I grabbed my bag and car keys and Maysie followed me out to the car. Our neighbors Raymond and his girlfriend, Cicely, were hanging out on their stoop, smoking something that looked nothing like a cigarette. Raymond was half passed out and Cicely was winding beads into her hair.

I couldn’t even summon up the energy to mock them. What had my life come to when I didn’t have it in me to make fun of the losers next door? I was seriously losing my touch.

Damn Damien! Damn him to hell!

Maysie waved at them and looked at me expectantly. “Nothing? No witty barb? I’m disappointed,” she teased, though I could see the worry pinching her face.

I shrugged. “Maybe I shouldn’t be making fun of anyone right now. It’s not like I have a whole lot going for me apparently,” I said dramatically with a sigh. Maysie cocked her eyebrow and I knew I was taking the depressed dumpee a step too far. And when Maysie started to laugh I had to as well. I was being ridiculous. My maudlin act was bordering on ludicrous.

“Okay, enough with the sob fest. I’ve got to get to work,” I opened the car door and threw Maysie her school bag that she had left on the passenger seat.

“I’ll be in later. Generation Rejects are playing tonight at nine. So at least you’ll make good tips. And seriously, don’t even talk to the douche. Jordan’ll look out for you.” Maysie kissed my cheek before I could stop her and hurried back into our apartment.

I got in my car and headed to work, not looking forward to my evening.

Mega tips or not.

Once I arrived at Barton’s I was happy to see that I had gotten there before Damien so I was able to clock in, deliver my mandatory hello to Moore, give my customary middle finger greeting to the smarmy dishwashers Paco and Fed before heading into the dining room. It was dead, which wasn’t surprising. It was only three-thirty on a Saturday. Most of the people who would frequent Barton’s were most likely still hung over from the night before. The place wasn’t what you would call a “family joint.”

“Hey, Jordan,” I called out as I grabbed a mint from the bowl at the end of the bar and popped it in my mouth.

Jordan looked up and gave me a toothy smile. Damn, the guy really did have a nice face. “Afternoon, Riley. How’s it going?” he asked as he hefted a rack of glasses up onto the counter. It really should be illegal to have muscles like that. Yes, I was ogling my best friend’s man. Come on, his arms were incredible! Even I wasn’t immune to the charms of Jordan Levitt.

Jordan and the rest of his band had only just gotten back from eight weeks on the road. Generation Rejects had played up and down the east coast for most of the summer. They had slowly built a solid fan base and some great contacts in the industry. Once back in Virginia, they had booked time in a local studio to record their demo. Maysie had said they hoped to get it out to more promoters in the hopes of getting back out on tour. But until then, Jordan had decided to come back and work at Barton’s. And I know that decision had everything to do with the girlfriend he could never leave behind.

Despite my staunch belief in the fact that love blows, I knew that what Jordan had with Maysie was the real deal. So even if I grew old, adopt fifty cats and became the woman with blue hair that scares kids off her porch, at least my best friend had found something worth holding onto. And I could say that without an ounce of bitterness.

Well maybe only a small amount of bitterness.

Who the hell was I kidding? I was totally freaking bitter.

“I hear you’re playing tonight. Should be a riot,” I commented, making Jordan chuckle.

“We’ll convert you yet, Riley. Just wait and see. One day soon, you’ll be our biggest fan,” Jordan said, throwing his dishrag in my face. I rolled my eyes and gave an inelegant snort.

I had gone with Mays a few times to see Jordan and his band play over the summer. We had spent a weekend in Atlantic City when the guys had performed at Croctail’s Tavern. It wasn’t much of a secret that I kind of hated their music. Generation Rejects were the hard rock, scream so you can’t understand the lyrics stuff. I’m much more of an Indigo Girls, Tegan and Sarah chick. And while I wasn’t going to rush out and tattoo their band logo on my butt cheek, I could still appreciate their talent.

Because individually the guys were good. Cole, the lead singer, when you could actually understand him, had a great set of pipes. Mitch, the bassist, was pretty killer. And Garrett, when he could stand upright and wasn’t stumbling around on stage like a fool, could play a mean guitar.

