Bad Girl Reputation by Elle Kennedy

“We have to make a run for it because this dude is out of his mind, and we’re climbing through these damn hedges and getting all cut up. I’ve got Danny on my shoulder to heave him up over the fence. Juan is trying to get an Uber but the reception sucks, so the app isn’t loading. We’re hauling ass, hearing all kinds of commotion behind us, while I’m thinking, one of these rich folks are going to think that house is burning down and call the cops on us. Sure enough, about ten minutes later, we’re heading back toward the main road and a car comes up real slow behind us.”

I hear a voice and look over my shoulder. It’s Gen, standing a few yards away with Heidi and some of the girls. She’s wearing a long-sleeve shirt falling off one shoulder and barely revealing a tiny pair of shorts hugging her ass like they’re painted on. Long black hair cascades down her back. Kill me.

Gen’s got this way about her. Confident and cool but with this edge of absolute batshit terror, like at any moment she could blow a kiss and drag a knife through your parachute, then push you out of a plane. There’s nothing sexier than the way her blue eyes smile when she’s got mayhem on her mind.

“Then the car stops. Man, my chest is pounding. A guy sticks his head out the window and shouts at us: Get in, assholes. Drunk Lannister is on the loose and it’s the Battle of the Blackwater out there.”

The group erupts in laughter. The fire flashes as someone coughs up a mouthful of beer. I note Gen is pointedly not looking in this direction.

Jordy gets the joint back and takes a hit. “Turns out Luke went home with some clone chick down the street and was outside when they saw this dude shooting off these arrows, which caught at least two boats on fire at their docks. Neighbors were running out of their houses firing back flares. Like, sheer madness.”

Cooper catches me watching Gen. Without a word, I hear him scolding me. Then he shakes his head, which may as well be a dare. He might be settled down, but I still intend to have a good time. And I know Gen. Maybe she was on some cold turkey kick before, but now that she’s back, there’s no point in either of us pretending we know how to stay away from each other. It’s chemistry.

Wandering away from the bonfire, I approach her. I’m half hard already, thinking about the last time I saw her. Legs wrapped around me. Teeth digging into my shoulder. My skin still bears the marks she left behind. Just the sight of her has me wanting to take her to bed and make up for time lost.

She feels me coming before I open my mouth, casting her gaze over her shoulder. There’s the briefest flicker of recognition—the shared spark of lust and longing—before her expression turns impassive.

“What are you drinking?” I say as what I figure is an easy way in.

“I’m not.”

It’s awkward right from the off. All the familiarity of our conversation back at her house—gone. To the point that even Heidi and Steph wince with embarrassment.

“What do you want?” I ask, ignoring her attitude. If that’d ever worked on me, we wouldn’t have kept getting back together. “I’ll run up to the house and make you something.”

“I’m good, thanks.” Gen stares off at the waves climbing up the sand.

I stifle a sigh. “Can we talk? Take a walk with me.”

She pulls her hair over her shoulder in a move I recognize right away. It’s her fuck-off flip. The I’ve-already-stopped-hearing-you hair toss. Like we’re strangers.

“Yeah, no,” she says, voice flat and all but unrecognizable. “I’m not even sticking around. Just stopped by to say hey.”

But not to me.

“So it’s like that?” I try to curb the bite in my tone and fail. “You come back here and pretend you don’t know me?”

“Okay,” Heidi interjects with a bored roll of her eyes. “Thanks for stopping by, but this is a penis-free zone tonight. Run along, Evan.”

“Fuck off, Heidi.” She’s always been a shit-stirrer.

“Yep, happy to.” At that, she and Steph drag Gen closer to the bonfire and leave me standing there like an idiot.

Cool. Whatever. I don’t need this aggravation. Genevieve wants to play games, fine. I grab a beer from the cooler and notice a group of girls stroll up to the party looking like they stumbled out of Daddy’s Bentley. They’re all dressed in the same sort of little ruffle tops and short skirts—straight off the clone assembly line. Definitely Garnet students, and my money’s on sorority sisters. Gen’s complete opposites in every way. They stand around looking lost and confused for a minute, until one of them homes in on me.

She tries her best to look chill while slipping in the sand to stride over. With too much lip gloss, she smiles at me. “Can I get a drink?”

I happily pop the cap off a beer for her and grab a few more for her friends. The best part about rich girls coming to slum it out here with the townies is they’re easily amused. Tell them a few embellished stories about near-death exploits and running from the cops, and they eat that shit up. It scratches their sticking-it-to-the-parents itch, allowing them to live dangerously from a safe, vicarious distance, and gives them something to tell their friends about. Normally, feeling like I’m an attraction at a zoo would piss me off, but tonight I’m not the one with the sour face.

As the chicks let their hands linger on my arms while they laugh at my jokes and peel up my shirt after I tell them I have tattoos, Gen is staring daggers from her spot near the fire. Hitting me with a glare that says, really, them? And I don’t give her the satisfaction of a response, because if she wants to pretend I’m dead to her, then I’m cold all over.