’ve been messing around with the chords for a while. But I just wrote the lyrics a few weeks ago,” Garrett told Jordan, his eyes flickering to me briefly before sliding away.

Ha! I knew it! That damn song was totally about me! Wait a second. I thought back over the lyrics and started to feel more than a little pissed off. Because as far as songs go, that one wasn’t the most flattering he could write. In fact, it sounded more like a great big musical kiss off.

Well, forget him!

The truth was Garrett and I had never gotten along. But at least before our disastrous tumble in the sheets and subsequent almost romantic moment we had been able to coexist. Even if that meant it was the acknowledgement of one another through a series of barbs and insults.

The frosty snubs and hateful songs weren’t something I was okay with. It made me feel as though I had done something wrong. And I didn’t like questioning my choices on any level. I had done enough of that recently, I sure as hell wasn’t willing to start again over Garrett.

So I spoke to everyone but Garrett. And Garrett looked at everyone but me. The effort to pretend that there wasn’t this gigantic elephant in the room was exhausting. I knew by around midnight that I was done. I needed to go home and regroup. Mostly I just needed to sleep and wake up feeling like Riley Walker again.

I knew Maysie wasn’t ready to leave. She was most likely going back to Garrett and Jordan’s. I patted my jeans pockets and realized I must have left my cellphone in Jordan’s truck. “Hey Jordan, can I have the keys. I left my phone on the seat,” I asked. Jordan tossed me his keys and I hurried out of the bar.

Once I had my phone, I started looking up numbers for local cab companies. The sound of footsteps crunching on gravel made me look up. Garrett was headed toward me with his guitar case in hand. He stopped several feet in front of me and dropped the case to the ground. Shoving his hands into his jeans pocket he regarded me levelly.

“Guess you’re headed home,” he stated.

Wow, he was talking to me. What had I done to deserve such a privilege?

I continued to scroll through the taxicab listings, ignoring Garrett just as I had been ignored all evening. Hey, maturity is over rated.

“Cat got your tongue?” Garrett asked, his words sharp enough to cut.

I looked up at him, my mouth curling in sardonic disdain. “Oh I’m sorry, you’re right, ignoring someone is extremely rude.”

Garrett snorted and then gave me the sort of feral grin that was more a baring of teeth than anything else. “You just have to bust my balls, don’t you? Is it so hard to be pleasant?” he asked harshly. The veins on the side of his neck were bulging and I could tell he was pissed.

“And you just have to be an annoying assmunch, don’t you? Why do I get the feeling I’m being punished for something? If I’ve upset your sad excuse for male pride, please let me know,” I said just as hatefully.