“I can’t believe Jaz would be such a butt,” Maysie commented, shooting a murderous look in the direction of our co-worker. I rolled my eyes as I hopped up on the barstool.

“Really, you can’t? This is the same girl who refuses to wear a bra most days because she likes guys to see her nipples. I don’t think scruples, or something simple like common decency, are in her repertoire,” I remarked, giving Jordan a wane smile as he passed me a soda.

“I know it’s easy to be pissed at Jaz but don’t forget it’s Damien who’s being the jack ass in this equation,” Jordan said reasonably as he wiped down the bar.

“Are you seriously defending her?” Maysie asked incredulously and with more than a little venom. Uh oh. Jordan had better tread very, very carefully.

Jordan cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, picking up on his snafu. “Of course not, baby. Just trying to focus your rage where it really belongs is all,” he said and started backing away. “This is me leaving the conversation. I’d like to keep my appendages.” I couldn’t help but snicker at his hasty retreat.

Maysie patted my back. “You focus your rage wherever you want. Don’t listen to Jordan. He’s entirely too diplomatic. It’s obnoxious,” she said, though her words weren’t said hatefully. And the severity of her criticism was negated by the warm and gooey look she threw her boyfriend’s way. If I was up to full snark levels, I would cut through that warm fuzzy with a very sharp knife. But as it were, I didn’t have it in me.

Paging Riley Walker’s sarcasm…you are needed stat!

I was distracted by a loud commotion toward the front of the restaurant. Looking over my shoulder, I saw a rag tag group of disheveled guys lumbering into the bar. Each one looked as though he had just rolled out of bed, and given who was gracing Barton’s with their illustrious presence, I’m sure that’s exactly what they had done.

The noise level dramatically increased from bearable to pierce my eardrums with an icepick.

Because it seemed wherever Generation Rejects went, rowdiness and an inability to talk at reasonable volumes followed.

Groaning, I pulled a small bottle of ibuprophen out of my apron and shook three capsules into my palm. I swallowed them down without water, grimacing as they stuck in my throat. Maysie cocked her eyebrow at me, her lips twitching in an amused smile. My dislike for Jordan’s music wasn’t a secret, though I tried to curb my vocalizations.

Jordan was very protective of his band and I learned early on that it was one of the few things he would cut you off at the knees for. That and hurting Maysie in any way.

So if you wanted to be friends with Jordan Levitt, be nice to Maysie and don’t diss Generation Rejects.

“Piper! My man, three pints of your finest ale,” Cole, the lead singer shouted, affecting one of the worst British accents I had ever heard. His use of the misogynistic nickname for Maysie’s boyfriend set my teeth on edge. Being called the Pied Piper of Pussy was not a compliment in my book. It was just sad.

Jordan immediately uncapped three beers and placed them on the bar.

“Guess I should go clock out,” I said hurriedly, trying to make an escape before the horde descended. It’s not that I disliked the guys from Generation Rejects. Well, not completely. I know I probably sound totally stuck up, but the truth was they annoyed the hell out of me.

And it wasn’t just them, or their screamy music; it was the atmosphere that surrounded them. It so wasn’t my scene. Yeah, yeah, I know, I should just take the stick out of my butt, right?

Well let’s just say that my history with Generation Rejects shows or parties involved being vomited on, catching an elbow to the nose in a mosh pit, having my hair lit on fire by a crazy jealous ex of one of the band members because she knew I was “flirting with her man” (Uh, yeah, I wasn’t). And who could forget about the time some scary dude that looked as though he’d wandered off the mountaintop followed me around a party because I “looked purty.”

So pardon me if I tended to get full on hives when I knew my evening would involve Cole, Mitch or Garrett in any way.

“Rushing off?” a slow drawl asked just as I was about to make my escape. I glanced over my shoulder to see a decent looking guy with chin length blond hair and heavy lidded blue eyes gazing at me blankly. Meet Garrett Bellows, lead guitarist and total pothead. I can’t remember a time I had seen him that he wasn’t half lit and barely standing. The guy liked to party and sorry to say, had “loser” written all over him.

