When my phone rang Friday after classes, I answered it, pleased to hear my mother’s voice on the other end. “Riley Louise, finally! You have been incommunicado for weeks!” my mother exclaimed, scolding me in that pleasant way of hers that let me know she was upset but not enough to unleash the full weight of motherly disapproval.
“I know, Mom. Things have been crazy,” I said, digging my keys out of my book bag as I headed across the parking lot toward my car.
“Such a busy bee. How is school? The internship? I want to hear about everything!” My mom was the most enthusiastic person I knew. When I was a surly teenager, she drove me nuts. Her incessant perkiness was at odds with my more morose and subtle personality. She wanted me to wear pink, I swore off all colors but black. She played Captain and Tennille at full volume; I preferred to listen to Damien Rice with my lights off.
But now that I’m older, I could appreciate her glass is half-full mentality. And I no longer felt the need to buck the system by whining endlessly about all the ways the world sucks.
“Things are good. My senior symposium is kicking my ass. We have to read three books a week. But I’m loving it. The internship is interesting. I’ve graduated from gopher girl, Queen of the Coffee Machine to full-on reporter lackey. I’m hoping to be able to write a piece by the end of the month,” I said as I got into my car. The mundane tedium of small talk wasn’t my mother’s way so I waited for her to get to the grit of the phone call. But she had to go through the niceties first. Having been raised in Alabama, she was insistent on good manners.
“Wow, that’s amazing, Riley Boo!” she exclaimed and I had to roll my eyes at her persistent use of my childhood nickname. Riley Boo, Gavey Love, Flutterfly. My siblings and I had to endure these little testaments of our parents love for our whole lives. It often put our teeth on edge but we’d never even think of telling mom to stop. It was easier to suck it up and not act mortally humiliated when we were referred to by said nicknames in a public setting.
“Yep, pretty amazing,” I agreed dryly. I put the phone on speaker and placed it into the hands free set on my dashboard so I could start heading home.
“How are things with Damien?” she asked in a sympathetic tone. The mention of his name had lost a lot of its power over the last few weeks but it still landed an emotional punch. Seeing him almost every day didn’t help. Particularly when he was making it his mission to remind me of why I had fallen in love with him in the first place. I wasn’t entirely sure what happened with Jaz, but I could tell that they were most definitely not dating.
I had overheard Jaz making a snide comment to Dina, another waitress at Barton’s, about the fact he had never called her after going to The Boogey Lounge. Honestly, I wasn’t trying to snoop, but it did give me a sense of supreme satisfaction to know that she had been handed her rejection so quickly.
She had turned around after her tirade over Damien, to find me wiping down my tables. She had given me a sugary sweet smile, followed by a fake “Hiya, Riley!” before flouncing off to her own section. But I could see her face color with mortification at having me overhear her tale of dating gone wrong.
So, whatever had happened between him and Jaz, he was now sniffing around my skirts more than he ever had while we were together. It must be my magnetic I’m-moving-on-with-my-life perfume. Apparently it made me irresistible.
“Really Mom? Is that why you called? To snoop around in my love life? Because I can assure you, it’s about as interesting as watching paint dry,” I commented as I pulled up to a red light.
“Oh come on. Are the two of you still not back together? I thought you were absolutely perfect together. Riley, people make mistakes. You can’t hold grudges. It’s not good for your karma,” she lectured.
I listened as my mom started to regale me with the ways I could cleanse my energy. I typically tuned out at this inevitable point in the conversation. The loud thumping of bass caught my attention. Why do people have to listen to music at internal organ shutdown levels? Particularly when it was seriously crappy music?
I debated on blowing my horn at the jerkoff sat beside me in traffic. I could only see the back of his head because he was facing someone in the passenger seat. The windows of my car were vibrating and I could feel the thumping in my bones. I noticed the blonde hair of the passenger and realized it was Gracie. She must have felt my eyes on her because she started waving, her mouth moving as she spoke to the driver, pointing in my direction.
The driver turned back around in his seat and glanced at me and I was glad I wasn’t driving because I would surely have crashed. What the hell was Gracie doing in Garrett’s van? My hands gripped the steering wheel. My mouth fell open in absolute and complete shock. I felt sick at the realization that Garrett was most likely playing “tag that ass” with one of my friends. Because everyone knew it wasn’t that difficult to get Gracie to agree to a naked meet a greet.
As soon as our eyes connected, I looked away and was thankful that the light turned green so I could speed away, squealing my tires in the process.
Shit.
What if Gracie slept with Garrett!? Aside from the fact that it meant Gracie and I were now intimately familiar with the same person, I couldn’t help but feel supremely dejected. Okay, and maybe a tad bit jealous.
Only a tad, I swear!
“Riley!” my mom yelled and I realized I had completely forgotten she was still on the phone.
“Sorry, Mom. What were you saying?” I asked, feeling distracted and out of sorts. My mind was too busy inventing horrific scenarios of Gracie and Garrett together.
Having sex together.
Oh God!
My heart squeezed painfully and I told myself it had everything to do with the uncomfortable idea of Gracie Cook and Riley Walker sharing bed partners. It had NOTHING to do with any sort of emotional connection I had felt with our particular bed partner.
