Bad Girl Reputation by Elle Kennedy

He flips up his middle finger, then places his ten-dollar bet that I won’t last forty-eight hours. My friends are supreme jackasses.

We keep playing. A few beers in now, everyone’s playing with one eye closed, fast and loose with their chips. Which is fine by me, as I take nearly three hands in a row.

“So Mac went to pick up Steph for brunch the other day,” Cooper says, contemplating his cards. “Said your car was outside in the same place it was parked the night before.” He aims the accusation at Tate. “What’s up with you and Alana?”

Tate shrugs while pretending to count his chips. “We hook up sometimes. It’s not serious. Just great sex.”

It’s been “not serious, great sex” for a while now. Long enough that some people might start mistaking habit for addiction. And addiction for commitment. Which is to say, if Tate’s not careful, he’ll find himself settling down whether he realizes it or not. It’s uncertain, at this point, whether he’s given any thought to the idea beyond the special kind of denial that is friends with benefits. Cooper found himself in a similar trap last year, which damn near split our crew right down the middle when it looked like him and Heidi were headed for war. Thankfully, they called a cease-fire before more damage was done.

Then again, there’s a lot to be said for great sex. Gen and I have great sex. Phenomenal, even. The kind of sex that makes a guy forget about promises and good behavior. But for the time being, good behavior is my creed. I made a commitment to Gen, and I want to show her I can be trusted to keep my dick in my pants. It’ll be worth it. Eventually. Or so I hope, anyway.

“Of course it’s not serious,” Wyatt says to Tate. “Alana’s just toying with you, bro. Like a lion playing with its dinner. She gets off on it.” I don’t miss the sharpness to his tone.

Neither does Tate. But rather than confront Wyatt about whatever bug crawled up his ass, Tate throws me under the bus instead. “If you wanna talk about chicks who get off on games, why don’t you ask Evan over here about him dirty dancing with your ex last night?”

Asshole. I shoot Tate a glare before turning to reassure Wyatt. “It was only dancing, minus the dirty. Ren’s just a friend, you know that.”

Luckily, Wyatt nods, unfazed. “Yeah, she’s been pulling out all the stops to get me back,” he admits. “I’m not surprised to hear she’s been flirting with my friends. She likes to make me jealous. Thinks it’ll drive me so crazy that I’ll get back with her.”

Cooper lifts a brow. “But you won’t?”

“Not this time,” Wyatt replies. He sounds dead serious, and that gives me pause. Wyatt and Lauren’s relationship had always followed a similar pattern to mine and Genevieve’s. Is he really out for good? His grim expression tells me yes, yes he is.

For a moment I entertain the idea of doing the same—extracting myself from this push-and-pull routine with Gen. Saying goodbye to her, for real.

Just the thought sends a hot knife of agony directly into my heart. Even my pulse speeds up.

Yeah …

Not happening.





CHAPTER 20

GENEVIEVE

“Okay, I’ve got one,” Harrison says as we walk past the crews rigging their boats. He’s been at this since he picked me up this morning. “Why do they put barcodes on the side of Norwegian ships?”

“Why?”

“So when they return to port, they can be Scandinavian.” He beams, so proud of his latest dad joke.

“You should be ashamed of yourself.” I don’t know where my life took a turn off the misspent youth, coming-of-age CW drama and wound up stranded inside a Hallmark movie, but this must be what blondes feel like every day.

This Sunday morning date is so wholesome it’s almost surreal. Harrison brought me out to the marina to watch the regatta. It’s a mild, clear, sunny day with a steady breeze—perfect sailing weather. I inhale the scents of ocean air and sugary confections from the carts set up along the boardwalk selling cotton candy and funnel cakes.

“No, wait,” he says, laughing happily. “Here’s a good one. So one night, there are two ships caught in a storm. A blue ship, and a red ship. Tossed in the wind and rain, the ships can’t see each other. Then a rogue wave throws the vessels crashing into each other. The ships are destroyed. But when the storm clears, what does the moonlight reveal?”

I suppose I’m a glutton for punishment, because as torturously unfunny as his jokes are, I like how excited he gets to tell them. “I don’t know, what?”

“The crew was marooned.”

Wow. “You talk to your mother with that mouth?”

He just laughs again. He’s got those damn khakis on, paired with a tourist-dad button-down shirt. The kind of guy I’d have been making fun of while I sat with my friends smoking weed under the pier. Now here I am, one of the yuppie tools. It doesn’t feel as dirty as I’d imagined.

“Have you ever entered this race?” he asks me.

I nod. “A few times, actually. Alana and I placed twice.”

“That’s awesome.”

He insists we stop for lemon slushes, then carries them both because they’re melting quick and overflowing a little, and he doesn’t want any to drip on my dress. Just another reminder that he’s far too nice for someone who once stole a girl’s bike to jump it off a collapsed bridge and lost it down the river.