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

by Elle Kennedy

  Our conversation devolves even further, as Sutton suggests we play a game. Well, not so much a game as “let’s rate the hotness of every single guy who walks past our table.”

  “Oooh, how about him?” Alisha asks in a loud whisper.

  We all examine a long-haired surfer dude in a red tank top and orange board shorts. “Two out of ten for fashion sense,” Melissa says, lifting her nose. “Red and orange? Come on. Have some respect for yourself, sir.”

  I can’t help but snicker. Drunk Melissa is still snooty, but she’s also cattier, which I’m loving.

  “Butt? Nine out of ten,” Kate decides. “It’s a great butt.”

  “I bet I could bounce a quarter off that thing,” Alisha agrees.

  Yes, we’re objectifying these boys. Intoxicated girls have neither shame nor scruples.

  “Seven overall,” Sutton says.

  “Three,” Melissa corrects, jutting her chin. “I can’t get past the red/orange combo. I just can’t.”

  “Um, guys?” hisses Alisha, who leans forward eagerly. “Six o’clock, far end of the bar—I just found a ten across the board.”

  We all turn toward the bar. I nearly choke on my tongue.

  Alisha’s perfect ten is Cooper Hartley.

  Kate whistles softly. “Oh yeah. I like.”

  “I love,” Alisha corrects, her face taking on a dreamy glow.

  I don’t blame her. Cooper looks damn good tonight. He’s wearing that threadbare T-shirt I like, the one with the Billabong logo that stretches across his broad shoulders and emphasizes his defined chest. Add to that the messy dark hair, the two full-sleeve tattoos, the cargo pants hugging an ass even tauter than the surfer’s, and you’ve got one fine specimen of a man.

  As if sensing the female attention, Cooper’s head jerks sharply. A second later, he’s looking at our table. Heat floods my cheeks when my gaze locks with his. Shit. Am I blushing? I hope I’m not blushing.

  His eyes narrow at the sight of me. Lips flatten for a second before twisting in a slight smirk.

  Beside me, Alisha gasps. “He’s staring at you,” she accuses me. “Do you know him?”

  “I … uh …” My mind races in an attempt to come up with a suitable reason why a hot townie might be making prolonged eye contact with me.

  “Mackenzie?” Melissa’s shrewd gaze burns a hole in the side of my face. “Do you know that guy?”

  My throat is completely dry. I wrestle my eyes off Cooper and reach for my drink. Taking a sip provides me with a few extra seconds to panic-think of an excuse. Melissa isn’t only nosy—she’s smart. If I admit to knowing Cooper, even in a just-friends capacity, it’ll absolutely trigger her gossip setting. She’ll ask more questions, and if even one of my answers doesn’t ring true for her, she might tell Benji, who’ll in turn tell Preston, who literally just forgave me for kissing another guy.

  So, no. There’s no way I can fess up to knowing Cooper in any capacity.

  “Evan,” I blurt out.

  Melissa frowns. “What?”

  I set down my plastic daiquiri cup. Relief and satisfaction course through me at my stroke of genius. “That’s Evan Hartley. My roommate hooked up with him at the beginning of the semester.”

  She relaxes slightly, her manicured fingers toying with the diamond in her ear. “Really? Little Bonnie tapped that?”

  “Oh yeah.” I muster up a laugh and hope nobody hears the tension in it. “She totally abandoned me for a moonlight beach hookup with the guy.”

  Perfect. Now if Melissa tries to fact-check me, Bonnie can easily corroborate. As long as Cooper stays across the room and doesn’t—

  Walk over to us.

  Son of a bitch, he’s walking over here.

  My heart beats faster than the canned dance music pouring from the speakers. What is he doing? I told him I couldn’t see him anymore. I made it clear, damn it. He can’t just come up to my table like nothing happened and—

  “Evan!” I exclaim in a too-loud voice with a too-bright smile. Cooper’s gait stutters for a second. Then his long legs resume their easy stride until he’s standing in front of me. He shoves his hands in his pockets, donning a lazy pose as he drawls, “Mackenzie.”

  “Evan, hey. How’s it going?” I ask, all friendly and laidback as if we hadn’t made out, as if I’d never felt the prominent ridge of his erection pulsing against my belly. “I haven’t seen you since that night you stole my roommate away and seduced her.”

