Good Girl Complex (11 page)

Now that they’ve gotten a whiff of blood in the water, they won’t be satisfied until they’ve tasted flesh.

MACKENZIE

“Three days in a row, this boy lets the door slam in my face at the smoothie place. Not once does he apologize. I’m startin’ to think he’s doin’ it on purpose. I’m old-fashioned, okay? I value manners. Open a door for a lady, will ya? So the fourth day, I see him comin’. I’m ready for him. I’m inside and grab the door before he can open it. I flick the lock. This whole smoothie joint is held captive because I ain’t letting this guy in. Over my dead body.”

It’s Monday morning, and Bonnie and I are both dragging ass. She shouts from the bathroom, putting on makeup, as I make us coffee in the kitchenette. I’m only half paying attention and manage to spill milk on my shirt.

“How long did that go on?” I call from my room while I change shirts. I’m supposed to meet Preston for lunch at his house later, so I have to make sure my outfit is appropriate. Not for him, but for his mother. She likes me fine—I think?—but she’s very … particular. A tank top and jeans are not going to cut it with Coraline Kincaid.

“Long enough that the manager jumps in demandin’ I let people out. And I’m all, I’d love to—as soon as this guy apologizes or leaves. Well, eventually he must realize I’m not playin’ around, so he takes off. Next day, he locks me out of the sandwich shop until I agree to go on a date with him. So he’s pickin’ me up Friday night.”

“That’s great,” I shout, only to turn and realize Bonnie is standing right behind me with our coffee in two travel mugs. “Sorry.”

“You seem edgy.” She stares at me. “You have a secret.”

“No, I don’t.”

Her eyes burst into wide, blue saucers. “You kissed a boy.”

Witch.

“Who is he?” she demands.

There’s no use denying it. I’m entirely convinced of Bonnie’s otherworldly powers. She’ll berate me until I give her what she wants.

“Some townie,” I say. Technically, it’s true. She doesn’t need to know the townie in question is Cooper.

Ugh. Just the thought of his name quickens my heart rate.

What in the
world
have I done? The kiss at the festival? I can blame that one on the sugar high. But the full-on make-out grope session at his house afterward?

There’s no excuse.

I’m a horrible person. A horrible, selfish, awful girlfriend who doesn’t deserve a stand-up guy like Preston.

There is absolutely no coming back from what I did on Friday night. I know this. And yet despite the whirlpool of guilt currently foaming in my stomach, one stupid little butterfly continues to flutter inside me, flapping around and churning up memories of Cooper’s hungry lips and heated gaze.

His tongue in my mouth.

My fingers skimming the defined muscles of his unbelievably ripped chest.

And it’s not only the physical stuff that lingers in my mind. It’s everything that came before it. Talking about our families in his workshop, running around the boardwalk like a pair of rowdy kids. When I’m with him, I don’t need to put on a front. I don’t have to pretend to be the proper, well-behaved lady I’m expected to be. I feel
like I’m my true self when I’m around Cooper. And that … scares me.

“That’s it?” Bonnie’s voice jerks me from my unsettling thoughts. “Nuh-uh, I don’t think so. I require more details.”

I shrug awkwardly. “There’s not much else to say. It just sort of happened.”

“Is it going to just sort of happen again?” Her expression tells me she’s hoping the answer might be yes.

“No. Definitely not. I feel terrible. Preston—”

“Doesn’t need to know,” Bonnie finishes for me. “Nothin’ good will come of telling him. If it was a mistake, and even if it wasn’t—a girl has a right to her secrets. Trust me.”

I know she means well, but I’ve already kept too much from him. This whole thing with Cooper has gone too far. I’m not a liar, and I never, ever thought myself capable of kissing someone other than my boyfriend. It’s a humbling experience, discovering you’re not as morally virtuous as you once thought.

Bonnie’s wrong. Preston needs to know what I’ve done to us.

The right thing to do now is tell the truth and accept the consequences.

Later that afternoon, Pres picks me up from class for lunch. All day, I practiced what I would say. How I would tell him. But when he kisses my cheek and wraps his arm around my waist, I lose my nerve and keep my mouth shut.

“You look great,” he says, nodding in approval.

Relief flutters through me. Thank God. I went through three outfits before I decided on a silk blouse and navy pixie chinos. My own mother doesn’t give me this much anxiety.

