Good Girl Complex(Avalon Bay #1)(28)

When I marry Preston one day, it won’t be for money or family connections. Our vows won’t include a caveat that cheating is tolerated as long as the stock price is up.

“I wouldn’t want to live that way,” I tell them. “If a relationship isn’t built on love and mutual respect, what’s the point?”

Melissa regards me with a patronizing tilt to her head and a faintly pouting lip. “Oh, sweetie, everyone thinks that way at first. But eventually, we have to start being more realistic.”

Chrissy says nothing, but her cold, impassive expression strikes something inside me. It’s fleeting and undefined, but it unsettles my stomach.

All I know is, I don’t ever want to reach the point where I view infidelity as “extracurricular.”

Later, when Preston’s driving me back to Tally Hall, I broach the subject. Since Melissa and Chrissy didn’t swear me to secrecy, I don’t feel bad asking, “Did you know that Melissa and Chrissy think Seb’s cheating on Chrissy?”

He doesn’t flinch, changing gears as he takes us down the winding roads around the edge of campus. “I had a feeling.”

I fight a frown. “Is it true?”

“I haven’t asked,” he says. Then, after a few seconds, “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Whether Preston was at that boat party or knows of the particular incident is irrelevant. He wouldn’t throw his friend under the bus if he didn’t believe it was possible. Which tells me everything I need to know.

“She isn’t even mad about it.” I shake my head in disbelief. “Either of them, actually. Cost of doing business, as far as they’re concerned.”

“I figured.” Pres pulls up to the parking lot outside my dorm. He takes off his sunglasses and looks me in the eyes. “There’ve been whispers for a few weeks. Seb and Chrissy have chosen to ignore it, best that I can tell. Honestly, it’s not unusual.”

“Cheating isn’t unusual?” To me, cheating is so insulting. It says to your partner: I don’t love you enough to be faithful, and I don’t respect you enough to let you go. It’s the worst kind of trap.

He shrugs. “For some people.”

“Let’s not be those people,” I implore him.

“We’re not.” Preston leans over the center console. He cups the side of my face and kisses me softly. When he pulls back, his pale blue eyes shine with confidence. “I’d be a complete fool to jeopardize our relationship, babe. I know wife material when I see it.”

I think he’s saying it as a compliment, but the fact that he uses Melissa’s exact phrasing brings a queasy feeling to my gut. If I’m the wifey, does that mean he has a Marilyn? Or multiple Marilyns?

Frustration rises in my throat. I hate that Melissa and Chrissy planted this nasty seed of suspicion in my head.

“I’m wife material, huh?” I tease, trying to tamp down my unease. “Why’s that?”

“Hmmm, well …” His lips travel along my cheek toward my ear, where he gives the lobe a teasing nibble. “Because you’re hot. And smart. Good head on your shoulders. Hot, of course. You’re loyal. You’re hot. Annoying how much you argue sometimes—”

“Hey,” I protest.

“—but you don’t fight back on the important stuff,” he finishes. “We have similar goals about what we want out of life. Oh, and did I mention you’re hot?”

His lips brush mine again. I kiss him back, albeit a bit distracted. The list he’d recited was really sweet. So sweet that guilt is prickling at my throat now, because I guess that makes me the asshole with this whole Cooper thing.

Friendship isn’t cheating, even if the other party is attractive, but maybe it’s cheating adjacent?

No. Of course not. Text messages aren’t adultery. It’s not like we’re sending each other nudes and describing our sexual fantasies. And after last night, Cooper and I both have a clear idea where the line is. More than ever, I know better than to cross it.

I’m walking to my dorm when a text pops up from the devil himself. It’s accompanied by a picture of Evan and the puppy playing fetch on the beach.

Cooper: Change of plans. She’s moving in.





CHAPTER ELEVEN


COOPER

“Who’s the prettiest girl in the world? Is it you? Because I think it’s you! Look at you, you beautiful little angel. I could eat you up, that’s how perfect you are, you pretty girl.”

The litany of baby talk escaping the mouth of my grown-ass twin brother is shameful.

And the object of his adoration is shameless. The newest member of the Hartley household struts around the kitchen like she was just named supreme leader of the pack. Which she basically is. She’s got Evan wrapped around her little paw. Me, I’m not going to fall in love with the first cute face I see.

“Dude,” I warn. “Dial it down a notch. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Nah. Look how pretty she is now.” He scoops the puppy off the floor and thrusts her toward me. “Pet her. Feel how soft and silky.”

I dutifully pet her golden fur, which, for the fifty bucks it cost to groom her yesterday, better be soft. Then I swipe the dog from his hands and set her back on the floor.