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

by Elle Kennedy

  A pit grows in my stomach as I read on. It’s sweet and sincere. My fingers go numb and my eyes sting.

  She doesn’t owe me a second chance, I know that. She doesn’t owe me anything. But I’m still going to ask.

  Give me a second chance, princess. And if you do, I promise you this—I will never lie to you again. I will never take you for granted. I will never, for the rest of my life, forget the goddamn treasure you are.

  I almost can’t see by the time I finish reading, my vision completely blurred by tears. The post closes with a plea to meet him at six o’clock this Saturday at the place where we rescued our dog.

  “Damn it,” I mumble when I put the phone down on the table. “I thought we had a deal.”

  Alana hands me a napkin to wipe my face. “We did. But he’s a mess. You’re miserable. Neither of you are coping. I’m sorry I resorted to a sneak attack, but come on. What’s the harm in hearing him out?”

  “I’m not miserable,” I say in my defense. “I’m moving on.”

  Steph gives me a look that begs to differ.

  “You’re in denial,” Alana corrects. “Spending ten hours a day at the hotel and another five holed up in your room on your websites is not the sign of someone who’s moved on.”

  So it’s been difficult. Fine. When everything else is spinning out of control, work is where I find my center. It’s a distraction, and the most effective way I’ve found to keep my mind off Cooper.

  Truth is, he’s a hard man to get over. Hardly a day passes without me waking up and expecting to feel his arm around me in bed. Ten times a day I almost text him some funny joke or exciting update about the hotel—until I remember he isn’t mine anymore. Daisy still searches for him. Picking up his scent here and there. Lying at the foot of his side of the bed. Waiting at the door for someone who never comes.

  Nothing about being in this town feels right without him.

  And none of that changes the fact that he lied to me. Repeatedly. He took away my power to make my own decisions. He tricked me, and I can’t so easily disregard that. If I can’t have respect for myself, no one will.

  “Meet him,” Alana urges. “Listen to what he has to say. Then go with your heart. What’s the harm in doing that much?”

  Irrevocable damage. A small crack in the levee that gives way to insurmountable anguish. When I left Cooper, I built my walls sturdy, made to last. I wasn’t designed to open and shut at will. More than anything, I fear that if I let myself see him, I won’t ever stop feeling this terrible ache. That if I forgive him, I’m setting myself up to be ruined again. Because I don’t know how to walk away from Cooper Hartley twice.

  I might not survive it again.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  COOPER

  It’s seven o’clock.

  I feel like a moron. I should have dressed better. Brought her some flowers. I was knocking around my house all afternoon trying to not get worked up about this that I drove myself fucking batshit. I walked out of the house in my cargo shorts and a T-shirt, looking like a goddamn bum asking this amazing woman to forgive him for being a complete bastard since the day she met him.

  What the fuck am I doing here?

  My eye twitches. It’s been doing that for two days. Alana told me she’d shown Mac the post I’d written, but wouldn’t elaborate much on her reaction, except to say she didn’t chuck the phone into the street. It’s been an hour since the time I’d asked to meet, though, and with each passing second my hope evaporates. Somehow, I’d gotten into my head this plan was foolproof. Mac would see my sincerity and thoughtfulness, and of course she’d forgive me.

  This was a stupid plan. Why did I think pouring my heart out on a website she built to drag dumbasses like me would be romantic? I’m a joke. Maybe if I’d gone after her that night at the party, I wouldn’t be standing here with the seagulls, which are circling as if they’re mobilizing for an assault. I kick a mound of sand in the air to remind them of their place in the food chain.

  Seven fifteen.

  She’s not coming.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have expected to win her over with one grand gesture, but I never thought she’d blow me off entirely. It knocks the wind out of me like a punch right to the center of my chest. The boardwalk lights flicker on as the sun dips behind the town.

  She’s really not coming.

  Accepting my fate, I slowly turn back toward the way I came, and that’s when I see a lone figure walking toward me.

