Good Girl Complex: a heartwarming modern romance from the TikTok sensation

by Elle Kennedy

  “It’s hardly even considered cheating,” Melissa scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. “Seb hooked up with a scholarship chick? Who cares. Now, if it was a wifey, that’s a whole other story. A real reason to worry.”

  “A wifey?” I echo.

  Chrissy gives me a condescending look. “For men like Seb and Benji and Preston, there are two kinds of women. A wifey and a Marilyn. The ones you marry, and the ones you screw.”

  Can’t you screw the one you marry? Or marry the one you screw? I swallow the questions. Because what’s the point?

  “Don’t worry,” Melissa says. She reaches across the table to put her hand on mine, in what she must think is a comforting gesture. “You’re definitely wifey material. Preston knows that. All you need to worry about is locking that down and getting the ring. Everything else is …” She glances at Chrissy for the word. “Extracurricular.”

  That is the most depressing relationship advice I’ve ever heard. These women have their own family money and small empires—they don’t need strategic marital alliances. So why do they sell themselves into loveless arrangements?

  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.

  On which she promptly pees.

  “Motherfucker,” I grumble.

  Evan instantly becomes a mother hen, grabbing paper towels and cooing at his new girlfriend as he sops up her pee puddle. “It’s okay, pretty girl. We all have accidents.”

  We’re still working out this whole dog-training thing, learning as we go from vet blogs and pet websites. All I know is, in the past seven days I’ve cleaned up more piss and dog shit than I ever intended in my life. That thing’s lucky she’s so cute. Last week, after the vet at the shelter confirmed the dog wasn’t chipped and had probably been abandoned for some time, I didn’t have the heart to stick her in a cage or abandon her again. I might be a bastard, but I’m not without mercy. So the vet gave us some special food to fatten her up, sent us on our way, and now we have a dog.

  And a busy day of manual labor, if Evan would quit fawning over his pretty girl.

  This morning, I woke up with a fire under my ass to get stuff done. Evan and I have the day off, so I decided, what the hell, there’s never going to be a right time to start getting this house in better shape. It’s the only lousy legacy our family has left. So I shook Evan out of bed early, and we headed to the hardware store to figure out what we would need.

  First job on the home renovation list: replacing the roof. It’s not going to be cheap. Digs into my savings quite a bit, but Evan kicked in half with some convincing. At least doing the work ourselves will save us a few grand.

  “Come on, we should get started,” I tell my brother. We plan to spend the rest of the day pulling the old roof off, and then tomorrow we’ll lay down the new materials. Shouldn’t take us more than a couple of days if we work fast.

  “Let’s go for a quick walk first. It’ll tire her
out so she’ll sleep while we work.”

  Without awaiting my response, he scoops up the puppy and heads for the back door, where her leash is hanging on a hook.

  “Swear to God, if you’re not back in ten minutes, I’m returning her to the shelter.”

  “Fuck off. She’s here to stay.”

  Sighing, I watch him and the dog scamper down the deck steps toward the sand. Our delivery from the hardware store hasn’t arrived yet, but we could at least be making ourselves useful by prepping the current roof. Unfortunately, Evan’s work ethic isn’t as solid as mine. My brother will find any opportunity to procrastinate.

  On the deck, I rest my forearms against the railing and grin when I see the golden retriever make a beeline for the water. There goes her newfound softness. Serves Evan right.

  As I wait, I pull out my phone and text Mac.

  Me: How about Potato?

  Her response is almost instantaneous. Makes my ego swell a bit, knowing I’ve got priority in her texting queue.

  Mackenzie: Absolutely not.

  Me: Mary Pawpins?

  Mackenzie: Better. I’m saying Daisy.

  Me: Can you get any more generic?

  Mackenzie: You’re generic.

  Me: Nah babe, I’m one of a kind.

  Mackenzie: Not your babe.

  Me: Whatcha doing right now?

  Mackenzie: In class.

