Bad Girl Reputation by Elle Kennedy

She nods, too eager. It makes me nervous. “I can do that.”

“I don’t want you coming to me for money. You don’t drop by the house to sleep one off. Matter of fact, you don’t come by at all. If Cooper sees you, I can’t be sure he won’t think of a reason to have you arrested again.”

She reaches for my hand and squeezes. “You’ll see, baby. I’m better now. I haven’t even had a drink since you agreed to meet me.”

“That’s great, Mom. Let me tell you something, though, that I’ve started to figure out myself: If the change is going to stick, you have to want it to. That means doing it for yourself, not only because you’re trying to impress someone else. Change, or don’t. Either way, you’re the one who’s got to live with the result.”





CHAPTER 24

GENEVIEVE

There are few things I love about this town more than a bonfire on the beach. Cool sand and warm flames. The scent of burning pine and salt air. The coastal breeze that carries tiny orange embers into the waves. These things feel like home. And no one does it better than the twins. Summer nights at the Hartley house are a tradition in the Bay—like boardwalk carnivals and hustling Garnet freshmen.

The party is well underway when I arrive. Heidi and Jay are attached at the face. Alana’s dancing in the flickering firelight with some roughneck deckhand, while Tate watches from the distance with his fist around a beer bottle like he’s thinking about cracking it over the guy’s head. Mackenzie, who’s sitting beside the fire with Steph, waves when she spots me coming down from the house.

Just a few hours ago, she called to tell me I got the job. I’m officially the new general manager of The Beacon Hotel, which is a little terrifying but a lot exciting. I warned Mac that although I work hard and learn quickly, I don’t pretend to know anything about running a hotel, and she reminded me that until a few months ago, she didn’t know anything about owning one. Besides, I’ve never stopped to wonder if the landing might hurt before jumping off a pier or out of a plane. Why start now?

So while I’m not sure Cooper would appreciate seeing me here, I accepted Mac’s invitation to the party. My new position doesn’t start until the end of the summer, but still. You don’t turn down the boss. Or maybe that’s an excuse. Maybe the real reason I came tonight is because after I hung up the phone with Mac, there was only one person I couldn’t wait to tell. Rather than linger too long on the implication of that instinct, I just got myself in the car and drove over here.

Evan finds me across the flames through the many shadowed faces. He nods for me to come meet him by the folding table and coolers, where they’ve practically got a whole liquor store stashed.

“Tell me something,” he says when I approach. “You get perks, right? Maybe swing a presidential suite with some room service? You and me spend a weekend naked, eating chocolate-covered strawberries in a hot tub?”

“I see Mac already told you.”

“Yep. Congratulations, Madam GM.” With an elaborate hand motion, Evan presents me with a red Blow Pop.

This asshole is damn sweet sometimes. I hate that he doesn’t have to try at all in order to turn my gut to giddy mush. That my nerves never dull to his dark, mischievous eyes and crooked smirk. He throws on any old T-shirt and a pair of jeans splattered with interior paint and plaster, and I get positively slutty.

“Now it feels real,” I say with a laugh. “This makes all the fretting worth it.”

My brother Billy wanders past us, throwing me the side-eye when he notices how close Evan and I are standing. I give a nod of assurance, making it clear it’s all good here, and he keeps walking.

“Let me fix you a drink. I’ve been working on something special.” Evan fills up a cup of ice from the cooler and starts assembling bottles of ingredients.

“I can’t.”

He waves off my hesitation. “It’s non-alcoholic.”

Words I never thought I’d hear come out of a Hartley’s mouth. Especially this one.

I watch as he caps the shaker and begins vigorously mixing the drink. “Honestly, I was debating not even coming tonight,” I confess.

A frown touches his lips. “Because of me?”

“No, because of this—” I gesture at the beer-filled coolers and table laden with booze. “On the drive over, I was trying to convince myself I could have a drink. Just one, you know, to take the edge off. But then, all these worst-case scenarios flashed through my head. One drink turns to two, and suddenly six drinks later, I wake up in a fire engine half submerged in the YMCA pool with the lights still flashing and a llama treading water.” And only half of that scenario is hypothetical.

Amused, he pours the drink into the cup of ice. “Gen. You’ve got to cut yourself some slack. This kind of hypervigilance isn’t sustainable. Trust me. If you don’t let yourself have a little fun now and then, you’re gonna end up burnt out or on a bender. Learn to embrace moderation.”

“You get that off a T-shirt?” I ask in amusement.

“Here.” He hands me the fruity concoction. “I’ll be your chaperone tonight. If you reach for a real drink, I’ll smack it out of your hand.”

“Is that right?” He must think I’m new here.