  I careen into a full-blown panic at the sight of Mac approaching. She’s only ten yards away now. Five. She looks stunning, her tall, slender body wrapped up in an ankle-length blue dress with a low V neckline. I haven’t forgotten a single freckle or the way her eyes have little flecks of blue in their green depths. The crease of her lips when she says my name. Seeing her again, though, it’s wiping the dust off the window.

  “I didn’t think you were coming,” I tell her, trying to keep my composure. I got her here. Last thing I want to do is scare her off, even if every ounce of me wants to hold her one more time.

  “I almost didn’t.”

  She comes to a stop, keeping a few feet of distance between us. Those three feet feel insurmountable. It’s strange how I can read her less now than the first time we met. She’s impenetrable. Not giving anything away.

  Too much time passes where I’m lost, remembering what it was like to feel her hair between my fingers, and she gets impatient.

  “So …what’s up?” she asks.

  For days, all I’ve done is rehearse how I’d do this. Now I’m here and everything I’d planned to say sounds like some corny bullshit. I’m dying here.

  “Look, the truth is I’m gonna be bad at this no matter how I say it, so I’m just gonna say it.” I take a deep breath. Now or never, asshole. “I’ve regretted every day I was too chickenshit to tell you the truth. I was selfish and stupid, and you have every right to hate me. I’ve had nothing but time to think about how to convince you I’m sorry and why you should take me back. Honestly, I don’t have a good reason.”

  Mac looks away, and I know I’m losing her because this is all coming out wrong, but I can’t seem to stop the words from tearing out of my mouth.

  “What I mean to say is, I know what I did was wrong. I know I destroyed your trust in me. That I betrayed you. I was careless with something very precious. But, damn it, Mac, I’m so in love with you and it’s killing me that you’re still out here, out of reach, when I know in my soul I can make you happy again if you let me. I’ve been a bastard and want you to love me back anyway. It’s not fair. I should have to suffer for how I hurt you. I fucking am suffering. But I’m begging you to put me out of my misery. I don’t know how to be without you anymore.”

  I’m out of breath by the time my jaw snaps shut, the delayed message finally making its way to my brain, saying Shut the hell up. Mac wipes at her eyes and I have to lock myself down to stop from reaching for her. Seconds pass as I wait for her to respond. Then the cold, dead silence when she doesn’t.

  “I want to show you something,” I blurt out when I sense she’s ready to bail. “Will you take a walk with me?”

  She doesn’t budge. “What is it?”

  “It’s not far. Please. It’ll only take a minute.”

  She ponders my offer for almost longer than my nerves can tolerate. Then her head jerks in agreement.

  I hold my hand out for hers. Instead, she walks ahead of me.

  We go a little ways down the beach, where I coax her up to the boardwalk in front of her hotel. It’s still a gutted shell, though the debris has been hauled away. On what’s left of the veranda, two matching rocking chairs sit looking out on the water. Flickering candles line the railing.

  Mac’s breath hitches. Slowly, she turns to meet my earnest gaze. “What’s this?” she whispers.

  “First time you brought me here, you told me that you pictured guests sitting out here in rocking chairs, sipping wine, watching the waves roll in.”

>   She looks up at me with the thousands of tiny lights of the boardwalk shining in her eyes. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

  “I remember every word you’ve ever said to me.”

  Her gaze returns to the veranda. I can feel her softening, the stiffness of her body melting away.

  “Mac, when I picture my future, I see myself old and gray, sitting in a rocking chair on a porch. With you beside me. That’s my dream.”

  Before her, I didn’t bother looking ahead even five years. The image was never a pretty one. I figured I’d spend my days scraping by, getting the bare minimum out of life. I never considered the possibility that someone might be crazy enough to love me. But Mac did love me, and I’d gone and run her off.

  “I can’t say I won’t ever mess up again,” I choke out through the gravel lining my throat. “I don’t have a great frame of reference for functioning relationships. Sometimes I get too far up my own ass, or too stuck in my own brooding thoughts. But I can promise to try to be a man you deserve. To be someone you’re proud of. And I will never lie to you again.” My voice grows hoarser by the second. “Please, Mac. Come home. I don’t know what I am if I can’t love you.”