“Freddy is preparing lamb shank,” Preston adds. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“Famished,” I lie.

He steers his Porsche into the parking lot of Garnet’s football facility and pulls into a spot. Like the gentleman he is, he hops out of the convertible and runs over to open my door. Then he extends a hand, I take it, and we walk toward Preston’s helicopter.

Yup. His helicopter.

Most days, it’s how he commutes to school. His family had the helipad installed behind the football stadium his freshman year. It’s a bit ridiculous, even for our circle of society, and the sight of the gleaming, white aircraft makes me wonder what Cooper would say if he saw—

No. Nope. Not going there. Today, I come clean.

It isn’t long before we’re flying in over the Kincaid estate, a massive piece of gated property on the coast. Endless lawns and oak trees stretch out for acres, the property divided from the ocean by an expansive white mansion. There’s a pool, tennis courts, basketball court, and flower garden. All maintained by at least a dozen employees at any given time.

On the back patio, his mother greets us. As always, she’s impeccably dressed. Head-to-toe Prada. I’m not sure why she bothers, seeing as how most days she has little reason to leave the house. Like my mom, Coraline doesn’t work and employs a personal staff that handles every aspect of the home and her affairs.

“Hey, Mom.” Preston leans in to kiss his mother’s cheek.

“Hi, darling.” Smiling, she shifts her gaze to me. “Mackenzie, honey.” She hugs me, but with the light touch of someone who might shatter if you squeezed too hard. She’s a slight woman. Fragile, not frail. Just don’t make her angry. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Kincaid. Your new roses around the gazebo are gorgeous.”

I learned long ago that the easiest way to keep her happy is to find something new on the estate to compliment on every visit. Otherwise,
she spends the entire time commenting on my split ends or the size of my pores.

“Oh, thank you, honey. Raúl planted them just this week. He really is an artist.”

“Are you joining us for lunch?” I inquire.
Please say no, please say no—

“I’m afraid not. I’m meeting with my architect soon. He’ll be here any minute. Did Preston tell you we’re building a new pool house?”

“No, he didn’t. How exciting.” Really, the only exciting thing about any of this is that she’s not having lunch with us.

And it’s a good thing she doesn’t, because lunch ends up being hella awkward. Not that Preston notices. In the formal dining room among the lamb shank and fine china, he goes on about some professor he insists has it out for him, while I pick at my food and work up the nerve to confess my sins.

“Of course, I could go to the dean and have the whole matter sorted out. He’d be out of a job. Then I thought, well, where’s the fun in that, right? I’ll come up with something more creative. That’s the thing with those people. You give them a little respect, and suddenly they forget their place. It’s our job to remind them. Another refill, Martha,” he says to the maid. “Thank you.”

Finally, I can’t stand the pit in my stomach any longer.

“I have something to tell you,” I blurt out.

He sets down his fork and pushes his plate away for Martha. “You okay?”

No. Not even a little. It isn’t until right now that I realize I do care about Preston. Not only because we’ve been together so long. Not because of some sense of loyalty.

Cooper might draw out my “true self,” whatever the hell that even means, but Preston does exactly what I told Cooper the other night: He keeps me grounded. He’s a stable presence in my life. He
knows this world, knows how to handle our parents, which is important in maintaining our sanity. Around him, I’m not a ball of anxiety and dread.

And what I’ve done to him isn’t fair.

I wait until Martha leaves the dining room before releasing a shaky breath.

Now or never.

“I kissed someone. A guy.”

He waits, watching me, as if I might say more.

I should. I will. This seemed the most expedient way to begin. Except now I’m regretting not waiting until we were somewhere more private. If his mother decides to walk in right now, I might not make it off the estate alive.

“Is that all?” Preston prompts.

“No. I mean, yeah. We only kissed, if that’s what you mean.” I bite my lip. Hard. “But I cheated on you.”

He gets up from his seat at the far end of the table and comes to sit beside me. “Do I know him?”

“No. Some local I met at a bar when I was out with Bonnie. It was a stupid thing to do. We were drinking and I wasn’t thinking and …” And I can’t help myself from softening the blow with another lie. I was going to tell him. Everything. Now, looking in his eyes, I can’t hurt him that way. He is taking it better than I expected, though. “I’m so sorry, Pres. You don’t deserve this. I was wrong and I have no excuse.”

