Bad Girl Reputation by Elle Kennedy

It was weird, if I’m honest, going into the public library to meet him. Like checking out a library book, but a whole damn human. I walked out of there with a person it’s my job not to lose or get maimed, and suddenly that seems like a big ask. They didn’t even hand me a first aid kit.

“So what are you into, kid?”

“I dunno,” he says with a shrug. “Stuff, I guess.”

“Stuff like what?”

“Sailing, sometimes. Fishing. And, um, surfing. But I’m not very good. My board’s kinda old, so.”

He’s killing me. He’s got his head bowed and hands in his pockets, sweat starting to trickle from under his wispy mop of hair. It’s a blistering June day and the boardwalk is swarmed with tourists, all hot and sticky. We’re like hot dogs in a sidewalk cart, rolling around in each other’s sweat.

“Hey, you hungry?” I ask, because it really is too boiling out here to spend all afternoon walking around.

“Sure, I guess.”

Cooper was right—with a lack of any better ideas, I pull Riley into a bar. Well, not exactly a bar. Big Molly’s is a kitschy kind of tourist trap, with random tchotchkes on the wall and live music on the weekends. The waitresses run around in skimpy outfits. Turns out, the kid notices. He perks right up when he gets an eyeful of the hostess in a crop top and tiny skirt.

“Hey you,” she coos by way of a greeting. “Been awhile.”

I flash a grin at her. “Got a table for two?”

Stella leans over the hostess stand, pushing her tits together. “Who’s your friend?” She winks at him, which would have been more than enough to give me a boner at that age. It’s unfair, torturing the kid like that. “He’s cute.”

“Riley, this is Stella.”

“Hey, sweetie,” she says when he can’t quite work up a reply. “Come on, I’ll get you seated.”

“You ever been here before?” I ask him as we settle at a high-top table. A band onstage is playing some early nineties covers. At the bar counter, college guys and dads who escaped while their wives went shopping occupy the old wooden stools.

Riley shakes his head no. “My aunt hates these places.”

“So what’s the story there?” No one ends up in a program like this if their lives are going totally to plan. “If you want to talk about it, that is.”

Another shrug. “I live with my mom’s sister. She’s an ER nurse, so she works a lot. My mom died when I was little. Cancer.”

“Where’s your dad?”

He stares at his menu without reading it, flicking the laminated edge with his fingernail. “Went to prison about six years ago. He was out on parole for a while, but then he took off. Got arrested again, I think. My aunt doesn’t like to talk about him, so she doesn’t really tell me stuff. She thinks it upsets me.”

“Does it?”

“I dunno. Sometimes, I guess.”

I’m starting to understand why they stuck him with me. “My dad died when I was younger too.”

Riley meets my eyes.

“Drunk driving accident,” I add. “My mom hasn’t been around since then either.”

“Did you have to go live somewhere else? Like, in foster care or with another relative?”

“My uncle took care of my brother and me,” I explain, and it’s not until this very moment that I consider what might have happened to me and Cooper if Levi hadn’t been there. Funny how our lives teeter on these rails, riding the edge over a dark unknown. How easy it is to fall off. “Do you like your aunt? You two get along?”

A slight smile erases the gloom from his expression. “She’s nice. But she can be kind of a lot sometimes. She worries about me.” He sighs quietly. “She thinks I’m depressed.”

“Are you?”

“I don’t think so? I mean, I don’t really have many friends. Don’t like being around a lot of people. I’m just, I dunno, quiet.”

I get that. Sometimes things happen to us when we’re young, and we learn to stay inside ourselves. Especially when we don’t know how to talk about what’s going on in our heads. It doesn’t always mean anything or indicate a bout of depression. Being a teenager is hard enough without real shit getting in the way.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” I tell Riley.

“Hey, boys.” Our waitress sets down a basket of hush puppies and dipping sauce, along with two tall glasses of water. “How we doing?” The brunette greets me with a wry smile and an arched brow that suggests I better prove I remember her.

Come on now. Give me a little credit here. “Hey, Rox. How’s things?”

At that she smiles, satisfied. “Another summer.”

“I hear ya.”

She gives the kid a once-over. “This guy giving you a hard time, sweetie?”

“No,” he says, grinning like he’s never seen a pair of fake tits before. “I’m fine.”

“Good. What’ll you have?”

Riley grabs his menu again and rushes to scan it front and back, realizing he hadn’t actually read it.

“What’s fresh?” I ask Rox.

“Grouper’s good. I’d get it Cajun style.”

I glance at Riley. “You like grouper?” It occurs to me he might feel weird about what he should order when some dude he only met today is paying. I would.