  She stares down at her feet, twisting her hands together. I’m bracing for the worst the longer she doesn’t speak, but finally she takes a breath.

  “You broke my heart,” she says, so softly a slight breeze could blow the words right out of the air. “I’ve never been so hurt by anyone in my life. That’s not an easy thing to let go, Cooper.”

  “I understand.” My heart is racing and I’m thinking I might drop to my knees if she doesn’t say yes.

  “You’d have to promise me something else.”

  “Name it.” I’d freeze a kidney for her if she asked for it.

  A slight smirk curves her lips. “You have to start cashing my rent checks.”

  My brain stutters to catch up. Then her smile widens and she grabs the front of my shirt, pulling my lips to hers. Overcome with relief, I hoist her up and wrap her legs around my hips, kissing her until we’re both gasping for air. I’ve never kissed anyone with more conviction or intent. Never needed anything the way I’ve needed to feel her in my arms again.

  “I love you,” I mumble against her lips. It doesn’t seem enough to say it, and yet I can’t get the words out fast enough. “So much.” As far as close calls go, this one was razor thin. I almost lost her, lost this.

  She clings to me, kissing me back with urgency. And my chest fills to the brim with the kind of naked, honest love I never thought myself capable of feeling. Of finding. I’ve learned a lot about myself over the last several months. Not the least of which is learning to take better care of the people I love.

  Mac pulls back slightly, her gorgeous eyes seeking mine. “I love you too,” she breathes.

  And in that moment I vow, even if it takes me the rest of my life, to show this girl she didn’t waste her heart on me.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As anyone who knows me can attest, I’ve been obsessed with quaint beach towns for ages. Avalon Bay might be a fictional town, but it’s an amalgamation of all my favorite parts of various coastal towns I’ve visited over the years, and it was an absolute joy to lose myself in this world. Of course, I couldn’t have done that without the support and general awesomeness of the following people: my agent, Kimberly Brower, and editor, Eileen Rothschild, for their contagious enthusiasm for this story; Lisa Bonvissuto, Christa Desir, and the rest of the terrific staff at SMP, and Jonathan Bush for the incredible cover!

  Early readers and author friends who provided feedback and amazing blurbs; Natasha and Nicole for being the most efficient human beings on the planet; every single reviewer, blogger, Instagrammer, Booktokker, and reader who has shared, supported, and loved this book.

  And as always, my family and friends for putting up with me whenever I’m in deadline mode. Love you all.

  READ ON FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT

  ELLE KENNEDY’S NEW NOVEL

  Bad Girl Reputation

  Available Autumn 2022

  GENEVIEVE

  The guy’s got some nerve walking in here looking like he does. Those haunting dark eyes that still lurk in the deepest parts of my memory. Brown, nearly black hair I still feel between my fingers. He’s as heart-stabbingly gorgeous as the pictures that still flicker behind my eyes. It’s been a year since I last saw him, yet my response to him is the same. He walks into a room and my body notices him before I do. It’s a disturbance of static in the air that dances across my skin.

  It’s obnoxious, is what it is. And that my body has the audacity to react to him, now, at my mother’s funeral, is even more disturbing.

  Evan stands with his twin brother Cooper, scanning the room until he notices me. The guys are identical except for occasional variances in their haircuts, but most people tell them apart by their tattoos. Cooper’s got two full sleeves, while most of Evan’s ink is on his back. Me, I know it from his eyes. Whether they’re gleaming with mischief or flickering with joy, need, frustration … I always know when it’s Evan’s eyes on me.

  Our gazes meet. He nods. I nod back, my pulse quickening. Literally three seconds later, Evan and I convene down the hall where there are no witnesses.

