Bad Girl Reputation (Avalon Bay #2)(83)

In the second-floor master bath, I catch my shift chief, Alex, hunched over a phone with the guy who’s supposed to be installing the new tub.

“Grady, I’m pretty sure you billed us for something like thirty hours of overtime on that Poppy Hill job,” I say loudly, and the tub guy startles and drops his phone into his pocket. “How do you figure Levi’s gonna react when I tell him you’re up here standing around on your phone with your dick in your hand?”

“I got you, boss. No problems. Gonna have all this …” Grady gestures at the tub, sink, and toilet left to install. “Gonna get it wrapped by today. Don’t worry.”

Amazing how agreeable people become when your name is on their paychecks.

To my shift chief, a young guy I vouched for to get this job, I give a nod to follow me down the hall. Alex and I step into one of the empty bedrooms, where I narrow my eyes. “What the hell is going on with everyone today?”

He hesitates to answer, taking off his baseball cap to scratch his head and then adjust and readjust it, hoping perhaps I might forget my question in the meantime. It sets my teeth on edge.

“What is it, for chrissake?” I demand.

“Yeah, um, so …” Oh, for the love of God. “Well, word is Genevieve got arrested. For like cocaine or something.”

“What?” A cold tide rushes through my limbs. “When?”

“Last night. I mean, the rumor is she was caught moving a kilo of coke to an undercover agent on the boardwalk, but that’s just talk. The way I heard it from my cousin who was working barback last night, some cop came in and found drugs in her purse, only she was telling him it wasn’t her purse. Anyway, that girl Trina was looking for her a little while after that.”

Damn it.

“We weren’t sure you heard,” Alex continues. “So the guys—”

“Yeah, fine.” I wave him off. “Just get back to work. And tell them to put their damn phones away. Nobody’s getting overtime for screwing around.”

Trina.

Of course.

I should have seen this coming. I know as well as anyone the shit that girl gets up to. Anger burns my throat, most of it self-directed. What part of driving Gen toward her did I think would end any other way? Especially with Deputy Randall skulking around trying to pin something on Gen. If I’d given even a single thought to Genevieve’s best interest instead of my own, I would’ ve seen this coming.

Fuck.

No wonder she ran away from me. This turn of events was so predictable, Gen tried everything short of beating me back with a baseball bat to keep me away from her. And as it turns out, with all my efforts to prove she was overreacting and that nothing bad would come of us being together, I proved her right the first chance I got. I was so wrapped up in pleading my case, changing her mind, that I didn’t give a single thought to the repercussions if it went badly.

What kind of asshole is so damn selfish?

This isn’t a minor consequence either. Gen was cuffed. Probably perp walked out of the bar in front of half the town and a hundred tourists. Paraded through the police station and degraded by the same jerks who’ve been telling her she was no good her whole life. She must have been tearing out of her skin.

And I put her there.

I spent all this time trying to convince her that I’d be good for her and make her life better. What a goddamn joke.

It’s hours before I can leave the jobsite to see Gen. Throughout the day I agonized over whether to call her, but eventually decided having this conversation over the phone was more insulting than waiting to do it in person. Or maybe I’m a coward who hoped the delay would help me figure out what to say to her.

As I’m pulling up to her house, I’m still at a loss.

Gen’s little brother Craig answers the door. With a knowing look that says good luck, he nods upstairs.

“She’s in her room.”

I knock a couple times, then let myself in when there’s no answer. Gen’s asleep on her bed in pajamas and a bathrobe, hair still wet. The largest part of me wants to leave. Let her sleep. The longer I can put this off, the more time I have to come up with something sufficient to say. But then she opens her eyes to find me standing in the doorway.

“Sorry,” she says drowsily, gathering herself to sit up against her headboard. “I didn’t get much sleep in the clink.”

“I can go. Come back later.”

“No. Stay.” She draws her knees up to make room for me. “I take it the whole town knows by now?”

She doesn’t look so bad, all things considered. A bit groggy and pale from exhaustion, but otherwise unscathed. It doesn’t help the lump of guilt stuck in my throat, though.

“You okay? He try anything with you?” Because throwing a Molotov cocktail through Randall’s bedroom window might go a long way to improving my mood.

She shakes her head. “It was fine. Not much worse than the DMV, honestly.”

“That’s what you’ve got? A night in the slammer and you’re doing ’90s sitcom humor?”

A weak smile curves her lips. It breaks my fucking heart. “I’m thinking about touring the prison circuit with some new material.”

“Have you heard from Trina?”

“Nope.” Gen shrugs. “I wish her well. If she’s smart, she’s well into Mexico by now.”