  Kate snickers.

  I remain focused on Cooper, hoping my eyes are conveying everything I can’t say out loud. Play along. Please. I can’t have these girls gossiping about us and risk it getting back to Pres. Please play along.

  The fact that I’m not acknowledging his true identity sparks guilt in me, but it doesn’t compare to how awful I felt about cheating on Preston. Kissing Cooper had been a mistake. But I came clean to my boyfriend, my conscience is clear, and now I just want to move on. Which won’t be possible if Melissa decides there’s gossip potential here. So I silently implore Cooper, who isn’t giving me an inch.

  His smirk deepens, dark eyes glittering with something I can’t decipher.

  By the time he finally speaks, I’m a bundle of nerves and sweating through my tank top.

  “I didn’t hear Bonnie complaining that night,” he says with a wink.

  I almost faint with relief. Hopefully no one notices my hand shaking as I reach for my drink. “Well, she’s not the one who had to Uber back to campus all alone at two in the morning.” I take a hasty sip before making the introductions. “Alisha, Sutton, Kate, Melissa. Guys, this is Evan.”

  It’s funny, I never realized how different Cooper and his twin are until this very moment, when Cooper transforms into Evan. His normally intense, brooding eyes gleam mischievously. His tongue gives his bottom lip a teasing swipe before he flashes a cocky grin at my friends.

  “So.” Even his voice sounds different now. Lighter, flirtier. “Which one of Mackenzie’s friends will I be seducing tonight?”

  You’d think a line that sleazy would evoke groans. Instead, the girls all but swoon over it. Even Melissa is affected. Her face turns pink, lips parting slightly.

  I don’t blame them. This guy is sex personified. Doesn’t matter if he’s being his broody self or pretending to be his manwhore brother, the sexual energy pours off him in waves.

  “Keep it in your pants, Evan.” My tone is meant to be teasing but sounds like a warning.

  His grin widens.

  “Alright.” Sutton releases an exaggerated sigh and hops off her stool. “I guess I’ll take one for the team.” Her hazy expression tells me she’s already having sex with Cooper in her mind. “How ’bout a dance first, and then we can discuss that seduction offer?”

  There’s not a single muscle in my body that isn’t coiled tight. My fingers curl around my cup, squeezing hard. I’m worried I might crush it. It’s a damn good thing it’s made of plastic, otherwise there’d be glass shards everywhere.

  Cooper’s mocking eyes don’t miss my response. He’s watching me even as he answers Sutton. “A dance sounds great. Lead the way, babe.”

  Three seconds later, he’s wrapped up with Sutton on the dance floor in front of the stage. Her arms loop around his neck, her slender frame pressed against his strong one. Cooper’s hands skim the back of her lacy camisole, one palm trailing lower, resting right above the curve of her ass. His other hand glides up her spine and tangles in her dark ponytail before cupping the back of her neck.

  Bitter rage coats my throat. I reach for my daiquiri hoping to get rid of the vile taste, only to find my cup is empty.

  “Ugh, I can’t believe her,” Alisha is griping.

  Her? I can’t believe him. What is he doing, dirty dancing with a complete stranger?

  Beside me, Kate pats Alisha’s arm. “I’m sorry, hon. Next time you gotta be quicker.”

  “Lord, he is hot,” Melissa remarks, her attention glued to Cooper and Sutton. “If I wasn’t wi
th Benji, I would totally consider slumming it with a townie for the night.”

  I lift a brow. “I thought extracurricular activities were perfectly acceptable?”

  She laughs. “Um, no. Not for us, sweetie. At least not until we’ve got the I Dos locked down. Then you can screw the pool boys and gardeners to your heart’s content.”

  Kate rolls her eyes at her older sister. “You’re one classy bitch, Mel.”

  Melissa shrugs. “What? That’s the way it’s done.”

  I tune them out, distracted by the vertical sex display happening ten feet from our table. Sutton is now on her tiptoes, whispering in Cooper’s ear.

  He chuckles, and I stiffen. What are they giggling about over there?