No way!
Garrett Bellows was nothing to me. Just some sad, regretful mistake I had made in the heat of some serious self-pity.
“I was asking whether any other boys have caught your fancy. You’re entirely too serious and focused. You need a little fun, sweetie.” My mother’s question coming on the heels of seeing Garrett and Gracie together had me ready to duck and cover. Shit was about to get ugly.
“No, Mom. And I’ve got to go,” I said hurriedly, whipping into a parking space outside my apartment building. Without waiting for a goodbye, I hung up the phone.
“Is Gracie sleeping with Garrett?” I asked as soon as I entered the apartment. Maysie and Jordan were sprawled out on the couch watching TV. Under normal circumstances I would have made a snide comment about confining their excessive PDA to behind her bedroom door but I was feeling a bit frantic.
Maysie looked at me in surprise and Jordan lifted his head from its resting spot on his girlfriend’s chest with an expression of complete confusion.
“What?” Maysie asked, sitting up. I dropped my bag on the couch and realized how my question must have sounded and I wished I could take it back.
Why the hell did I care if they were sleeping together? They were consenting adults doing what consenting adults do. There was nothing wrong in that. But it didn’t change the fact that the very thought of it made me want to puke.
I let out an embarrassed huff and then laughed. “Nothing. Forget it. Get back to your pre-coital cuddling,” I muttered, shuffling off to the kitchen as quickly as I was able without looking as though I were running.
“Uh, uh, Riley Walker. Why would you ask that?” Maysie asked, following me like a terrier nipping at my heels. Clearly, she felt this fell within her best friend duties. Interrogation and persistent nagging would follow unless I gave her something to make her happy.
“I just saw them together. I had no idea Gracie was even interested in Garrett,” I said nonc
halantly.
Woohoo! Point for Riley and her super powers of indifference!
Maysie crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall as I pulled a bag of Doritos out of the cabinet. “I really have no idea. I mean, Gracie has made comments about thinking Garrett was hot but I don’t think they’ve ever hooked up,” Maysie said and then crinkled her nose.
“Oh, ew. I get it now.”
I leveled my roommate with a narrowed look. “She doesn’t know about Garrett and me right?” I asked her. Maysie looked instantly offended.
“As if I would go around broadcasting your business. Plus it’s not like it’ll ever happen again, so what’s there to tell?” Maysie asked.
I nodded, thinking about Garrett’s starring role as asshole of the hour at his house all those weeks ago.
No, that would definitely not be happening again. He and Gracie could have each other.
And there was no way that twinge in my gut had anything to do with a seething, hateful jealousy.
Absolutely not.
“Come out with Jordan and me tonight. We’re going out for a few drinks. Should be fun,” Maysie suggested.
“Playing third wheel sounds like a blast, Mays,” I remarked, popping a chip in my mouth. Maysie peeked out into the living room. I followed her gaze and saw that Jordan was still laid out on the sofa watching TV. I looked closely at my friend and realized there was a sadness there that was new. God, what new batch of drama was brewing between those two? I thought they were past all that.
“What’s going on?” I asked, dropping my voice so Jordan couldn’t hear me. Maysie’s eyes turned back to me and her lips stretched into a strained smile.
“Jordan and the guys are going on tour again,” she said tightly. I crunched on another chip, watching as conflicting emotions warred on her face. I could tell she wanted to be happy for her boyfriend. But that insecure girl still lived inside of Maysie Ardin and I knew better than anyone that it would take a long time for her to go away. Even after everything Maysie and Jordan had gone through to be together.
“Wow, when? For how long?” I asked, feeling my gut twist at the news. I told myself it had everything to do with worrying about Maysie. No other hidden reasons for feeling as though my stomach had hit the floor.
Maysie heaved a giant sigh. “They’re leaving in the new year for a three month tour. They’ll be driving across country, stopping in most of the major cities. Mitch’s cousin hooked them up with another promoter who put it all together.”
Three months. That was a long time. Maysie seemed miserable and hating herself for being miserable. I normally was the first one to give her the advice she needed, but right now I didn’t know what to say. My own feelings were too convoluted to give her anything to work with.
“I’m happy for him and the guys. I really am. But damn it, I hate the thought of him leaving again. I know this is what he wants but it doesn’t make it any easier when he has to go. I’m a selfish bitch, right?” she asked, looking at me for either total agreement or steadfast denial.
I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. “It’s okay to be upset about it, but you need to be supportive as well. Because you know if Jordan gets wind of how you really feel he’s likely to call the whole thing off. Then you’d feel like crap for holding him back,” I told her, proud of myself for doling out what I deemed to be pretty damn good advice.
Maysie nodded. “You’re right, as usual. Guess it’s time for grinning and bearing it. But you’re coming tonight. I need a swift kick in the rear if I start getting too morose about it,” she said, reaching out and squeezing my arm.
Focusing on someone else’s problems made it easy to forget about why I had been so upset when I got home. I could pretend that I hadn’t wanted to gut Garrett alive for being with my friend. I could ignore the insatiable homicidal urges that were unfairly directed at Gracie Cook.