Yes, I was making a judgment. Perhaps an unfair one, but I had never shared more than a half a dozen words with this guy that wasn’t tinged with deteriorating sobriety. He seemed like a happy guy. He was always in a good mood, except when he spoke to me.

I wasn’t sure when we had become contentious adversaries. Maybe it was the night I had accompanied Maysie to one of the Reject’s infamous after parties and accidentally sent the keg rolling down the hill into the creek behind Garrett’s house.

I know, party foul, but I wasn’t the as**ole that had propped the stupid thing up on cinderblocks at the top of a steep incline. And it was totally Maysie’s fault for making me wear those stupid heels that should carry warnings about broken necks and public mortification caused from falling on your ass.

So Garrett had been pissed and maybe I had called him an “unwashed waste of space.” Sue me; I don’t like being yelled at.

Then there was the time I had gotten drunk at one of their shows and I walked into the girls’ bathroom, only to find Garrett screwing some girl in a stall, with the door open. I mean, who does that? It’s completely gross!

Drunken Riley has zero filter (well less than zero because sober Riley’s filter was deficient enough) and I had kind of made a nasty comment about herpes. Well, I alluded to Garrett having herpes and maybe the girl should think before letting him stick his diseased penis in any of her orifices.

I don’t know why I had said that. I was ignorant of any venereal diseases where Garrett was concerned and that was a really shitty thing to say about someone I didn’t even know. All I can say in my defense is I was rendered blind by the sight and spewed out the first thing that came to mind to make it stop.

Come on! They were having sex. On top of a toilet. That is beyond nasty.

So you can see why I was not Garrett Bellows’ favorite person. And my thoughts about him were anything but pleasant. I don’t think I was unjustified in my feelings of overall disgust.

Looking at him standing in front of me, I couldn’t see past the blood shot eyes, messy shirt, and torn jeans. And I didn’t want to either. Garrett was who he was and I knew without a doubt that we were never destined to mix. Not that he would give a crap what I thought about him anyway.

So I cocked my head to the side and regarded him coldly before replying.

“Not fast enough, apparently,” I quipped, turning my back on him as I headed back to my section to clock myself out.

“You really should give the poor guy a break. I think he’ll need stitches from your particular brand of razor sharp bitchiness,” Maysie said. She had followed me to my section and was now lounging with her feet propped up on one of the chairs.

I glanced over to the bar to where Garrett was now schmoozing it up with a couple of girls I recognized from their honorary barfly status at Barton’s. “I think he’s over it,” I smirked, nodding his direction.

As if he could feel the weight of my stare, Garrett’s eyes met mine over the shoulder of the girl straddling his lap. I should have looked away. The whole thing was horribly embarrassing. But I voyeuristically watched as Garrett gripped her h*ps and ground the girl onto his groin.

My cheeks felt hot and I forced myself to look away. I swallowed thickly and turned back to Maysie who was watching me with a puzzled look on her face. I smiled thinly and wiped down the last table.

“I think you should come with me to the after party. It would do you good,” Maysie commented. I fell down into a chair beside my roommate. A refusal was on the tip of my tongue. I had a million and one instant excuses ready. I’m tired. I’ve got a killer headache. I have an early shift tomorrow.

But then I noticed Jaz and Damien talking in a corner. I knew body language and there was an uncomfortable amount of sexual awareness between the two. My heart hurt in my chest and I felt dangerously close to crying again.

Then I looked back at the bar and was startled to find Garrett still watching me. The girl who had been dry humping his crotch was gone and he was slowly nursing a beer. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a drink, his eyebrow cocking as he looked at me. He lowered the drink and an annoying smirk lifted his mouth.

Damn, I wanted to punch that smirk off his obnoxious mouth.

I straightened my back and got to my feet, picking up the rag from the table and bunching it in my clenched hand. “You know what, I think I will come,” I said firmly. Maysie blinked a few times in surprise.

“Wow, I was expecting to have to argue with you a bit more than that. What’s gotten into you?” she teased. I noticed Garrett, Jordan, and the other guys were starting to get ready for their set. This would have normally been my cue to run for the hills.

But not tonight.

