Good Girl Complex(Avalon Bay #1)(72)

Me: My townie is still my dirty little secret.

Bonnie: FINE! Then mine’s a secret too.



Two seconds later, she texts again.

Bonnie: Who are we kiddin’? We both know I can’t hide anything from you. His name is Ben and he is beautiful!



She follows it up with a screenshot of an Instagram picture featuring a tall boy with the face of a Norse god.

Me: Niiiiice. Have fun.

Bonnie: Oh I will. See you tomorrow!



I set the phone on the nightstand and pick up my anthropology textbook. It’s Monday night, and while I’d rather be naked in Cooper’s bed right now, we spent all weekend together. So I’m forcing myself to stay in the dorm tonight. Not just to keep on top of my course work, but because too much time together could lead to burnout and the last thing I want is for Cooper to get sick of me. God knows I’m nowhere close to being sick of him. I spend, conservatively, three full hours a day fantasizing about him.

So, like a good girl, I finish all my readings for anthropology and bio, write an outline for my English Lit paper, and go to bed at the very reasonable time of ten forty-five.

Alas, the good night’s sleep I’d hoped for doesn’t come.

Around two in the morning, I’m rudely awakened by three consecutive phone calls from Evan.

Followed by a text message that reads: Forget it. Not an emergency.

If anyone else had been serial calling me in the middle of the night while maintaining it wasn’t an emergency, I would’ve told them to fuck right off. But the fact that it’s Evan gives me pause. We only recently exchanged numbers, after the night of the storm when I had no way to reach him. So I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be abusing phone privileges unless it was, indeed, an emergency. Or at least somewhat dire.

I shove my hair out of my eyes and call him back. “You okay?” I demand when he answers.

“Not really.” There’s a heaviness weighing down those two words.

“Where are you?”

“Outside Sharkey’s. Can you come get me?” he mumbles. “I know it’s late and I didn’t want to call but—”

“Evan,” I interrupt. “It’s fine. Just stay put. I’m on my way.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT


MACKENZIE

Fifteen minutes later, I jump out of an Uber and scan the sidewalk in front of Sharkey’s Sports Bar. It doesn’t take long to spot him. Evan’s sitting on the curb, looking like a month’s worth of sludge at the bottom of a trash can that’s been left in the rain.

“What happened to you?” I ask, noting the blood smeared on the side of his face, his shirt torn at the shoulder, and hands scraped and swollen. I can smell the alcohol on him from two feet away.

With his arms propped up on his bent knees, he looks exhausted. Defeated, even. He barely raises his head to acknowledge me. When he speaks, his voice is strained and weak. “Can you get me out of here?”

It’s then I realize I’m his last resort. That turning to me for help is more painful than whatever he’s endured tonight and what he needs the most now is grace.

“Yeah.” I bend down to gather one of his arms over my shoulder to help bear his weight. “I’ve got you.”

As we’re getting up, a trio of guys rounds the corner. Wearing their Greek letters on their shirts, they shout something slurred and incoherent as they approach.

“Oh, hey, baby,” one says when his bleary eyes land on me. A slimy grin appears. “What you got there? Find yourself a gutter stray?”

“Piss off, asshole.” Evan grumbles a half-hearted insult. He can barely stand up straight, leaning on me for balance, but that isn’t enough to deter him from picking a fight apparently. Got to admire his fortitude.

“It’s this fucker again?” The tallest of the frat boys staggers closer, peering at Evan before turning to his buddies. “Look who’s back, boys.”

I level the three guys with a deadly glare. “Leave us alone.”

“Haven’t you had enough, my man?” The third guy comes closer, ducking to meet Evan’s eyes as Evan fights to lift his head. “Thought you were fucking hilarious when you were trying to scam us, huh? Not laughing now, are you? Townie piece of trash.”

My eyes become murderous. I’m tired, cranky, and I’ve got my hands full with Evan. There’s not an ounce of patience left for these idiots.

“Hey, I know you,” the tall one suddenly says, squinting at me.

“I doubt that,” I snap.

“No, I do. I know you. You’re Preston Kincaid’s girlfriend.” He laughs gleefully. “Yeah, you’re Kincaid’s girl. I’m in his frat. I saw you two at some sorority party a while back.”

Strands of unease climb up my throat. Wonderful. The last thing I need is tonight’s activities getting back to Preston. I tighten my grip on Evan and say, “I have no idea who you are, dude. Now, please, get out of our way.”

“Does Kincaid know you’re messing around on him?” His laughter turns maniacal. “And with this piece of shit, no less? Jesus. Women are such trash.”

“Trash,” one of the other guys echoes drunkenly.

When both of them try advancing closer, I’ve officially had enough.