  And he really needs to remove his hands from her ass. Like, right now. He’s laying it on thick for my expense, and I am not having it. I bite the inside of my cheek. Hard.

  “I totally should’ve staked my claim the second he walked up to us,” Alisha moans. She’s also obsessively watching the dance floor.

  “Early bird gets the dick,” Kate says solemnly.

  “Ugh. Whatever.” Alisha slams her cup on the table and pouts. “She’s all talk anyway. Sutton doesn’t do casual sex. She’s not going to fall into bed with some guy she doesn’t even—” Alisha stops abruptly, her jaw dropping.

  I follow her gaze just in time to see Cooper and Sutton leaving the bar together.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  MACKENZIE

  The next morning, my media culture class is canceled. The professor sends a mass email that defies the laws of oversharing, informing us that his bowels had revolted against the meatloaf his wife prepared for dinner last night.

  I feel your pain, bud. My stomach’s been in knots since I saw Cooper leave the Rip Tide with his arm slung around Sutton.

  Did they have sex? I feel queasy at the thought. And a little angry. How could he fall into bed with some chick he’d known for 2.5 seconds? Or maybe they didn’t sleep together. Maybe she just blew him.

  A red mist overtakes my field of vision at the thought of Sutton going down on Cooper. I want to rip his dick off for letting her touch it.

  Hmm. Okay.

  Maybe I’m more than a “little” angry.

  But I’m not allowed to feel that way. Cooper is not my boyfriend. Preston is. I’m not allowed to have an opinion about who Cooper hooks up with, and I certainly shouldn’t be reaching for my phone right now and pulling up our chat thread and—

  Me: You didn’t have to do that on my account. And by “do that,” I mean Sutton.

  Damn it. What is wrong with me? I regret sending the text the moment it appears on the screen. I frantically tap at the screen in search of an unsend option, but that’s not how text messages work.

  And now Cooper is typing a response.

  Heart beating wildly, I sit up in bed and inwardly curse myself for my lack of self-control.

  Cooper: Oh we’re talking again?

  Me: No. We’re not.

  Cooper: Cool. Later.

  I stare at my phone in frustration. I’m more frustrated with myself than with him, though. I told him we couldn’t be friends. I literally said, “Goodbye, Cooper.” Last night I called him Evan and all but threw him at my single friends so that Melissa wouldn’t suspect anything and tell Benji. This is on me. Of course Cooper doesn’t want to talk to me.

  And yet my stupid fingers have a mind of their own.

  Me: I’m just saying. Thanks for playing along when I called you Evan, but you didn’t have to go full-on method acting.

  Cooper: Hey princess? How about you worry more about your boyfriend’s dick and less about mine?

  I want to scream. I wish I’d never met Cooper Hartley. Then I wouldn’t be feeling this way. All twisted up inside. Not to mention the jealousy eating at my throat like battery acid thanks to his reply. Is he saying his dick was a factor last night, then?

  I’m three seconds away from asking Kate for Sutton’s number so I can confirm exactly what happened last night, when common sense settles in. If my goal last night was to ensure Melissa wouldn’t get suspicious, going batshit crazy on Sutton won’t help the cause.

  Utilizing every iota of willpower I possess, I shove my phone aside and grab my laptop. No class means more time for work, which is always a great distraction.

  I check my email, but there’s nothing pressing that needs to be addressed. The matter with Tad and his micropenis has blown over, thank God. And my mods and ad managers are reporting that September was our best month yet in term of revenue. It’s the kind of news any business owner should be thrilled to hear, and don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled. But as I spend the next couple hours doing basic business housekeeping, the frustration returns, rising in my throat. I have the sudden urge to get off campus for a walk. Sick of the same old scenery. Sick of my obsessive thoughts about Cooper.

  Ten minutes later, I’m in a cab heading for Avalon Bay. I need the fresh air, the sunshine. The car drops me off near the pier, and I walk toward the boardwalk, shoving my hands in the pockets of my cutoff shorts. I can’t believe how balmy the temperature is for October, but I’m not complaining. The hot breeze feels like heaven against my face.

  When my feet carry me all the way to the hotel, I suddenly realize what motivated me to come here today. The same thrill of possibility surges through my blood upon finding the hotel still sitting empty. Waiting.

