Bad Girl Reputation by Elle Kennedy

“Alright,” I agree. “Operation Boy Scout is a go.”

Since I don’t know anyone who would have a cop’s number in their phone, and there is no chance that I call a police station just to, like, chat, it takes some creative social media sleuthing to slide into Harrison’s DMs. His Instagram is adorably if not pathetically bland. But I remind myself, this makes him a completely harmless suitor and reinforces the message that I am reforming. No more bad boys.

Me: It was nice seeing you the other night.

Me: Sorry we got interrupted. Dinner tonight?

It’s a bold opening, but I’m a woman on a mission. And a deadline. Thankfully, Harrison responds within a few minutes.

Harrison: This is a surprise. Yeah, that’d be great.

Harrison: Should I pick you up around 7?

Me: Sure. But leave the cruiser at home.

Harrison: Copy. See you then.

There. That wasn’t so hard.

What I’ve come to realize over the last year of my makeover is that change is a choice we make every day, a thousand times a day. We choose to do this one thing better. Then the next. And the next. And the one after that. So maybe duping a nice guy into a fake date in order to let my ex down gently isn’t exactly putting me up for sainthood—but baby steps. The point is, the old me wouldn’t have been caught dead in the same room as Harrison. And who knows, maybe we walk away from this as friends.





CHAPTER 10

EVAN

She does this shit on purpose. She likes to know she still has the power to mess with my head, dangling the possibilities in front of my face just to yank the carrot away at the last moment. What I’m more concerned about is the guy. This fucking guy who thought it’d be a good idea to run up on Genevieve right under my nose. Dude better have his affairs in order.

Needless to say, I’m buzzing when I get back to my house after work. But I don’t make it three steps through the door before Cooper pounces on me.

“Hey,” he calls from the living room, where he and Mac are sitting on the couch watching TV, “did you get in touch with Steve about the pipe fittings?”

“What?” I kick off my shoes and throw my keys at the side table with too much force. “No, I was out at Gen’s house with Levi.”

“And after that you were supposed to stop by the office to call Steve about the order for the hotel. We need those fittings tomorrow so we can replace the plumbing on the second floor.”

“So you do it.” I stalk into the kitchen and grab a beer from the fridge. Daisy rushes up to wag her tail at my feet, more hyper than usual.

“I think she wants to go out,” Mac says. “Mind taking her for a walk?”

“You stuck to the couch or something?”

“Whoa.” Cooper jumps to his feet, apparently still capable of using his legs. “What’s with the attitude?”

“I just walked in the damn door and you two can’t wait ten seconds before jumping down my throat.” I flick the bottle cap into the trash and snap my fingers at Daisy, which sends her whimpering back to Mac. “Meanwhile, you both have done what today, exactly? Instead of bitching about stuff not getting done, why not get off your asses and do it yourself?”

Having exactly no interest in this conversation, I head outside to the garage.

What gets me is Gen doesn’t date. The thought of her putting on a pretty dress and doing her makeup to sit nicely at dinner is laughable. She’d sooner gnaw off her own arm than make small talk over appetizers. So what is this, some elaborate attempt to convince me she’s changed? Bullshit. Gen’s the type of girl who steals a motorcycle from outside a biker bar just to take a joyride. She does not, under any circumstances, let a guy pull her chair out.

Maybe she does now.

The nagging voice in my head pokes a hole in my conviction. What if pretty dresses and sit-down dinners are her thing now? Is it so far-fetched? Maybe the girl I knew last year isn’t the same one who—

I banish the thought. Because, no. Just no. I know Genevieve West like the back of my hand. I know what excites her. I know what makes her smile, and I know what brings tears to her eyes. I know her every mood, and I know the deepest fucking parts of her soul. Maybe she’s got herself fooled, but not me.

As my head turns itself over, I strip off my shirt, toss it aside, and start hitting the heavy bag hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the garage. Dust explodes off the surface with every strike of my fists. Great billowing plumes of fine gray powder. The first few hits shock my nerves, slap the noise from my mind. The sharp, shooting pain radiates through my hands, then my arms, elbows, and shoulders, until the pain dulls and I barely feel it anymore. But I still feel her. Everywhere. All the time and growing more insistent.

She left me. Me, who’d slept all night in a chair by her hospital bed that time she got a concussion after falling off a tree during a climbing race with two of her brothers. Me, who’d let her cry in my arms every time her mom missed an important event in Gen’s life.

She just left without telling me.

No. Worse—without asking me to come with her.

“You’re not going to have any skin left if you don’t tape those up.” Cooper sneaks up on me. He positions himself behind the bag to hold it in place while I mostly ignore him to concentrate on my aim. Small clusters of blood have already appeared on the synthetic leather. I don’t care.