“Babe,” he says, squeezing my hand. He smiles, almost amused. “I’m not mad.”

I blink. “You’re not?”

“Of course not. So you had too much to drink and kissed a townie. Welcome to your freshman year of college. Guess you learned a lesson about handling your liquor.”

Chuckling, he kisses the top of my head, then offers his hand to help me up from the table.

“How are you taking this so well?” I’m absolutely dumbfounded. Of all the ways I thought he might react, this wasn’t one of them.

He leads me out to the back veranda to sit on the porch swing, where the maid has already put out two glasses of iced tea. “Simple. I can see the big picture. You and I have a future together, Mackenzie. I’m not interested in throwing that away over some minor indiscretion. Are you?”

“Definitely not.” But I thought there’d be some groveling involved, at the very least.

“I’m glad you told me the truth. I’m not thrilled about what happened, but I understand, and I forgive you. Water under the bridge.” He hands me an iced tea. “Not too much sugar, just the way you like it.”

Okay, then.

For the rest of the afternoon, I expect Preston to pull away. To be cold, unhappy, even though he insisted he was fine.

But that isn’t the case at all. If anything, he’s more affectionate. This whole ordeal has only brought us closer together, which in a way makes me feel worse. I can’t say precisely how I would’ve handled it if the situations were reversed, but I’m fairly sure I wouldn’t have shrugged and said, “Water under the bridge
.
” I guess Preston is a better person than I am.

I need to follow his lead. Be better. Focus harder on our relationship. The big picture, as he’d phrased it.

So that night, when Cooper texts me, I’m ready for it. I’d been waiting all day, all evening, for him to reach out. I knew he would, and I know what I have to do.

There’s a very long delay, nearly five minutes, before Cooper sends another message. By then, I’m on pins and needles, practically jumping out of my skin.

I stare miserably at the screen, a lump rising in my throat. Then I force myself to type.

Part of me hates cutting him off so abruptly. It isn’t his fault that I messed up. But I can’t trust myself around him, and this is the decision I should have made weeks ago. I was stupid. I thought I could have him as a friend. I thought I could play both sides. Now, I’m choosing.

I’m choosing Preston.

COOPER

On Sunday afternoon, I’m in the garage when my uncle calls to say he’s stopping by. Every time my phone buzzes in my pocket, there’s a second or two where I think it might be Mackenzie. Then I look at the screen and remember that I blew it. Read her all wrong.

Goodbye, Cooper.

Yeah. It must’ve been fun for her to slum it with some townie trash, make believe she was living dangerously. And then, the second it got real, she split. I was stupid to think it would end any other way.

But goddamn it, I can’t get the taste of her off my tongue. For the past week, I’ve woken up every morning with a hard-on from imagining her legs wrapped around me. I can’t even jerk off without pictures of Mac forcing themselves into my mind. This chick is slow-acting poison. And all I can think about is getting more.

Today, thanks to Evan, I have to build a new coffee table. The one I “sold” to Mackenzie is still sitting under a drop cloth, because it doesn’t seem right to take it in case she decides to come back for it. I tell myself it’s for the money and leave it at that. Anyway, this one’s going to be a quick and dirty piece. Fucking Evan. Last night during a sudden party that broke out at our place, he got into it with some guy we went to high school with. I don’t know how it started, only that it ended with one of them slamming the other through the
table and leaving a bloody trail out my back door. Evan insists he’s fine, but I’m starting to worry about him. Lately, he’s been finding more excuses to start fights. Always in a pissy mood. Drinking more. This shit’s getting old.

When Levi shows up, he hands me a cup of fresh coffee he picked up on the way and I dust off a couple stools for us.

Levi is our father’s brother. Tall, rugged, with a short brown beard and square face. Although he bears a resemblance to my dad, the two of them couldn’t be more different. Where Dad never missed a chance to fuck himself up and pass it on to us, Levi actually has his life together.

“Your brother around?” he asks.

“Left a little while ago.” Probably picking up a greasy hangover cure from the diner. “So. What’s up?”

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “Just wanted to stop by and say a quick hello. I haven’t been to the house in a few months, so I wanted to check in.” Levi eyes the table in progress. “Working on something new?”