And Jordan, well there was no denying he was damn good on the drums. The band had built a decent following. Maysie had started a fan website and was building their social media presence. She had become their defacto public relations guru. She loved helping out, even if it was starting to eat a lot of her time.

“Yeah, that’ll be about the time you start doing Sarah McLachlan covers, right?” I joked, tossing the towel back at him. He caught it easily and threw it into the sink.

“You guys should totally do Possession! I would pay good money to hear that,” Lyla, the other bartender on shift said, walking behind the bar to grab the liquor inventory.

Jordan choked. “Uh, yeah, I don’t think so,” he said shaking his head. Lyla and I glanced at each other and started laughing. And it felt good. See, I could laugh and be normal and forget that my heart had been put through a meat grinder.

“What are you guys laughing about?”

And just like that, my heart twisted into a bloody pile of pulp all over again.

I looked over at my shoulder to find douche bag extraordinaire, clipping his employee card onto his belt loop. I hated how cute he was, with his stupid dark hair that was just a tad too long and those annoyingly pretty green eyes behind heavy, black-framed glasses. I hated how smart and together he looked. I hated that he looked fine when I felt like a barely held together wreck. I clenched my hands into fists. I was totally going to punch him.

Jordan immediately picked up on my mood and intervened. “Nothing at all,” he said coolly and I gave him a small smile, letting him know I appreciated his loyalty. Nice to know Jordan Levitt had my back.

Damien smiled entirely too casually for someone who had so recently dumped his girlfriend. His eyes flickered to me and then away again as though he couldn’t even look at me. “Hey Riley,” he said, sounding as though he had swallowed a mouthful of thumbtacks. And I really wish he had.

“Hey,” I said back, proud of how unaffected and downright bored I sounded. No one could pull off emotionless bitch like Riley Fucking Walker!

“Later, guys!” I called out, waving at Jordan and Lyla who were both watching me closely. It was obvious by the way Lyla was staring at both Damien and me that she knew we had broken up. I’m sure we would be the source of endless gossiping and speculation tonight. Maybe it wasn’t too late to pretend I was still sick.

“Riley, hang on a sec.” I tensed up instantly. Damien’s hand curled around my wrist and I looked down at the offending appendage in shock.

Was he for real? How dare he touch me? I almost hissed at him like an alley cat getting ready to claw someone’s eyes out.

I wrenched my arm away and shot him a look of pure death. I wanted him to get sucked ten feet under by the strength of my anger alone. Too bad he continued to stand there, looking obnoxiously concerned.

“How are you?” he asked in a tone that was completely patronizing. He was looking at me as though he expected me to fall apart at any second. Though to be fair, I had done just that three days ago when he evilly broke my heart.

I gave him the fakest, brightest smile I could muster. “Oh, I’m fine. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me.” I patted his back condescendingly, my lip curling in disgust. “It’s amazing what losing a year’s worth of shit can do for your outlook on life,” I said nastily, turning my back on him. I didn’t wait for him to say another word. Instead I walked straight to my section and started my shift checklist.

That should have felt good. I wish I could tap dance on the eviscerated remains of our relationship but instead I just felt like icky. Because I didn’t enjoy being nasty to Damien. But at this point it felt like an imperative necessity. I just couldn’t let him know how utterly destroyed I have been. That would be like conceding defeat in some way.

And Riley Walker didn’t do defeat.

“Hey Riley,” a perky voice piped up behind me. I felt my shoulders tense and my teeth clench. I continued to wipe down my tables, even though they were so clean you could lick your food off them.

“Hey,” I responded less than enthusiastically. Jaz Digby was not my favorite person on the planet. She was entirely too enthusiastic about the monotonous routine that defined our roles as wait staff at Barton’s Bar and Grill. I don’t think the girl ever got pissed off and people like that bothered me on a molecular level. There was something wrong about someone that continued to smile while being chewed out by a disgruntled customer. People like that weren’t to be trusted.

The only reason I tolerated her on any level was that Maysie liked her, in that sweet, deluded way of hers.

