Good Girl Complex(Avalon Bay #1)(26)

I lean closer. Just a little. Tempting myself. The need to touch her is almost unbearable.

“But then I’d screw up a perfectly good friendship,” I say, because I’ve lost all control of my goddamn mouth. “So I behave myself. It’s still a choice.”

What the hell am I doing? I don’t know what spooked me, but suddenly I’m giving her an out when I’m supposed to be reeling her in.

Mac turns back toward the water, resting her arms on the railing. “I admire your honesty.”

Frustration rises inside me as I look at her profile from the corner of my eye. This woman is gorgeous, she’s wearing my shirt and nothing else, and instead of pulling her into my arms and kissing her senseless, I just friend-zoned myself.

For the first time since we hatched this plan, I’m starting to wonder if I’m in over my head.





CHAPTER TEN


MACKENZIE

I wake up in the morning to a text from Cooper. Only I guess Evan must have taken the photo, because it shows Cooper asleep in bed with the puppy snuggled on his chest, her face buried under his chin. It’s fucking adorable. Last night, I thought those two were doomed, but it seems they worked out their differences.

I hope he and Evan decide to keep her. I know the right thing to do is to take the dog to the shelter—I certainly can’t keep her—but my heart is breaking a little at the thought of never seeing her again.

I text a reply to Cooper, and by the time I get out of my second class for the day, I still haven’t received a response. He’s probably working. I tell myself it’s just concern for the dog that causes the pang of disappointment. But who am I kidding? I can’t ignore what happened on his deck last night. The sexual tension nearly spilling over, his rough admission that he wants to kiss me. If he hadn’t pulled back I might have caved in a moment of blind weakness.

I have underestimated Cooper’s allure. That’s my fault—I know better than to be seduced by handsome, half-naked guys who race in to help rescue animals in distress. I just have to be more cautious going forward and keep reminding myself that we’re friends. That’s it. No use getting it twisted.

When my phone buzzes, I eagerly yank it out of my pocket, only to find a message from Preston. Not Cooper.

I banish the second wave of disappointment to the very back of my mind and use my thumbprint to open my lock screen.

Preston: Waiting for you in the parking lot.



Right. We’re having lunch off campus today. I’m glad he reminded me, because I was about five minutes away from scarfing down a chicken fiesta wrap from the sandwich shop near the business school.

I slide into Preston’s convertible, and we talk about our classes as he drives us to Avalon Bay. Pres finds some street parking near the boardwalk. My pulse quickens, and I force myself not to look in the direction of the restaurant that Cooper and his uncle are restoring.

I last about 3.5 seconds before I cave. But the jobsite is empty. I guess they’re on their lunch break. Or maybe the crew is on another job today.

Once again, I pretend I’m not disappointed.

“You didn’t tell me what you ended up doing yesterday.” Pres holds my hand as we head toward the sports bar, where we’re meeting some of his friends. “Did you come into town or no?”

“Oh, yeah, I did. I explored the boardwalk and walked down the pier, then watched the sunset on the beach. It was really nice.”

I make an on-the-spot executive decision to omit the entire puppy encounter. Not that Pres is the jealous type, but I don’t want it to turn into a whole discussion, especially when I’ve only just arrived at Garnet and we’re doing so well. There’ll be an opportunity to tell him about my friendship with Cooper. At some point. When the time’s right.

“How did your poker game go? You didn’t text me either, now that I think about it.” But I’m also not the jealous type. Having done the whole long-distance thing, Pres and I are used to the occasional forgotten text or unanswered call. If we got worked up every time one of us didn’t respond until morning, we’d have broken up a long time ago. That’s trust.

“How was the poker game?” echoes Benji Stanton, who overhears my question as Pres and I approach the group. He snickers loudly. “You better watch out for your man. This kid is shit at cards and doesn’t know when to quit.”

“So …not good?” I ask, shooting a teasing smile at Pres.

“Not good at all,” Benji confirms. He’s a business major like Pres. They met when they shared a few classes last year.

Benji’s parents own property in Hilton Head, and his father runs a hedge fund. All of Preston’s friends hail from similar backgrounds. As in disgustingly rich. Finance, real estate, politics—their parents are all members of the billionaires’ club. So far, everyone’s been friendly and welcoming to me. I was nervous at first that they might look at me sideways because I’m a freshman, but I only get positive vibes from Preston’s Garnet friends.

“Don’t listen to him, babe.” Pres kisses the top of my head. “I’m playing the long game.”

A few minutes later, we’re climbing up the stairs. Sharkey’s Sports Bar has two floors, the upper one consisting of tables overlooking the ocean, the lower level offering game tables, a plethora of TVs, and the bar. As a server seats our group at a long high-top near the railing, the guys continue to rag on Preston for being terrible at cards.