“Nothing important.”

“When are you going to get serious about that, Coop? I remember you talking about trying to make a go of it sometime back.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s kind of on the back burner.”

“It shouldn’t be. You’re good enough. Much as I like having you on the jobsite, you could be doing more for yourself.”

Levi gave us our first full-time jobs out of high school. He’s done well at it too. Not rolling in dough by any means, but he stays busy. Like a lot of people, the storms gave him more work than he knew what to do with.

Shrugging, I take a sip of coffee. “I got a few pieces in some coastal furniture shops in the tri-county area. Maybe about ten grand saved up, but that’s still nowhere near enough for all the overhead I’d need to start a real business.”

“I’d give ya the money if I had it,” he says, and I know he’s being entirely sincere. He’s always been there for us since our dad died. When our mom was strung out or missing, when the fridge was empty, when our homework was due. “Everything I’ve got is tied up in the business. I love having the work, but it’s expensive to keep up with demand.”

“It’s no sweat. I can’t take your money, anyway. You’ve done more than enough for Evan and me.” I’ve never in my life asked for a handout, and I’m not about to start now. I make fine money working for Levi. If I keep at it and save up, I’ll make my own way. Eventually.

“What about a bank loan?” he suggests.

I’ve always resisted the idea. Not the least of which because I dealt with the banks after our dad’s death—and every one of them are filled with nothing but bloodsucking suits who would sooner grind us into food pellets than help us succeed.

“I don’t know,” I finally answer. “I don’t like the idea of going into more debt. Or having to leverage the house.” I know I sound like a whiny bitch. At some point, I’m gonna have to make up my mind. Either get serious about getting my business off the ground or stop moaning about it.

“Well, that’s true. It costs money to make money. But give it some thought. If this is really something you want to build a business out of, I can help. Co-sign the loan for you.”

It’s a generous offer, and one I don’t take lightly. Even if I’m not thrilled about the idea now, I’m not about to throw his graciousness in his face, so I nod slowly. “Thanks, Levi. I’ll think about it.”

Levi doesn’t stay more than a few minutes. After we finish our coffee, he’s off to meet with a client about another job, and I’m back to measuring a plank of cedar. My head’s not in it, though. It’s never a good idea to operate power tools when your concentration is shot, so I call it quits and leave my workshop. Whatever. Evan can eat his dinner off the floor tonight like his precious girlfriend Daisy.

Speaking of Daisy, she’s nipping at my heels when I stride back in the house. For the next ten minutes, we practice her sit-stays, but my head’s not feeling that either.

Goodbye, Cooper.

I feel … heavy. Like I’m being dragged under the surface by a hundred-pound steel anchor wrapped around my neck. It’s not a foreign feeling for me. My whole life, I’ve felt weighed down. By my parents’ debts, my brother’s bullshit, that sense I get sometimes that I’m trapped in my own head.

“Sorry, girl, I gotta get out of here,” I tell the dog, reaching down to scratch beneath her silky ear. “I’ll be back in a minute. Promise.”

That’s a lie. It’ll take more than a minute to do what I’m itching to do. Daisy’ll be fine, though. Evan will shower her with love and attention when he gets home. Same way Mackenzie did every time she is the dog. I wonder if she’ll come back to visit Daisy sometimes.

Doubt it. She’s probably already forgotten about the both of us.

Gotta admit, I didn’t expect her to be so cold. I guess in the end she is just like all the other Garnet clones. Cold-blooded to the core.

Honestly, it serves me right. I went into this with bad intentions, treated her as a means for revenge against Kincaid.

Karma’s a bitch.

I forcibly shove her out of my mind. Ten minutes later, I’m parking my truck near the boardwalk. The tattoo parlor is empty when I enter, save for a frazzled-looking Wyatt sitting at the counter with a sketchpad in front of him.

“Yo,” he greets me, his expression brightening.

“Yo. Got time for a walk-in?”

Wyatt’s been tattooing me since I was a sixteen-year-old punk requesting a tombstone on my left biceps. ’Course, he was only a year older at the time, with a tattoo gun he picked up from the pawnshop,
so my first ink wasn’t exactly a masterpiece. If I have kids, first thing I’m telling them is to never let their dumbass teenage friends poke needles into their flesh. Fortunately, it turned out all right in the end. Wyatt honed his craft and now co-runs this joint with another artist, and my shitty tombstone was skillfully camouflaged within a full sleeve featuring a watery graveyard among the crashing waves of Avalon Bay.