  It’s strange how familiar we are with some people, no matter how much time has passed. Memories of the two of us wash over me like a balmy breeze. Walking through this house with him like we’re back in high school. Sneaking in and out at all hours. Stumbling with hands against the wall to stay upright. Laughing in hysterical whispers to not wake up the whole house.

  “Hey,” he says, holding out his arms in a hesitant offer, which I accept because it feels more awkward not to.

  He always did give good hugs.

  I force myself not to linger in his arms, not to inhale his scent. His body is warm and muscular and as familiar to me as my own. I know every inch of that tall, delicious frame.

  I take a hasty step backward.

  “Yeah, so, I heard. Obviously. Wanted to pay my respects.” Evan is bashful, almost coy, with his hands in his pockets and his head bowed to look at me under thick lashes. I can’t imagine the pep talk it took to get him here.

  “Thanks.”

  “And, well, yeah.” From one pocket, he pulls out a blue Blow Pop. “I got you this.”

  I haven’t cried once since finding out Mom was sick. Yet accepting this stupid token from Evan makes my throat tighten and my eyes sting.

  I’m suddenly transported back to the first time a Blow Pop ever exchanged hands between us. Another funeral. Another dead parent. It was after Evan’s dad, Walt, died in a car accident. Drunk driving, because that’s the kind of reckless, self-destructive man Walt Hartley had been. Fortunately, nobody else had been hurt, but Walt’s life ended on the dark road that night when he’d lost control and smashed into a tree.

  I was twelve at the time and had no clue what to bring to a wake. My parents brought flowers, but Evan was a kid like me. What was he going to do with flowers? All I knew was that my best friend and the boy I’d always had a huge crush on was hurting badly, and all I had to my name was one measly dollar. The fanciest thing I could afford at the general store was a lollipop.

  Evan had cried when I quietly sat beside him on the back deck of his house and clasped the Blow Pop in his shaking hand. He’d whispered, “Thanks, Gen,” and then we sat there in silence for more than an hour, staring at the waves lapping at the shore.

  “Shut up,” I mutter to myself, clenching the lollipop in my palm. “You’re so dumb.” Despite my words, we both know I’m deeply affected.

  Evan cracks a knowing smile and smooths one hand over his tie, straightening it. He cleans up nice, but not too nice. Something about a suit on this guy still feels dangerous.

  “You’re lucky I found you first,” I tell him once I can speak again. “Not sure my brothers would be as friendly.”

  With an unconcerned smirk, he shrugs. “Kellan hits like a gir
l.”

  Typical. “I’ll make sure to tell him you said so.”

  Some wandering cousins glimpse us around the corner and look as though they might find a reason to come talk to me, so I grab Evan by the lapel and shove him toward the laundry room. I press myself up against the door frame, then check to make sure the coast is clear.

  “I can’t get hijacked into another conversation about how much I remind people of my mom,” I groan. “Like, dude, the last time you saw me, I still wasn’t eating solid food.”

  Evan adjusts his tie again. “They think they’re helping.”

  “Well, they’re not.”

  Everyone wants to tell me what a great lady Mom was and how important family was to her. It’s almost creepy, hearing people talk about a woman who bears no resemblance to the person I knew.

  “How you holding up?” he asks roughly. “Like, really?”

  I shrug in return. Because that’s the question, isn’t it? I’ve been asked it a dozen different ways over the past couple days, and I still don’t have a proper answer. Or at least, not the one people want to hear.

  “I’m not sure I feel anything. I don’t know. Maybe I’m still in shock or something. You always expect these things to happen in a split second, or over months and months. This, though. It was like just the wrong amount of warning. I came home and a week later she was dead.”

  “I get that,” he says. “Barely time to get your bearings before it’s over.”

  “I haven’t known which way is up for days.” I bite my lip. “I’m starting to wonder if there’s something wrong with me?”

  He fixes me with a disbelieving scowl. “It’s death, Fred. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

  I snort a laugh at his nickname for me. Been so long since I’ve heard it, I’d almost forgotten what it sounded like. There was a time when I answered to it more than my own name.