  She follows that up with a gun emoji next to a girl’s head emoji. I snicker at my phone.

  Me: That bad?

  Mackenzie: Worse. I stupidly chose biology for my required science. Why are all the species names in Latin!!! And I forgot how much I hate cell theory! Did you know the cell is the most basic building block of life?

  Me: I thought that was sex.

  Mackenzie sends an eye roll emoji, then says she has to go because her professor is starting to call on students to answer questions. I don’t envy her.

  Even though Garnet has decent scholarship opportunities for locals, I’ve never had any desire to attend college. I don’t see the point. Everything I need to know about construction or woodworking, I can learn from my uncle, online, or in library books. Last year, I took some bookkeeping classes at the community center in town so I could learn to better manage our finances (as meager as they are), but that only cost me a hundred bucks. Why the hell would I ever pay twenty-five grand per semester to be told cells are important and that we evolved from apes?

  A honk from the front of the house catches my attention. Our order’s here.

  Out front, I greet Billy and Jay West with fist bumps and good-natured back slaps. They’re some of the old crew, grew up in the Bay. Though we don’t see much of them these days.

  “This ought to be everything you need,” Billy says, opening the tailgate of the pickup truck. We had to buy and borrow some specific tools, get an air compressor and whatnot. On the trailer, he’s got the new shingles on pallets.

  “Looks good,” I say, helping him haul things off the truck.

  “Dad said there’s no charge on the compressor if you can get it back to him by Monday. And he’s giving you the underlayment and valley flashing at cost.”

  “Appreciate it, B,” I say, shaking his hand.

  Around the Bay, we watch out for each other. We have our own bartering system—do me a favor today, I help you out tomorrow. It’s the only way most of us have survived the storms over the past couple years. You need to be able to rely on your neighbors to come together, support one another; otherwise, this whole town goes to shit.

  Billy, Jay, and I unload the trailer in the blistering heat, all three of us drenched in sweat by the time we lift the last pallet. We’re setting it on the ground when Billy’s phone rings, and he wanders off to take the call.

  “Hey, Coop.” Jay wipes his brow with the short sleeve of his shirt. “Got a sec?”

  “Sure. Let’s grab some water.” We walk over to the cooler on the front porch to pull out a couple bottles of water. It’s blazing out here. Summer refusing to die. “What’s up?”

  Jay awkwardly shifts his huge feet. He’s the biggest of the five West boys—six five, over two hundred pounds of solid muscle. Steph calls him the “gentle giant,” which is an apt description. Jay’s a sweet guy, the first person to help someone in need. He doesn’t possess a mean bone in his body.

  “Wanted to ask you something.” His cheeks are slowly reddening, and it’s not because of the heat. “You and Heidi …”

  I wrinkle my forehead. Definitely not what I expected him to say.

  “I heard some rumors about you guys this summer, and uh …” He shrugs. “Wasn’t sure if it’s a thing or not.”

  “It’s not.”

  “Oh. Okay. Cool.” He chugs half the bottle before speaking again. “I ran into her at Joe’s the other night.”

  I try not to chuckle at his shy expression. I know where he’s going with this now, but he’s taking the long way to get there.

  “And how’d that go?” I ask. I haven’t seen Heidi or the girls in several days.

  “Fun. It was fun.” He gulps down some more water. “You don’t mind if I ask her out, do ya? Since you two aren’t a thing?”

  Jay West is the epitome of the boy next door, and Heidi will eat him alive. If she even gives him a shot to begin with, which I doubt, since I’m fairly sure I’m the only guy in town she’s slept with. She dated some dude for a year in high school, but he didn’t live in the Bay. Heidi’s always had one foot out the door anyway. I’m honestly surprised she hasn’t skipped town yet.

  I don’t have the heart to tell Jay she’ll probably turn him down, so I simply clap him on the shoulder and say, “’Course I don’t mind. She’s a great girl—make sure you treat her right.”

