Good Girl Complex (Avalon Bay, #1)

by Elle Kennedy

“People always say college is where you go to find yourself.” “I thought that was Panama City.”

Standing on the rocks, I have a little pep talk with the pup. “I’m trying to help you, okay? Do not bite my face off. Let’s get along for the next few minutes. Deal?” The animal whines and whimpers, which I suppose is the best I’m getting.

“Act like a dumbass, get called a dumbass.” I angrily shake water out of my hair. Doesn’t escape me that the dog is currently doing the same. We’re both feral animals, I suppose.

“This was your plan all along? To get me naked?” “Yes, Cooper. I broke into an animal shelter, stole a puppy, placed it in a perilous situation, swam out to rescue it myself—so as to not raise your suspicions that it was I, in fact, who trapped the dog on the jetty—then telepathically ordered the dog to scratch you up. All so I could see your perfect pecs.” She finishes with a snort. “Extreme actions,” I agree. “But I get it. My pecs are perfect. They’re transcendent.”

I dutifully pet her golden fur, which, for the fifty bucks it cost to groom her yesterday, better be soft. Then I swipe the dog from his hands and set her back on the floor. On which she promptly pees. “Motherfucker,” I grumble. Evan instantly becomes a mother hen, grabbing paper towels and cooing at his new girlfriend as he sops up her pee puddle. “It’s okay, pretty girl. We all have accidents.”

“Can we do something chill?” I grumble. “Like, give me five seconds to readjust to gravity.” She grins. “Something chill? Gee, Grandpa, like what? Should we sit quietly on the Ferris wheel or board that slow little train that goes through the Tunnel of Love?” “If you’re going into the Tunnel of Love with your grandpa, then you’ve got a whole new set of problems we need to talk about.”

“I’m convinced you argue just for the sake of arguing,” I inform her. “I do not.” I laugh harder. “See! You’re so damn stubborn.” “Lies!” A tall blonde holding hands with a small boy frowns as she passes by. Mac’s exclamation has brought a flicker of concern to the woman’s eyes. “It’s okay,” Mac assures her. “We’re best friends.” “We’re bitter rivals,” I correct. “She’s always yelling at me, ma’am. Please, help me out of this toxic relationship.”

The next morning, my media culture class is canceled. The professor sends a mass email that defies the laws of oversharing, informing us that his bowels had revolted against the meatloaf his wife prepared for dinner last night. I feel your pain, bud.

“What’s taking Ren so long to forgive you?” Tate asks, grinning. “Your epic reunions usually happen fairly fast.” “She’s dragging it out this time,” Wyatt complains. “She went out with some meathead from her gym last night and sent me a selfie of them watching The Bachelorette together because she knew it’d piss me off.” I raise an eyebrow. “Why would that piss you off?” “Because it’s our favorite show, dickhead. She’s goddamn TV-cheating on me with a guy who wears mesh tank tops.” Tate snickers. “Are you more upset about the fact that Ren’s watching a dumb reality show without you, or that she might be banging a gym bro?” Wyatt waves his hand. “She’s not banging him. It’s just revenge dating. Like when I went out with that chick who works at the surf school after Ren threw out all my band shirts without asking.” “Didn’t you end up screwing the surf school chick?” Tate says in confusion. Wyatt stares at him. “That was you, dumbass.”

“Seriously, though. You’ve got your shit together better than most people I know. To hell with your parents approving. Be your own person.” “You don’t know them.” “I don’t have to know them. I know you.” He turns to face me fully, leveling me with serious eyes. “Mac, you are a force to be reckoned with. You don’t take shit, you take names. Don’t forget that.”

That, in there, was me spending my very last fuck.”

“Yeah, I did. And I’m the one who threw her at you. I guess I’m not allowed to be jealous.” Mac growls softly. “But I fucking am.” “Welcome to the club,” I growl back. “The thought of anyone but me putting their hands on you makes me homicidal.”

“I’m not fucking anyone else. I don’t want you fucking anyone else. If anyone looks at you funny, I’m breaking their face. How’s that work?” It isn’t exactly poetry, but that might be the most romantic thing a guy’s ever said to me.

“Patricia,” I call out. Steady voice now. Hands, not so much. “Look, let’s be cool, okay? I know it’s probably not fun being dead, but that doesn’t mean you have to scream your lungs out. If you use your indoor voice, I’m happy to sit down and listen to whatever you—” Another scream pierces the air. “Or not,” I backpedal. “Fine. You win, Patricia. Just keep scaring the crap out of me, then.”

“Are you kidding me right now? In case I hadn’t noticed? And now you’re suddenly worried about my safety? You’re the one who left me at your house in the middle of a hurricane. I was all alone there! Just me and Patricia screaming like a banshee!” He blinks at me as if I’m insane. “Her name is Daisy.” I stumble to my feet, clutching the blanket against myself like a toga. “I’m not talking about the dog! I’m talking about Patricia!” “I don’t know who Patricia is, you lunatic!” “The little dead girl who drowned outside your house a hundred years ago and—” I stop, my outraged gaze swinging toward Evan, whose lips are twitching wildly. “You asshole!” I snarl. “Seriously?” Evan crosses his arms over his chest. “Mackenzie. Sweetheart. I’m not gonna apologize for you being gullible. This one’s on you.” On the couch, Alana and Steph are in hysterics. Steph has tears running down her cheeks as she wheezes out little dead girl between giggles.

“You seem unsure,” Mac observes. “No, no. I’m not. It’s, uhh…” “A big commitment?” She’s smiling. Grinning, actually. I think this chick is laughing at me. “I’m not afraid of commitment, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” “Uh-huh,” she says. “I’ll commit the shit out of you.”

“Tell you what,” I say, pulling my purse off the back of my chair, “here’s my counteroffer: no.”

“I’m sorry, do my ears deceive me?” a highly excited voice bubbles from my open doorway. “Or did I just hear you refer to our mysterious caller as Cooper?” I meet her wide eyes. Sheepish. “As in Cooper Hartley?” I nod. Bonnie gasps loud enough startle me, even though she’s right in front of me. “Oh sweet little baby Jesus! That’s who you been hidin’ from me?” She barrels into the room, blonde curls flying around her shoulders. “You are not leavin’ this dormitory till you provide me with every last detail. I need everything.”

“If you two are done, can we get this damn tree finished?” Apparently feeling left out, Cooper pouts behind us. “Keep that attitude up and you’re not getting your present tonight,” I warn him. “Please,” Evan says, hushing us with his finger over his mouth. “Baby Potato Jesus can hear you.”

I was half asleep until I met him.

Time to wipe up my smudged mascara and be a bad bitch. Fuck love. Build the empire.

Alana told me she’d shown Mac the post I’d written, but wouldn’t elaborate much on her reaction, except to say she didn’t chuck the phone into the street.

We go a little ways down the beach, where I coax her up to the boardwalk in front of her hotel. It’s still a gutted shell, though the debris has been hauled away. On what’s left of the veranda, two matching rocking chairs sit looking out on the water. Flickering candles line the railing. Mac’s breath hitches. Slowly, she turns to meet my earnest gaze. “What’s this?” she whispers. “First time you brought me here, you told me that you pictured guests sitting out here in rocking chairs, sipping wine, watching the waves roll in.” She looks up at me with the thousands of tiny lights of the boardwalk shining in her eyes. “I can’t believe you remembered.” “I remember every word you’ve ever said to me.”

“Please, Mac. Come home. I don’t know what I am if I can’t love you.”