Perfect Regret (Bad Rep #2)(31)
Author: A. Meredith Walters

“God, your food is going to make me puke,” she whined as I wiped my face. I shrugged, not feeling remotely sympathetic.

“Why do you keep drinking yourself into this state? You’d think you would have learned around twenty hangovers ago,” I pointed out, purposefully taking a huge bite of my burger and chewing loudly.

“You’re sadistic, Riley. You know that?” Gracie complained, dropping her head to the table. Maysie wasn’t out of class yet so it was just me and my fellow Garrett humper. This had the makings of fabulous written all over it.

“Rough night?” I asked. Okay, I was going to dig. I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to know what exactly was going on with her and Garrett. It was driving me crazy not knowing.

“You have no idea,” she whispered. I took pity on her and fished out two ibuprophen from my bag and handed them to her with my bottle of water.

“Take these and call me in the morning, “ I directed, nudging her arm with the bottle. Gracie uncapped the water and drank it all in one gulp. She gave me a weak smile in thanks.

“Seriously though, Gracie, I think it might be time to reevaluate your social life,” I said, putting the empty bottle on my tray. Gracie nodded in agreement.

“I think you might be right. Because I never want to drink again,” she swore and I looked at her knowingly. Because come tonight, her earlier convictions would go right out the window. My good buddy was one step away from a Lindsey Lohan level catastrophe. I had always given Maysie shit for the way she partied but she had nothing on Gracie Cook.

And Gracie was a small girl. She couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. She was wreaking havoc on her poor body. She’d have liver failure by the time she was thirty at this rate.

“Enough is enough, girl. You’re going to kill yourself if you keep it up. We’re meant to have more blood than alcohol in our system. You get that, right?” I asked caustically.

Gracie frowned. “Ha, ha. Yes, Miss Smarty-pants, I’m aware. I’m just having fun,” she said defensively.

I frowned back. “Having fun doesn’t involve frequent bouts of vomiting,” I replied sagely.

Gracie didn’t respond and instead put her head back on the table. Maybe now wasn’t the time to niggle her for details about her night with Garrett.

Whatever.

“I hear you had an overnight guest last night,” I said carefully. Gracie didn’t lift her head but her brow furrowed as though confused. And then her forehead smoothed and she smiled, looking a bit more alive.

“Oh, you mean the guitar god himself. Yeah, he helped me get home,” she said dreamily and then she looked sheepish. “He slept on my floor because he said he was afraid I’d stop breathing or something,” she admitted and I felt myself practically melt in relief.

“So no booty call?” I asked, needed the clarification.

Gracie groaned again. “No, I was too busy being a drunken idiot. I finally get the guy back to my place and I pass out. He’ll never look at me twice again!” she grumbled. I had to hide the satisfied smile that threatened to spread across my face.

“That’s okay, I’m sure there will be plenty more where he came from,” I said.

Gracie grimaced. “True, but there’s something different about Garrett, don’t you think? I mean who cares if he’s a townie who only plays music for a living? Look at him! Those abs make you forget that he’s sort of a loser.”

I felt suddenly and irrationally angry.

“That loser just spent the entire night making sure you didn’t Jimi Hendrix. So maybe you should be more appreciative,” I told her harshly.

Gracie frowned at me, obviously trying to figure out why I had put on the Garrett cheerleading uniform. I wish I had just bitten my tongue and kept quiet.

“There be my bitches!” Maysie said, sitting down in one of the free chairs. She looked over at Gracie whose face was now burrowed in her arms. “What’s up with her?” she asked me.

“What do you think? Possible alcohol poisoning with a side of irresponsible choices,” I laughed. Maysie laughed too, though I could tell she was just as concerned as I was about Gracie. The time was quickly approaching when laughing about it wouldn’t be an option. Something more serious would have to be done.

Maysie and I ate in silence and I was pretty sure Gracie had fallen asleep. If she started snoring I was going to have to smack her. “Do you have to work tonight?” Maysie asked me as we finished up. She reached over and shook Gracie’s shoulder.

Our friend jolted awake, her eyes bleary. “Time to head to class, Gracie,” Maysie said kindly. Gracie wiped her mouth and rubbed her eyes.

“I’m gonna head home. I can’t do class right now. See you later,” she said, grabbing her purse and heading out to the quad.

“Something’s got to be done, Mays. I’m actually worried about her,” I said, following Maysie to dump our trash. Maysie nodded.

“Yeah, Vivian and I have been talking about this a lot actually. Vivian said she’s gonna call Gracie’s older sister about it,” she admitted. I was glad to hear that something was being done. But I was also self-aware enough to realize that news expunged my feelings of responsibility about the situation. And that was extremely selfish.

Outside, the October air was cool but the sun was shining brightly. Midterms were just around the corner. I figured I’d ace them like I always did. Because doing well in school was one thing I still had going for me.

“So anyway, you didn’t answer me. Are you working tonight?” Maysie asked, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

“Uh yeah, I go in at five. I thought you quit,” I scolded, glaring at the offending object dangling between her fingers. Maysie rolled her eyes.

“You’re as bad as Jordan,” she grumped but dropped the cigarette on the ground and stomped it out.

“Just trying to do my part in reducing your risk for lung cancer. You’ll thank me when you don’t have to drag an oxygen tank around,” I said.

“Yeah, yeah. Me and my non-existent iron lung will be eternally in your debt,” she said with just a small bit of sarcasm.

“So why the interest in my work schedule?” I asked her, pulling out my phone to check the time. I had twenty minutes until senior symposium.

“Oh, because Generation Rejects are playing at Barton’s tonight. Just wondered if you’d be around for it,” she explained, her eyes saying more than her words. She was worried about my being in the same room as Garrett. Sheesh, when had my life become an episode of The Young and The Restless?