Being needed by my best friend was the best medicine for a conflicted heart and mind.
“Sounds good,” I replied, giving her a smile.
The tiny, hole in the wall dive bar in the basement of a rundown building was the last place I expected Maysie and Jordan to drag me to. This was such a far cry from the crazy club and hopping bar scene they tended to inhabit that I had to look over my shoulder as we walked in to make sure they were still with me.
There was a small stage at the front and only around fifteen or so tables scattered around the dimly lit room. A bar took up most of the back wall and was lined with stools. There wasn’t a pool table or television playing sports in sight. And I for one found the atmosphere to be a nice change.
There were only about thirty or so people there. If this was the meat of their Friday night crowd then I couldn’t understand how it stayed in business. But the sign reading “Benny’s” over the front door had proclaimed it a local treasure since prohibition where it had started as a place to run moonshine on the down low.
Maysie and Jordan walked hand in hand toward a shadowed corner and I trailed behind them like the third wheel they swore up and down I wasn’t. A night spent watching two of my closest friends play tonsil hockey, now that’s what I call a fantastic time. (Cue the sarcasm.)
I was happy to see that I wouldn’t be alone in playing unintentional voyeur this evening. Gracie and Vivian as well as Mitch and Cole were seated at the only large table in the place. Three pitchers of beer had already been consumed and it seemed the party had started way before our arrival.
I glanced around the bar, looking for the one person who was noticeably absent. But I’d be damned if I would ask where Garrett was.
I sat down between Mitch and Gracie. I hadn’t spent an inordinate amount of time with the other guys from Generation Rejects (well aside from the naked kind of time I had spent with Garrett but that didn’t count since I could barely remember it). Cole had always come across as a crude, try too hard womanizer. Mitch was the cute teddy bear with the heart of gold.
I had never thought we’d have anything in common to warrant socializing. They lived in their townie, band dominated world and I was firmly ensconced in the land of academia. But since Maysie had jumped to the dark side, I had found the lines between the two worlds becoming more and more blurred.
Mitch poured a beer into a glass and passed it to me without a word. I inclined my head in thanks and took a sip, grimacing at the taste. Mitch smirked. “We could only afford the cheap stuff. It’s hard to live off playing at Barton’s every other week,” he explained finding my abhorrence of their chosen beverage amusing.
“Hey, I dig a cheap beer every now and then,” I told him, slugging half of the beer down my throat, making an effort not to cringe. Mitch patted me on the back in genuine affection.
“Sure you do, Ri,” he teased and I had to smile at his use of a nickname. I hadn’t realized until then how being a part of a group could actually feel pretty darned good. It was a shot of warm fuzzies straight to the heart.
Gracie slung her arm around my shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re here, Riley!” She leaned into my arm and I could tell she was barely holding her head above water. I tried not feel annoyed by her drunken affection. Typically I took her need for a tactile interaction while she was drinking with a stiff upper lip. But tonight, after seeing her this afternoon with a certain someone, I was feeling a lot less charitable.
I glanced at Maysie, hoping she’d save me from Gracie on the drunk side, but she was entirely focused on Jordan who was cupping her face in his hands as he whispered something to her. I suppose I didn’t have to worry about her channeling Coldplay this evening. She seemed to be coping with her earlier freak out quite well…for Maysie.
Gracie poked my arm, still not lifting her head from my shoulder. “I think you should look for a boy tonight, Riley-Wiley! Let’s find you a fuck buddy!” Gracie singsong’d loudly and I nudged h
er off my arm.
“Let’s talk about the rapid deterioration of your motor functioning instead,” I said shortly, hoping that even through her drunken haze, Gracie could see she was touching on a very sensitive subject.
“Gracie, you need to freshen your lipstick. Here use mine,” Vivian intervened, shoving her tube of lipstick into our friend’s face. Gracie rubbed at her lips and took the offered makeup.
“Thanks Vivvie,” Gracie slurred, pulling out a compact. I looked over at the older girl and gave her a look of gratitude. She grinned and shrugged.
“So, I’ve never been here before. Why the sudden change in weekend venue?” I asked the guys. Cole didn’t acknowledge my question, seeing as he was much too busy shoving his hands up Vivian’s shirt. Apparently they were in one of their “on again” phases.
Mitch poured me another glass of beer before refilling his own mug. “They have open mic night on the first Saturday of the month. We’ve been coming here for the last two years,” Mitch said in way of explanation.
I looked around at the small crowd and turned back to Mitch in disbelief. “Is this place harboring the next Dave Matthews and I didn’t realize it?” I asked. Mitch chuckled and gave me a strange look.
“Not exactly,” was all he said.
I watched as the bartender went to the tiny stage and set up a microphone stand and a small amp. He didn’t announce the beginning of any act. He simply switched on the power and went back to his post behind the bar.
Slowly, a guy from the audience came up with a beat up electric guitar. He began to play a horribly out of tune version of All Along the Watchtower. I felt embarrassed for the poor man as he hit the wrong chord over and over again. His voice wasn’t half bad but it was hard to notice over the horrendous way he butchered his guitar.
Perfect Regret ( BOOK 2) Page 9
