Bad Girl Reputation (Avalon Bay #2)(58)

As if to prove some point, Evan dabs the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “We’re going against the grain, aren’t we? I thought that was the whole point.”

“I suppose.” Not sure I meant we had to apply that philosophy to food, but okay.

“Clean living, Fred.” Evan grins as he pops a bite of gnocchi in his mouth, then washes it down with a glass of water. He’d waved away the drink menu when we sat down. “Anyway, after our last dinner—”

“You mean my date you crashed.”

“I thought I’d show you I can be civilized.”

“You’re not funny.”

He ponders, then nods to himself. “Yes I am.”

It was only a week ago when he barged his way into yet another date with Harrison at the marina, smirking and quite pleased with himself. I might muster up more annoyance if it wasn’t so hard to be mad at him. With those eyes that dance with arrogance and mischief. The upturned corners of his lips that hint at secrets and whisper dares. He’s impossible.

“You know this isn’t what my life is now, right?” I gesture at the elegant table setting. “Dressing up in our parents’ clothes, playing adult.”

He snickers softly. “Not my parents.”

“Or mine, but you know what I mean.”

“You looked pretty comfortable in those clothes with him.”

And we were having such a nice time.

I swallow a sigh. “Do you really want to talk about Harrison?”

Evan seems to consider this for a second, then dismisses the thought. “No.”

“Good. Because I didn’t agree to this date because I want you to be more like him. Try to remember that.”

This, too, feels familiar—the somewhat adversarial rapport. Arguing for the sake of arguing because we like getting a rise out of each other. Never knowing when to quit. Wrapped up in sexual tension so that our fights become indistinguishable from flirting.

Why do I like it so much?

“Tell me this,” he says roughly. “Who are you trying to be?”

Hell if I know. If I had that figured out, I wouldn’t still be living at home, afraid to break it to my dad that he needs to move on without me in the family business. I wouldn’t be dating one guy who I know is about as close to boyfriend material as anyone gets, while guarding myself from the million bad decisions sitting across the table.

“At the moment, shedding my bad girl reputation, I guess.”

He nods slowly. He gets it.

And that’s something I appreciate about Evan above all others—I never have to lie to him, or conceal something because I’m embarrassed about what he’d think of the truth. Whether I’m good, bad, or indifferent, he accepts me in all my iterations.

I offer a wry smile. “There’re only so many times a girl can break into the waterpark after-hours to tube down the raging rapids before delinquency loses all meaning.”

“I hear you. This is probably the longest I’ve gone without a hangover or a black eye since I was ten.” He winks at me, which might as well be an invitation to throw my legs over his shoulders. Gets me every time.

“It’s weird, though. Sometimes I’m out with the girls, and it’s like I don’t know what to do with my hands. If every instinct I have is what was getting me in trouble before, how am I supposed to know what the right ones are? What being good is supposed to look like, you know?”

“You’re looking at a guy who Googled model citizen, okay? I’ve narrowed it down to this: Whatever sounds like a good idea, do the opposite.”

“I’m serious,” I say, flinging a sugar packet at him from the ramekin on the table. “What would you and I do on a normal date?”

“Normal?” He cocks his head at me, grinning.

“Normal for us.”

“We wouldn’t have left my bedroom,” Evan says. Deadpan.

Well, yeah. “After that.”

“Hit a bar. A party, maybe. End up in a stolen car doing laps at the old speedway until security chases us out. Getting drunk on top of the lighthouse while you suck me off.”

My core clenches at the naughty suggestion. I pretend to be unaffected by hurling another sugar packet at his face. “You’ve given this some thought.”

“Fred, this is all I think about.”

He needs to stop doing that. Looking at me like he’s starving, with his teeth nipping at his lower lip and those hooded eyes gleaming. It isn’t fair, and I shouldn’t have to put up with these conditions.

“Well, like you said, we’re playing against type now, so …” I gulp my virgin cocktail, still expecting the burn of alcohol and left wanting. It seemed like a good idea at the time—trick my brain into believing it’s getting what it wants—but the overly sweet concoction feels like sucking down a bottle of straight corn syrup. “What else you got?”

“Alright.” He nods briskly, accepting the challenge. “You’re on. For the rest of the night, we do the opposite of whatever our instincts tell us.”

“You sure about this?” I lean in, elbows on the table. “I don’t want to hear about you bailing on the idea …”

“I’m serious.” He’s got that look. A man possessed with a consuming notion. It reminds me of another thing that’s always attracted me to Evan. He’s shamelessly passionate. Even about the stupidest things. It’s endearing. “Prepare yourself for an evening of well-mannered civility, Genevieve West.”