Good Girl Complex(Avalon Bay #1)(16)

“Yeah, I think we’re at an impasse on this one.”

“That right?” He watches me under heavy-lidded eyes. It’s impossible not to feel he’s undressing me in his mind. “Fine. But I’m keeping your marker. You’re going to owe me one.”

At some point I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. By then Cooper and I are knee-deep in an argument over the socioeconomic implications of pastries. I glance at my phone to make sure it isn’t Bonnie asking for a rescue, but it’s just Preston saying he’s home from his poker game.

“No way,” Cooper argues. “Pastries are rich people food. You never see someone making minimum wage popping into a bakery for a box of fucking croissants. We got donuts, cold Pop-Tarts, and maybe a biscuit out of a can or something, but none of that scone shit.”

“A donut is absolutely a pastry. And a donut shop is a kind of bakery.”

“Horseshit. There are five bakeries in this town, and three of them are only open in the summer. What does that tell you?”

“That the population swells during the tourist season, and the overflow shops open to support that demand. It says nothing about the demographics.”

He scoffs, tossing a stick into the fire. “Now you’re talking nonsense.”

Though it sounds like we’re fighting, the subtle turn at the corner of his mouth tells me it’s all in good fun. Arguing is practically a pastime in my house, so I’m quite skilled at it. Not sure where Cooper learned to bicker so well, but he definitely keeps me on my toes. And neither of us take well to admitting defeat.

“You’re not the most annoying clone I’ve ever met,” he says a while later.

Bonnie and Evan still aren’t back. The boardwalk behind us is now mostly quiet in the late hour, and yet I’m not tired. If anything, I feel more energized.

“Clone?” I echo with a wry look. That’s a new one on me.

“What we call the rich folks. Because you’re all the same.” His eyes glint thoughtfully beneath the moonlight. “But maybe you’re not exactly like the rest of them.”

“Not sure if that’s an insulting compliment or a complimentary insult.” It’s my turn to kick a little sand at him.

“No, I mean, you’re not what I expected. You’re chill. Real.” He continues to study me, all the playfulness and pretense forgotten. On his face I see only sincerity. The real Cooper. “Not one of those stuck-up jackasses who has their head up their ass because they love the smell of their own shit so much.”

There’s something in his voice, and it’s more than the surface annoyance with yuppie tourists and rich jerks. It sounds like real pain.

I give him an elbow jab to lighten the mood. “I get it. I’ve grown up with those people. You’d think it gets to a point where you hardly notice it, but nope. Still, they’re not all bad.”

“This boyfriend of yours? What’s his story?”

“Preston,” I supply. “He’s from the area, actually—his family lives down the coast. He goes to Garnet, obviously. Business major.”

“You don’t say.” Cooper dons a sarcastic look.

“He’s not that bad. I don’t think he’s ever even played squash,” I say for a laugh, but the joke doesn’t land. “He’s a good guy. Not the type who’s a dick to the waiter or that kind of thing.”

Cooper chuckles softly. “You don’t think it’s telling that your answer is basically, he’s nice to the help?”

I sigh. I suppose I don’t know how to talk to a guy I just met about my boyfriend. Especially when Cooper is clearly hostile to our entire upbringing.

“You know, this might shock you, but if you gave him a chance, you might actually get along. We’re not all jackasses,” I point out.

“Nah.” Some light returns to his expression, and I take that as a good sign. “I’m pretty sure you’re the one exception I’ve met, and I’ve lived in the Bay my whole life.”

“Then I’m glad I could demonstrate some redeeming qualities of my people.”

He smiles, shrugging. “We’ll see.”

“Oh, yeah? That sounds suspiciously like an invitation. But you wouldn’t be caught dead making friends with”—I gasp for effect—“a clone, now would you?”

“Not a chance. Call it an experiment. You can be my test subject.”

“And what hypothesis are we testing?”

“Whether a clone can be deprogrammed into a real person.”

I can’t help but laugh. I’ve been doing that a lot tonight. Cooper might have those brooding bad boy looks, but he’s funnier than I expected. I like him.

“So are we really doing this?” I ask.

His tongue drags over his bottom lip in a positively lewd way. “Going down on each other? Hell yeah. Let’s do it.”

More laughter sputters out. “Being friends! I’m asking if we’re going to be friends! Jeez, Hartley, you are way too focused on oral sex, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Firstly, have you looked in the mirror? Jeez—” He halts, looking over at me. “What’s your last name?”

“Cabot,” I say helpfully.

“Jeez, Cabot,” he mimics. “How can I not think about oral sex when I’m sitting next to the hottest woman on the planet?”