Jaz sat down at the table I was meticulously scrubbing. She started to rearrange the salt and pepper shakers and given my current state of mind, she might as well be clubbing baby seals. It pissed me off that much. I reached over and quickly put them back the way I had them originally.

Jaz pursed her lips but wisely didn’t say anything. She leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees and cupped her chin. “So I hear you and Damien are kaput,” she said, dropping all pretense of friendliness. She sounded entirely too happy about it actually.

“And that’s your business because?” I asked shortly, turning my back on her and started to sweep up the carpet underneath the tables.

“Because he asked me out and I wanted to make sure that was cool with you,” she said, her lips twisted into a fake smile, her eyes sparkling.

I would have laughed if her words hadn’t just drilled a hole straight into my gut. Was she for real? Or had she burned away the last of her brain cells with her curling iron?

Though I guess it was nice to know we were past pretending to like each other. Acting like she didn’t drive me nuts was more effort than it was worth most days. Plus, I always knew Jaz was a fake ass harpy. Happy to see that my instincts were spot on.

I tried to focus on the blinding rage instead of the knot in my gut that made me want to vomit at the news that not only was Damien all ready asking other girls out, but he had in fact, asked out one of our co-workers. And one that I would have traded easily for a shirt I didn’t like.

Did his asshattery know no bounds?

I held my feelings mercifully in check. I continued to sweep as though my heart hadn’t been shredded to pieces at my feet. I blanked my face and turned to look at Jaz, who seemed both pleased and genuinely perplexed as to whether she had broken a sacred rule of girldome. Thou shalt not date other girl’s jerkwad of an ex within seventy-two hours of break up.

Wasn’t that standard knowledge? Did Jaz not read the handbook on how not to get yourself bitch slapped?

“Do what you want,” I said, trying not to strangle on the words. Jaz raised her eyebrows.

“Really? Because I’d be devastated if the guy I had dated for over a year asked another girl out less than a week after he dumped me,” Jaz stood up and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “And if it bothers you, I swear I won’t do it,” she lied through her teeth.

I squared my shoulders and laughed humorlessly. “It will take more than Damien Green to devastate me,” I leaned in and whispered in Jaz’s ear. “Maybe you’re better equipped than I was to deal with his weird blow up doll fetish and the fact he needs to wear a dress while he has sex.” I shrugged.

Jaz’s face went a little pale. “That’s not true, is it? I mean, I get that you’re upset that he asked me out but making stuff up is wrong, Riley,” she choked out, looking across the restaurant to where Damien was talking to a few of the other servers.

“I understand you’d think that, but here, I’ve got pictures…” I stated, pulling out my phone and making a show of scrolling through, looking for the non-existent photographs. Jaz shook her head.

“No!” she said sharply and I looked up.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you thinking I’m making stuff up. That I’m just being a bitter ex.” I held my phone up, waving it in front of her.

“I’ll pass,” Jaz muttered and left my section. I watched as she stormed into the back of the restaurant. I couldn’t help but snicker. Okay, that felt good. I glanced over toward Damien again and relished in the anger and borderline hatred I felt when I looked at him.

Damien looked up just then, our eyes catching and he lifted his hand in a wave.

So I waved back…with my middle finger.

“He didn’t!” Maysie breathed out, taking a long drink of her Long Island Iced Tea while looking completely appalled after I had filled her in on the Damien and Jaz situation. I was perched up on a barstool beside her, waiting for Generation Rejects to begin their set. I had been cut twenty minutes ago and decided to stay and hang out with Maysie.

My shift had been mostly uneventful. After my confrontation with Jaz, she had wisely kept a healthy distance. Damien wasn’t operating on the same level of mental functioning apparently, as he made a good half a dozen attempts to talk to me throughout the evening. Ignoring someone who was clearly trying to assuage themselves of some hefty feelings of guilt was pretty freaking difficult.

So by the time Maysie had arrived, I was exhausted and ready to inflict considerable bodily harm on the next person who asked for a drink refill. Patience and I were not BFFs right now.