Perfect Regret (Bad Rep #2)(9)
Author: A. Meredith Walters

How obnoxious.

“Well, you’re wearing Reco jeans, which points to the fact that you think you’re environmentally conscious but in reality it smacks of pretention, if you ask me.” I opened my mouth to tell him he could take his bullshit preconceptions and shove them straight where the sun don’t shine. But I didn’t get a chance because he just kept going.

“And then there’s that shirt. I’m sure you spent a long time stitching all those patches together. Does that make you feel better than everyone else? The fact that you sew your own clothes and wear pants made from plant shit? Because I bet you just feel really lonely. And sad. So you throw out this attitude and judgmental BS hoping no one calls you on it. And if they do, that only proves they aren’t worth your notice or your time.” Garrett delivered his stinging critique with an annoyingly blasé smile. Like he was commenting on the damn weather. When in truth, he was flaying me alive. I wanted to punch him in his stupidly attractive face. Because yes damn it, I suddenly realized he was pretty damn cute. And I hated him.

“Whatever,” I hissed getting to my feet. Garrett laughed and I realized I had reacted just as he expected me to. Well, who cares, I didn’t need this crap.

“Have fun dulling your senses and killing your brain cells,” I bit out as he pulled a joint from his pocket and lit up.

He pulled in a lung full of smoke and slowly exhaled. “And you enjoy standing up on your soap box while you dole out your all-important criticisms. I’m sure it’ll make for a fun evening,” he said drolly as he turned to a pretty girl who sat down beside him, taking the seat I had just vacated. She giggled and leaned into him as he slung an arm around her shoulders. He literally turned his back to me as though I had been dismissed.

What a dick!

I stood there fuming. No one out bantered Riley Walker. Especially not a guitar playing, pot smoking, needs a haircut in the worst way, jackass.

So I stormed off. It was only much later that I realized Garrett Bellows had done something more than piss me off and incited my urge to maim and kill. He had made me forget about Damien. And for the first time in a week I hadn’t been depressed and miserable.

Huh. Interesting.

I was on beer number four and I was teetering on the edge of full-blown drunkenness. I will admit to being a lightweight and embrace it, damn it! My liver was still intact and I didn’t binge on the weekends. Drinking wasn’t a recreational hobby that I indulged in often. So when I chose to imbibe, it never took me long to feel like a raging lush.

Though the alcohol did nothing to minimize my feelings of total and complete social awkwardness. When I say that the Generation Rejects after parties weren’t my scene, I wasn’t being hateful. Or just making excuses because I thought I was too good to hang out.

I sat on the couch in the worn and shabby living room, watching as people I either didn’t know, or only recognized in passing, engage in a variety of drunken shenanigans. These were people who lived to party. Who lived and breathed for this sort of debauched free for all.

Yeah, ladies and gents, that just ain’t me. And I knew I stuck out like a sore thumb. A great big, stick-in-the-mud thumb.

I could see Vivian sitting on the pool table with Cole stood between her legs. She made a show of pretending not to notice the way he continued to check out every other girl in the room while simultaneously stroking her leg. But even from my vantage point, I could see the tightening around her mouth and the cold steel in her eyes. This had the makings of an explosion of epic proportions. And while I felt bad for Vivian, my sympathy only extended so far. After all, she was the one her put herself in the same crappy situation over and over again with a guy who never intended to change his man whore ways.

Gracie was dancing in a circle across the room. I had spent all of ten minutes hanging out with her earlier before she ditched me for a guy with a buzzed head and gauges in his ears. I never took Gracie to dig the skinhead type but seeing the way she had been pawing the dude all evening, I deduced her tastes were varied in the penis department.

I downed the rest of my beer and prayed it would be enough to enjoy myself. Maysie plopped down beside me, and nudged me with her shoulder. “Your face is gonna freeze like that, just sayin’,” she warned, taking the empty bottle out of my hand and putting it on the coffee table. I plastered a smile on my face and widened my eyes dramatically.

“Better?” I asked through gritted teeth. Maysie grimaced.

“You look like an ax murderer, stop it!” My mouth relaxed and I sighed.

“Do you mind if I head out soon? I’m just not feeling this tonight,” I asked as a girl with too much makeup and had somehow lost half of her clothing, stepped on my foot as she walked by.

“Oh sorry,” she slurred, leaning down precariously to pat the top of my foot. I snatched it back and held up my hand.

“No big. It’s fine,” I said, not really meaning it. That had really hurt! The girl squinted at me as she swayed on her feet.

“Is your name Leah?” she asked suddenly. I glanced at Maysie who was looking amused.

“Can’t say it is,” I replied. The girl grinned and sat down beside me, leaning into my face.

“Good because if you were I’d have to kick your ass. That bitch slept with my boyfriend,” she said unevenly. She stuck her face within an inch of mine forcing me to lean back.

“Have you seen her? Cause I’ma gonna kicksh her ash,” the girl slurred. Jeesh, understanding her almost necessitated a translator.

I pointed over the girl’s shoulder. “I saw her go in there,” I said. Drunk girl fell forward, wrapping her arms around me in what I supposed was meant to be a hug.

“Thanksh so mush. I’ma gonna kicksh her ash,” she mumbled, getting unsteadily to her feet and hobbling in the direction I had sent her.

“Did you know who she was talking about?” Maysie asked after the girl had left.

I shook me head. “Hell no. I just needed my personal space back,” I retorted, digging my cell phone out of my pocket. “Mays, it’s already one in the morning, I really think I’m gonna head out,” I pleaded. Maysie patted my back.

“Okay, okay. I know when you’ve had your fill. Let me go find Jordan and he can give you a lift, you’ve had way too much to drink. He’ll be ready to get out of here anyway.” Maysie smiled at me and held up a finger. “Just give me one minute,” she promised.

“What about my car?” I asked in a panic, not wanting to leave my baby here. Who knows what these people would do to her? Okay, I talked about my car like it was an actual person. What can I say, I was attached to it.