  “Scout’s honor,” he promises, holding up one hand in the Boy Scout gesture. Of course he was a Scout. Probably earned all his badges too. Meanwhile, Evan and I got kicked out of our troop when we were eight because we tried setting our scout leader’s gear on fire.

  “Hey, didn’t realize you boys were here.” Evan comes up with the puppy on a leash, ruefully glancing at all the supplies we’ve unloaded—no thanks to him. “Otherwise I would’ve given you a hand.”

  I snort. Yeah right.

  “When’d you get a dog?” a delighted Jay asks. He promptly kneels and starts playing with the puppy, who tries to nip his stroking fingers. “What’s his name?”

  “Her,” I correct. “And we don’t know yet.”

  “My vote is for Kitty, but Coop doesn’t appreciate irony,” Evan pipes up.

  “We’re still deciding,” I say.

  Billy wraps up his call and approaches us. He nods at Evan, who nods back and says, “Billy. How’s things?”

  “Yeah, good.”

  The two share an uneasy look, while I stand there in discomfort. Gentle giant Jay is oblivious to the tension, thoroughly occupied by the puppy. This is why we don’t see Billy and his brothers anymore. It’s too damn awkward.

  But Evan can’t help himself. Always takes it to the next level of awkwardness. “How’s Gen?”

  Billy grunts a curt “Fine,” and can’t get his trailer closed up fast enough before he and Jay are practically peeling out of our front yard.

  “The hell was that about?” I say to Evan.

  “What’s what?” He says this as if I don’t know exactly what goes on in his damn head.

  “Thought you weren’t hung up on Genevieve.”

  “I’m not.” He brushes me off and goes to the porch, grabbing some water.

  “She blew town with barely a heads up,” I remind him. “Trust me, that chick isn’t sitting around worrying about you.”

  “I said it’s whatever,” Evan insists. “I was just making conversation.”

  “With her brothers? I wouldn’t be surprised if Billy blames you for her running all the way to Charleston. For all I know, he’s been waiting to kick your ass.”

  Evan’s ex was the real hellion of our group. We’ve a
ll experimented with the occasional illicit substance, broken a few laws, but Gen was on another level. If it was stupid and stood a chance to kill her, she wanted seconds. And Evan was right there next to her. Allegedly, she left to get her shit together. New place, new life. Who knows if it’s true? If any of the girls still talk to her, they don’t bring it up. Which is all the proof Evan should need that Genevieve West doesn’t give a crap that she tore his fucking heart out.

  “You still in love with her?” I ask him.

  He takes off his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. Then he meets my eyes. “I don’t even think about her.”

  Yeah right. I know that expression. I wore that same expression every day our dad wasn’t around. Every time our mom walked out on us for weeks or months at a time. Sometimes he forgets I’m the one person in the world he can’t lie to.

  My phone vibrates, momentarily distracting me from my brother’s bullshit. I check the screen to find a text from Mac.

  Mackenzie: My bio prof just shared with the class that he’s got a dog named Mrs. Puddles. I say we steal the name and never look back.

  I can’t stop a chuckle, causing Evan to eye me sharply over the lip of his water bottle.

  “What about you?” A bite creeps into his voice.

  “What about me?”

  “Every time I look over, you’re texting the clone. You two are getting awfully cute.”

  “Thought that was the idea, genius. She’s not dumping her boyfriend for some asshole she doesn’t like.”

  “What do you text about?” he demands.

  “Nothing important.” It’s not a lie. Mostly we argue about names and how to train our dog. Mac has granted herself partial custody and visitation rights. I tell her she’s welcome to chip in for puppy pads and dog food. She demands more photos.

  “Uh-huh.” He reads me with narrow eyes. “You’re not catching feelings for the rich bitch, are you?”

  “Hey.” Evan can throw all the shit he wants at me, but his anger has nothing to do with Mac. “She didn’t do anything to you. In fact, she’s been perfectly nice. So how about you watch your mouth.”