Bad Girl Reputation by Elle Kennedy

Otherwise, what the hell am I doing with my life?





CHAPTER 27

GENEVIEVE

Trina is a piece of work. We met in detention in the sixth grade and became fast friends. She enjoyed skipping class and smoking cigarettes in the baseball dugout as much as I did, so really, it was inevitable that we’d cross paths. And while I have more good memories of Trina than bad, I’m still nervous when I walk into the bar to meet her. Even when we were kids, she always had an infectious quality about her. Like she was having so much fun, you wanted in on whatever she was getting up to. Insatiable and alluring.

Evan’s right, though. If I can survive Trina’s temptations, I’ll most definitely be cured.

“Damn it, Gen.”

Winding through the crowded high-top tables, I turn at the familiar voice. Trina sits at a table against the wall, an empty highball and a bottle of beer in front of her. She hops to her feet and gives me a tight hug.

“I hoped you’d gotten hideous since the last time I saw you,” she says, brushing my hair off my shoulder. “Would it have killed you to sprout some heinous zits for the occasion?”

“My bad,” I laugh.

“Sit down, slag.” She looks over my shoulder and waves for a waitress. “Catch me up. What the hell have you been up to?”

We didn’t really talk after I left Avalon Bay. As I did with most of this town, I quit cold turkey. Other than some texts here and there, I’d kept my distance, even muting her on social media so I couldn’t be tempted by her exploits.

“As it turns out, I start a new job soon. Cooper’s girlfriend is reopening The Beacon Hotel. I’m the new manager.”

“For real?” She’s incredulous at first. Then, apparently realizing there isn’t a punchline coming, she throws back a swig of her beer. “That means the next time I come to town, you’re hooking me up with a room. I think me and my dear mother have exceeded our quota of quality time.”

I grin. “Didn’t you get in last night?”

“Exactly.” Her eyes widen. “Shit, I’m sorry. I heard about your mom. You okay?”

It seems like ages ago now, though it’s only been a few months. The reminders of Mom are fewer and further between. “Yeah,” I say honestly. “I’m good. Thank you.”

“I’d have been at the funeral if I’d known. But I only heard recently.”

I don’t think she means them to, but the words come out like an accusation. She’d have been there if I’d bothered to tell her, is the subtext. If I hadn’t all but ghosted her a year ago. But that’s probably my own guilt talking.

“It’s fine, really. Was mostly a family thing. She didn’t want a big fuss.” Least of all from her kids.

Trina gets a menacing glint in her eye as she sips her drink. “You seeing much of Evan lately?”

I swallow a sigh. For just one night, can’t something be about anything but him? My head’s been on backwards since I came back to town. I’m my favorite self when I’m with him—and also my worst. Everything at both extremes wrapped up in this volatile cocktail we become.

“Sometimes, I guess. I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“You’ve been using that same line since we were fifteen.”

And I don’t feel much better equipped than I was then.

“So what’s up?” With another mouthful of beer, she plasters on her usual irreverence when she reads the heaviness closing in. “You back for good now?”

“Looks that way.” It’s strange. I don’t remember making the decision to stay. It just snuck up on me, the ties reattaching overnight while I slept. “Dad’s selling the house, so I need to find a new place soon.”

“I’ve given some thought to sticking around too.”

I snort a laugh. “Why?”

Trina always hated this town. Or rather, the people. She loved her friends fiercely, the few she kept. Beyond that, she’d have lit a match and never looked back. Or so I thought.

We’re briefly interrupted when the waitress finally makes it to our table. She looks young and flustered, a new hire struggling through the waning weeks of the summer crush. I order a club soda and ignore Trina’s judgmental eyebrow.

“I don’t know…. This place is a drag,” she says. “But it’s home, I guess.” There’s something in the way her gaze drifts to the soggy coaster, the way her fingernail picks at the corners, that suggests a deeper explanation.

“How are things?” I ask carefully. “LA not agreeing with you these days?”

“Eh, you know me. I’ve got a four-second attention span. I think maybe I’ve seen and done everything worth doing in that city.”

Only from Trina would I believe that. “You still working at the dispensary?” The least surprising part of her West Coast move was getting a job doing stuff that, around here, still gets you thrown in jail.

“Sometimes. Also bartending a little. And this guy I know, he’s a photographer, I help him out now and then, too.”

“This guy …” I watch as she dodges eye contact. “Is that a thing?”

“Sometimes.”

The conundrum of Trina is a bitter one. Few others I know manage to suck as much out of every minute of their lives as she does—eyes open and arms wide, try anything once, twice as much—and yet, at the same time, be so utterly unfulfilled. There’s a hole in the bottom of her soul, where everything good leaks out and all the worst, thickest, blackest muck clings to the sides.