Tonight I felt like being unpredictable.

I turned and grinned at Maysie. “I feel like being a bit of a bad girl,” I said and Maysie laughed.

“Riley Walker a bad girl? Now that I got to see.”

Well, just maybe she would.

An hour later I had changed into my favorite jeans and shirt that I had hand stitched myself. Yes, I, on occasion, liked to make my own clothes. And I didn’t care what anyone thought about it. I was proud of my pretty, patchwork shirt, and it made me feel good to wear it. It really was all about the small stuff at this point.

So here I was once again sat beside Maysie at the bar, trying not to stare at Damien and Jaz as they laughed in a booth five feet away. Generation Rejects were three songs in and the place was packed.

I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to grin and bear it. I wanted to go home but Mays insisted that I needed to make a point. Show the world that Riley Walker wasn’t down for the count.

“Total assholes. She’s off my Christmas card list,” Maysie yelled in my ear while I purposefully looked anywhere but in the direction of my ex-boyfriend. I grit my teeth, trying really hard not to give into the almost overwhelming urge to channel my inner Incredible Hulk and start flipping tables.

“Do you even have a Christmas card list?” I asked her. Maysie snorted.

“Well, no, but bitch wouldn’t be on it,” she muttered, finishing off her third Long Island Iced Tea. I saw the telltale signs of inebriation overtake her. Maysie was a drinker. A partier by nature. Miss Social Butterfly. Which was perfect for the lifestyle she now found herself in, being the card carrying girlfriend of one hot-astic drummer of the crazily popular Generation Rejects. But the truth was I just couldn’t keep up. When it came to boozing and doing it up crazy style, I was still on the first lap.

“I appreciate you going all vengeful she-beast, but it’s unnecessary. This girl can fight her own battles,” I assured her chugging my soda before slamming the glass down on the bar top. I grabbed my apron and order pad. “I think I’m going to head home. I’m exhausted,” I said, wanting nothing more than a hot bath and the huge bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups sitting in the pantry.

Maysie grabbed my upper arm and gave me a yank. For such a scrawny girl, she had some serious upper body strength. “Excuse me? Is there a reason you’re digging your nails into my flesh?” I pinched my lips together, trying not to get annoyed.

“You’re not going anywhere. You promised you’d come to Garrett’s with me. Don’t you dare puss out on me! What happened to unleashing your inner bad girl?” she asked, though she wisely loosened her grip.

“My inner bad girl is being punched in the throat by my inner sensible girl who has had about all she can stomach of this scene for one night,” I told her, handing my empty glass to Lyla.

“Heading home all ready, Riley? You are looking pretty washed out.” My shoulders stiffened and I saw Maysie’s lips purse together.

“And you’ve never been able to stop the stupid shit that comes out of your mouth, so I say we’re both having a crappy evening,” I snarled, giving Jaz my best say one more word and you die look. Jaz’s answering laugh was fake and slightly nervous and was akin to nails on a chalkboard. I was really tempted to tear her hair out. But flicking my eyes over to my traitorous ex who was watching our exchange somewhat anxiously, I knew without a doubt that the douch bag wasn’t worth a chick fight.

“Fuck off, Jaz,” Maysie piped in. Jaz’s eyes widened and I could see she was hurt by the curt tone in Maysie’s voice. Jaz and Maysie had always been friends. But what Miss Sloppy Seconds didn’t understand was my roommate’s loyalties ran deep where I was concerned. You mess with me, you mess with Maysie Ardin. We were a rag tag duo.

“I’m only worried about her, Mays. I didn’t mean anything by it,” Jaz backpedaled. I snorted and shook my head, letting Maysie know she didn’t need to jump into this particular fight. Because I was hanging up the gloves. Some things weren’t worth the hassle.

I turned in my stool, purposefully giving Jaz and Dumbass Damien my back. “I think I will come after all. Even if I’m looking a little washed out,” I said with a grin. Maysie smiled back.

“I guess I’ll see you guys later,” Jaz said but Maysie and I ignored her. She finally got the point and slinked back to the booth where Damien was watching. I didn’t even bother to look in his direction.