Bad Girl Reputation (Avalon Bay #2)(72)

“Guess I thought there may have been some implied amendments to that deal after you begged me to spank you last night, but sure.”

She pauses, after pulling her top on, to direct a frown my way. “And if you want to keep those spanking privileges, mind your mouth.”

For no good reason, an unbidden image of her going down on the dweeb in his cruiser flashes behind my eyes. My dick goes soft as I shake the thought. This is why I don’t ask. Very little could stop me from running up on him at the gas station and flicking a lit match his way.

And yet … “Are you sleeping with him?” I find myself blurting out.

Gen looks at me, tilting her head with sympathy as she comes to sit on the edge of the bed. She brushes her lips over mine in a fleeting caress. “No.”

At least there’s that.

“We haven’t even kissed.”

Relief floods my chest. “So then what are you getting out of it?”

With a frustrated sigh, she stands and grabs her keys from the nightstand. “Let’s not, okay?”

“I’m serious.” I sit up. “What are you getting out of it?”

She doesn’t answer, and that’s when I realize she doesn’t have to. I already know the answer. We both do. There’s only one reason she’s continuing to date Harrison despite the fact they haven’t so much as kissed—it’s her way of keeping that final bit of distance between us. Keeping me at arm’s length.

Now I’m the one sighing in frustration. “What’s it going to take to make this official between us? I’m done messing around.”

“Done, huh?”

“You know what I mean.” I know this chick well enough to understand an ultimatum is the quickest way to drive her away. And that’s the last thing I want to do.

We might’ve had a rocky start when she first moved back to the Bay, but the path is smooth now. It’s as if all the bad parts of us, the fighting and jealousy and chasing highs—it’s morphed into something else. Something softer. Don’t get me wrong, the passion’s still there. The soul-deep need to be together, to lay ourselves completely bare and raw, is stronger than ever. But there’s something different about us now. About her. About me.

“I want us back together for real,” I tell her. “What’s the holdup?”

Gen leans against my dresser and stares at the floor. The summer’s almost over, and still this question hangs between us. All this time I thought we were of the same mind, moving in the same direction—together. Now, every second she spends deciding what not to say, the fracture gets wider.

“You still don’t trust me,” I answer for her. My tone is grim.

“I do trust you.”

“Not enough.” Frustration jams in my throat. “What do I have to do to prove myself?”

“It’s hard,” she says, anguish drawing lines across her face. “I have a lifetime of instinct about you that says there’s no way Evan Hartley gave himself a complete personality makeover in one summer. Yeah, you didn’t chase Randall off with an ax and you’re not getting wasted every night, but I guess I’m still hesitant to believe you’ve changed. Feels too easy.”

“Has it occurred to you there’s something more important to me in this room than drinking and fighting?”

“I know you want this to work.” Most of the agitation leaves her voice. “But you’re not the only one I have doubts about. Every day I question whether I can trust myself. How much I’ve really changed. Put the two of us back together, and maybe we realize this condition is temporary and we end up right back in our old roles.”

I go to her, holding her. Because right here, the two of us, is the only thing that’s ever made sense to me. And whatever she tells herself, I know she feels it too.

“Trust me, baby. Give us a chance to be good for each other. How am I ever going to convince you we can if you won’t try?”

Her phone buzzes in her pocket. She gives me a contrite shrug as I release her to answer it.

“Trina,” she says, wrinkling her forehead.

I haven’t heard that name in a while. Trina went to high school with us, though she was more a friend of the girls in our crew than of Cooper or me. If I remember right, she moved not long after graduation. But her and Gen used to be tight. Two peas in a chaos pod.

“She’s in town for the weekend,” she reads aloud. “Wants to grab a drink.” Gen swipes her finger across the screen to delete the text, then shoves the phone back in her pocket.

“You should go.”

She lets out a sarcastic laugh. “Pass. Last time she came home for a visit, I got piss-drunk and stormed into Deputy Randall’s house in the middle of the night to scream at his wife about what a creep she married.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

An idea springs to my mind. “Go anyway.”

Her skeptical gaze says there’d better be more to that suggestion. And as I roll it over in my head, the plan starts to make more sense. Maybe the thing she needs to finally trust herself is the only thing she fears more than me. The thing that drove her out of town in the first place.

“Treat it as a test,” I explain. “If you can behave yourself around the girl who once slipped acid to the girls’ volleyball coach in the middle of a match, I’d say you conquered your demons.”