Good Girl Complex(Avalon Bay #1)(24)

When Mac’s in my en suite bathroom, I dig out a clean T-shirt and a pair of jeans Heidi left here ages ago. Or maybe they’re Steph’s. The girls are always leaving their stuff lying around after a party or a day at the beach, and I’ve stopped trying to return them.

I leave the clothes in a neat pile on the bed, then strip out of my wet clothes and throw on a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. The steam rolling out from under the bathroom door is unbelievably tempting. I wonder how Mac would react if I stepped into the shower stall, eased up behind her, and reached both hands around to cup her tits.

A groan lodges in my throat. She’d probably saw my balls off with her fingernails, but it might be worth it, just to get to touch her.

“Hello, hello,” my brother calls from the front door.

“In here,” I answer as I head back to the kitchen.

Evan drops his keys on the splintered wood island. He grabs a beer and stands against the fridge. “What’s that smell?”

“Mackenzie and I rescued a stray puppy from the jetty.” Poor thing did kind of stink. Guess I do too now. Awesome.

“She’s here?” A wicked grin spreads across his face as he looks around.

“Shower.”

“Well, that was easy. I’m almost disappointed I didn’t get more time to enjoy it.”

“Not what you’re thinking,” I grunt out. “The dog was stuck out on the rocks and we had to get in the water to save it. Told Mackenzie she could come here to clean up, and then I’d take her home.”

“Take her home? Dude. This is your chance. Close the deal.” He shakes his head impatiently. “You helped her rescue a puppy, for chrissake. She is primed.”

“Don’t be a dick.” Something about the way he says that strikes a nerve with me. This scheme isn’t exactly ethical, but we don’t have to be sleazy about it.

“What?” Evan can’t pretend to hide his glee at how well this plan is working. “I’m just saying.”

“Well …” I take a swig of my beer. “Keep it to yourself.”

“Hey,” comes Mac’s hesitant voice.

She walks in, and the sight of her—in my shirt, dark wet hair combed back—brings all sorts of sinful thoughts to my head. She didn’t put on the jeans, so her legs are bare and tanned and endlessly long.

Fuck.

I want them wrapped around my waist.

“Evan,” she greets my brother, nodding at him as if she knows, somehow, he is up to no good. Unsurprisingly, she’s still carrying the sleeping puppy.

“Welp.” Evan gives her a parting smile as he grabs his beer and pushes off from the fridge. “I’m beat. You kids have fun.”

My brother has no appreciation for subtlety.

“Was it something I said?” she asks dryly.

“Nah. He thinks we’re gonna hook up.” When I lift my arm to run a hand through my damp hair, her eyes grow wide with alarm. My brow furrows. “What?”

“Cooper. You’re hurt.”

I look down, almost forgetting that her precious little pup damn near filleted me alive not an hour ago. Both my arms are covered in red scratches, and there’s a particularly nasty-looking cut on my collarbone.

“Eh. I’m fine,” I assure her. I’m no stranger to cuts and scrapes, and these ones are definitely not the worst I’ve experienced.

“No, you’re not. We need to clean those.”

With that, she marches me to the bathroom and, despite my protestations, forces my ass down on the closed lid of the toilet. The puppy is promptly deposited in my claw-foot bathtub, where she curls up and sleeps while Mackenzie rifles through my cabinets for the first aid kit.

“I can do this myself,” I tell her as she sets out a bottle of alcohol and cotton swabs.

“Are you going to be difficult?” She eyes me with a raised brow. The earnest conviction on her face is cute, in a stubborn shut up and take your medicine sort of way.

“Fine.”

“Good. Now take off your shirt.”

A grin tugs on my lips. “This was your plan all along? To get me naked?”

“Yes, Cooper. I broke into an animal shelter, stole a puppy, placed it in a perilous situation, swam out to rescue it myself—so as to not raise your suspicions that it was I, in fact, who trapped the dog on the jetty—then telepathically ordered the dog to scratch you up. All so I could see your perfect pecs.” She finishes with a snort.

“Extreme actions,” I agree. “But I get it. My pecs are perfect. They’re transcendent.”

“So’s your ego.”

I make a slow, deliberate show of removing my shirt. Despite her mocking, my bare chest elicits a response. Her breath hitches, and then she averts her gaze, pretending to focus on opening the rubbing alcohol.

I hide a smile and sit back as she begins to clean the wounds on my arm.

“Is it just the two of you here?” she asks curiously.

“Yeah. Evan and I grew up in this house. My great-grandparents built it after they got married. Grandparents lived here after them and so on.”

“It’s beautiful.”

It was. Now it’s falling apart. Roof needs replacing. Foundation is cracking from beach erosion. The siding has seen one too many storms, and the floors are worn and warped. Nothing I couldn’t fix if only I had the time and money, but isn’t that always the story? Whole damn town full of if onlys. And just like that, I remember why I’m sitting here letting some clone’s girlfriend run her hands all over my bare chest.