Perfect Regret (Bad Rep #2)(32)
Author: A. Meredith Walters

I was fully capable of being in the same room as the guy I almost had a romantic interlude with before being publically dissed. The same guy who had most likely seen the dimple in my butt cheek. What was troublesome about that?

“I’ll be there. At least I know it’ll be busy and I can make some decent tips. It’s been dead lately,” I said, avoiding the discussion I knew she wanted to have. Clearly our roundtable conversation about this very thing that morning hadn’t been enough for her. She needed to beat it like a dead horse.

“Oh, well that’s good,” she said and then surprisingly didn’t say anything else.

“Yeah, it is. Gotta go,” I said, making a hasty retreat. My afternoon was now planned out. First class then home to prepare for a night showing Mr. Thinks He’s Hot Shit On The Guitar that I really didn’t give a crap about him.

The problem was I was beginning to forget who I was supposed to be convincing. Him or myself.

12

“And this one is dedicated to all of the bitches who love us. You know who you are!” Cole screamed into the mic, pointing at the girls clamoring at his feet for a moment of his attention. I think I threw up in my mouth a little.

“He really is a cocky bastard, isn’t he?” I asked Vivian, who was sipping on her rum and Coke at the bar, watching her on again, off again bed buddy thrust his pelvis seductively. At least I think it was meant to be seductive. Personally I thought he looked as though he had a bad case of crabs.

Vivian shrugged a shoulder and swirled the tiny straw around in the ice. She seemed completely unconcerned by the way the man who frequently screwed her brains out make a spectacle of rounding up the next warm body.

But I knew the whole thing bugged her. Vivian was a strong, take no bullshit kind of woman. Which is why this whole situation between her and Cole was extremely perplexing. But I wasn’t one to dwell too long on someone else’s problems. Not when two of mine were in the same room tonight and that made me all sorts of twitchy.

Damien had officially blown off all of Jaz’s advances. I knew this because every time she had tried to approach him this evening, she had been politely but coldly rebuffed. The backstabbing skank face had looked ready to bust a gasket. And yes, I loved it. If I could have bought tickets and a tub of popcorn, I’d have been front and center for Jaz’s abject humiliation.

But while Damien had jumped off the rebound train, he was clearly trying to reboard the Riley wagon. He was sniffing so hard around my skirt that I wondered whether I’d need to have him surgically removed. And this did nothing for any semblance of a good mood.

Because with every one of my ex’s overtures, I felt the cold, dispassionately watchful eyes of the lead guitarist of Generation Rejects. He bore holes in my back. While I worked, he played his gig and there was a gritty edge to his performance tonight.

I was no music connoisseur but even I could hear the frenetic energy in the way he played tonight. He had already broken two strings during the set by his angry ferocity. And I knew the reason for his super happy good mood lay entirely on my I-Swear-I-Don’t-Give-A-Damn shoulders.

“I married the ketchups for you, Ri,” Damien said with a hesitant smile, coming into my section to hand me several bottles of condiments to put on the tables. When we were dating we routinely helped each other finish up our closing tasks. It was as familiar as apple pie. But now, there was something desperate about it. And I really wish he’d back off. He wasn’t helping the fog in my head at all. In fact, Damien Green was stirring it into a thick pea soup.

There was a screech as Garrett hit a wrong note and my head snapped to the stage. Even from this distance, I could see the scowl etched on his face as he looked down at his instrument. Jordan frowned but didn’t miss a beat on the drums and Cole sang on, as though the massive screw up hadn’t happened at all.

Garrett’s head came up and his eyes fastened to mine. I swallowed thickly and then forced myself to look away. Damien was already sweeping under my tables.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said, holding my hand out so I could take the broom from him. Damien’s eyes were shy as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

“It’s not a problem, I like doing things for you, Riley,” he said, having to yell over the commotion of the song being played on the stage behind us.

Okay, enough was enough. I made a sound of irritation and snatched the broom from his hands. “Jeesh, Damien, lay it on a little thicker, why don’tcha,” I said nastily. Damien blinked at me, as though shocked by my annoyance. Which proved how little he truly knew me. After over a year together, he should have anticipated my bitter response.

“I’m just trying to help.” He sounded so wounded and that just made me want to smack him.

I laughed without humor. “Give me a freaking break, Damien. You lost the right to play the helpful do-gooder when you dumped me. So stop it. I don’t have the time or patience for your contrite BS,” I threw at him.

Damien grabbed my hand and I tried to pull away. He gripped me tightly making escape impossible and I widened my eyes in surprise. “I’ve told you I made a mistake. I’ve made it clear I want you back. We were good together, Ri. Perfect. Stop being so stubborn and let me make it up to you.”

I opened my mouth to say something. I wasn’t entirely sure what would come off my tongue. My mind was a mess of barely firing synapses. But then, as though saved by the hands of fate themselves, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out and saw my mother’s name flashing across the screen and dread instantly uncoiled in my belly. Why would she be calling me this time of night?

“I’ve got to take this…I’ve…” my words trailed off and I put the phone to my ear, hurrying toward the back of the restaurant.

“Hold on, Mom,” I said breathlessly after I answered it. I rushed past the stage and my eyes inadvertently met Garrett’s. They were on a break between songs, Cole was working the crowd and Garrett stood there, as he always did, his guitar around his neck, his hand rubbing up and down the fret board as he waited to play.

His face that had been pinched and closed off changed suddenly when he took in my anxious expression. I knew I looked worried. Because there was no reason for my mom to call unless there was something I should be worrying about. Nighttime calls past ten from your parents never heralded good news.

Garrett recognized something was wrong and his eyes changed just slightly enough for me to see that. I couldn’t think about him, or Damien, anything else. I pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen and practically ran to the smoking area. Thankfully most of the kitchen staff was already gone for the night so I was alone.