“Depends,” Wyatt says. “What’s the piece?”

“Simple, small. I want an anchor.” I rub my fingertips over the back of my neck. “Right here.”

“What kind of anchor? Stockless? Admiralty?”

I’m not a boat guy, so I roll my eyes. “How the fuck do I know? A fisherman anchor—you know the one I mean.”

He snickers. “Admiralty, then. Come to the back. It’ll take less than an hour.”

In no time at all, I’m straddling a chair while Wyatt preps his workstation. That’s how it works in the Bay. If you’re good to your friends, they’re good to you. Wyatt probably won’t even charge me for this new ink, no matter how much I insist. Instead, he’ll show up at my place in a few months or a year from now asking for some random favor, and I’ll happily oblige.

“So what were you looking all bothered about when I got here?” I ask.

He releases a frustrated groan. “Ah. Yeah. I was trying to design a piece so fucking sexy that Ren’ll have no choice but to take me back.”

I smother a laugh. “She dump you again?”

“What else is new, right?”

He’s not wrong. Wyatt and Lauren aka Ren break up at least every other month, usually on account of the most random nonsense you can imagine. They’re a great source of entertainment, though.

“What happened this time?”

“Lean forward,” he orders, nudging me so that I’m bent over the chair, the back of my head at his mercy.

A second later, I feel a cool spray at my nape. Wyatt cleans the area with a soft cloth before reaching for a razor.

“Okay,” he says as he starts shaving the short hairs on my neck. “I need you to imagine something. Ready?”

My snicker is muffled against my forearm. “Sure. Ready.”

“You’re on an island.”

“Deserted or, like, a resort island?”

“Deserted. You were in a plane crash. Or your boat capsized. Not important.”

“How is it not important?” I object. “If I was on a boat, I’d probably be more familiar with islands and tides and shit, which means I’d have a better shot at survival.”

“Oh my God. That’s not the point,” he grumbles. “Why you gotta complicate it, Hartley? You’re on a deserted island. The end.”

“Cool story, bro.”

“You realize I’m holding a razor near your neck right now?”

I swallow another laugh. “Okay. I’m on a deserted island. Now what?”

“Want me to stencil this out or freehand it?”

“Freehand. I trust you.” Besides, if the tat is trash, at least it’s somewhere I can’t see it.

Wyatt keeps jabbering as he preps the ink. Black only. I’m not fancy. “So you’re stuck there. This is your life now, this island. But! Good news. You’re about to get some company. Two boats appear—”

“Sweet, so I’m rescued?”

“No!” He sounds aggravated. “I just said you’re stuck there forever.”

“But there are boats.”

“The boats explode in five minutes, okay? There are no boats. Jesus.”

It occurs to me that maybe I shouldn’t be antagonizing the guy with the needles. But damn, it’s fun to annoy Wyatt.

“On the first boat, there’s your girlfriend, or partner, or whatever. But just them. Nothing else. The second boat has nobody on it. But it’s got all the supplies you need to survive on the island. Fire kits, building materials, food, weapons, I’m talking
everything
.”

My lips twitch. “Did Ren pose this thought experiment to you?”

“Yes,” he says glumly.

I twist my head to peer at him. “You stupid bastard. Did you pick the supplies boat instead of her?”

“Like you wouldn’t,” he accuses.

Laughter rumbles out of my chest.

“It’s a matter of life and death, Coop. I need food and shelter! Sure, it’d be great to have Ren there, but we’ll die in five seconds flat if we don’t have the tools to live. And anyway, with all the stuff at my disposal, I can build a raft and make my way home to her. It’s common sense.”

“Ren really dumped you because of this?”

“What? No. That’s insane. She dumped me because I was an hour late to her sister’s birthday dinner. I was out with Tate telling him about her dumb thought experiment and lost track of time.”

I stare at him. How are these my friends?

On the other hand, I’m getting a free tattoo out of him, and his nonsense did succeed in helping me forget about Mackenzie.

Goodbye, Cooper.

Or not.