  It’s crazy, but as I stare at the derelict building, my body starts humming. Even my fingers are itching, like a metaphorical need to get my hands moving. Is this the challenge I’d been looking for? This condemned hotel I can’t quit fantasizing about?

  It’s not even for sale, I remind myself. And yet that doesn’t seem to matter. The humming refuses to subside.

  An idea forms in my mind as I make my way back through town, where I stop at a café for a drink. When the woman behind the counter hands me my juice spritzer, I hesitate for a moment. Avalon Bay is a small town. If we’re going by the small towns I’ve seen on TV shows like Gilmore Girls, that means everyone knows everything about everyone and everything.

  So I take a wild guess and ask, “What do you know about the old abandoned hotel on the boardwalk? The Beacon? Any idea why the owner hasn’t done anything with it?”

  “Ask her yourself.”

  I blink. “Sorry, what?”

  She nods toward a table by the window. “That’s the owner.”

  I follow her gaze and spot an elderly woman wearing a wide-brim hat and huge black sunglasses that obscure most of her face. She’s dressed more like a beachcomber than a hotelier.

  What are the odds? The humming intensifies, until my entire body feels wired with a live current. This has to mean something.

  Carrying my drink, I slowly approach the table by the window. “Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you. I wondered if I might talk to you about your hotel. May I sit down?”

  The woman doesn’t look up from her coffee cake and cup of tea. “We’re closed.”

  “Yes, I know.” I take a breath. “I hoped I might change that.”

  She picks at her cake with brittle fingers. Pulls tiny crumbs, placing them slowly, gently, in her mouth.

  “Ma’am? Your hotel. Can I ask you a few questions?”

  “We’re closed.”

  I can’t tell if she’s putting me on, or not all there. I don’t want to be rude or upset her, so I try one last time.

  “I want to buy your hotel. Is that something that would interest you?”

  Finally, she lifts her head to look at me. I can’t see her eyes because of the sunglasses, but the thoughtful purse of her lips confirms I’ve captured her interest. She takes a long sip of her tea. Then, setting down the cup, she pushes out a chair for me with her foot.

  I sit, hoping I don’t appear too eager. “My name is Mackenzie. Cabot. I’m a student at Garnet College, but I’m sort of an entrepreneur too. I’m really interested in discussing your hotel.”

 
“Lydia Tanner.” After a long beat, she removes her sunglasses and places them on the tabletop. A pair of surprisingly shrewd eyes laser into mine. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything,” I answer with a smile.

  For more than an hour, we discuss the hotel’s history. How she built it with her husband after the war. How it was practically demolished and rebuilt three times since then, before her husband died two years ago. Then after the last storm, she was too old and too tired to rebuild again. Her heart wasn’t in it, and her kids weren’t interested in salvaging the property.

  “I’ve had offers,” she tells me, her voice sure and steady. Not at all the timid old lady she might appear. “Some generous. Some not. Developers who want to tear it down and build some hideous high-rise in its place. People have been trying to tear down the boardwalk for years, turn this place into Miami or something. All concrete and shiny glass.”

  Her derisive sniff reveals exactly how she feels about all this. “This town will never be like Miami. It has too much charm,” I assure her.

  “The developers don’t care about charm. They only see dollar signs.” Lydia picks up her teacup. “My only terms are that whoever buys my hotel has to preserve the intent. Maintain the character. I want to move closer to my grandkids, spend whatever time I have left with my family.” She sighs. “But I simply can’t bear to leave without knowing The Beacon is well cared for.”

  “I can make you that promise,” I say honestly. “It’s the charm of the place that made me fall in love with it. I can commit to restoring everything as close to original as possible. Update the wiring and plumbing. Reinforce the bones. Make sure it survives another fifty years.”

  Lydia examines me, as if gauging whether to take me seriously or write me off as a silly college girl who’s wasting her time.

  Several seconds tick by before she gives a slow nod. “Well, then, young lady, write down a number.”

  A number? I know nothing about the hotel real estate market, so I’m completely flying by the seat of my pants as I type a figure into the Notes app on my phone. It’s my best estimation of how much a property like this might cost, but also not enough to clean out my entire business account.