Good Girl Complex(Avalon Bay #1)(6)

“Oh my God, I know that site.” Bonnie smacks my arm excitedly. Girl’s got steel rods for fingers. “BoyfriendFails! Holy shit. My girls and I probably spent more time readin’ those senior year than doin’ our homework. What’s the one? ’Bout the boyfriend who got food poisoning after a date and the girl’s dad was drivin’ them home and the guy got massive diarrhea in the backseat!”

She doubles over in absolute hysterics. I crack a smile because I remember that post well. It got over three hundred thousand clicks, thousands of comments, and double the ad revenue of any other post that month.

“Wow,” she says, once she’s regained her composure. “You really make money off those things?”

“Yeah, from hosting ads. They do pretty well.” I shrug modestly.

“That’s so cool.” Bonnie pouts. “I’m jealous. I got no idea what I’m doin’ here, Mac. Can I call you Mac or do you prefer Mackenzie? Mackenzie sounds so formal.”

“Mac’s fine,” I assure her, trying not to laugh.

“After high school, college is a thing I’m supposed to do, y’know? ’Cept heck if I got any idea what I’m supposed to major in or what I’m gonna do when I grow up.”

“People always say college is where you go to find yourself.”

“I thought that was Panama City.”

I snicker. I really like this girl.

About an hour later, my boyfriend shows up with the rest of my boxes. It’s been weeks since we’ve seen each other. I had a stupid amount of work to do on the business before I could hand it over to my new full-time staff, so I couldn’t take the time off to visit Preston. This is the longest we’ve been apart since the summer his family went on vacation to Lake Como.

I had proposed the idea of getting an apartment together off campus, but Preston had roundly scoffed at that. Why slum it in subpar housing when he’s got a pool, a personal chef, and a maid at home? I didn’t have a good answer that didn’t sound condescending. If independence from our parents isn’t its own motivation to move in together, I don’t know what to say.

Independence has been my sole motivation since high school. Living with my family was like sinking in a pit of quicksand—one that would’ve swallowed me whole if I hadn’t yanked out my own hair to fashion a rope and pull myself out. I wasn’t built to be kept. Maybe that’s why, when the boyfriend I haven’t seen in over a month enters the room with the first load of boxes, I’m not overwhelmed with loin-deep longing or that sudden rush of excitement after time spent apart.

Not that I didn’t miss him or that I’m not happy he’s here. It’s just … I can remember crushes I had in middle school where the time between seeing them at lunch and sixth period felt like an eternity that tore at my little, pubescent heart. I’ve grown up, I suppose. Preston and I are comfortable. Steady. Practically an old married couple.

There’s a lot to be said for steady.

“Hey, babe.” A little sweaty from four flights of stairs, Pres wraps me in a tight hug and kisses me on the forehead. “Missed you. You look great.”

“So do you.” Attraction certainly isn’t the problem; Preston’s about as picture-perfect handsome as it gets. He’s tall, with a slim but athletic build. Gorgeous blue eyes that seem impossibly bright when the sun catches them. A classic angular face that collects attention everywhere he goes. He’s gotten a haircut since the last time I saw him, his blond hair a little long on top but cut close on the sides.

It’s then that he turns his head slightly and I notice his face marked by bruises around his nose and right eye.

“What happened to you?” I ask in alarm.

“Oh, yeah.” He touches his eye and shrugs. “Guys and I were playing basketball the other day and I took a ball to the face. No biggie.”

“You sure? That looks like it hurt.” It’s nasty, honestly, like a burnt, runny egg on the side of his face.

“I’m good. Oh, before I forget. I got you this.”

He reaches into the back pocket of his khakis and pulls out a plastic card. The words BIG JAVA are written across it.

I accept the gift card. “Oh, thanks, babe. Is this for the coffee place on campus?”

He nods earnestly. “Figured it was the most fitting ‘welcome to college’ gift for a coffee fiend like you. I loaded a couple grand on it, so you’re all set.”

At the kitchenette, an eavesdropping Bonnie gasps. “A couple grand?” she squawks.

Okay, two thousand dollars’ worth of coffee is a bit extreme, but one of the things I love about Pres is how thoughtful he is. Driving three hours to my parents’ house to pick up my stuff on his own, then all the way back to campus, and he does it with a smile. He doesn’t complain or make me out to be a burden. He does it to be nice.

There’s a lot to be said for nice.

I glance at my roommate. “Bonnie, this is my boyfriend, Preston. Pres, this is Bonnie.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says with a genuine smile. “I’m going to grab the rest of Mac’s boxes, then how about I take you both out for lunch?”

“I’m in,” Bonnie replies. “I’m starved.”

“That’d be great,” I tell him. “Thank you.”