“Locals,” she says, nodding. “But I’m not greedy. One’ll do fine. Figure my odds are improved with a spare.”
“And these Hartley twins tick all of your bad boy boxes?”
“Oh yeah. I heard about their exploits from some girls on campus.” She licks her lips. “I wanna be one of those exploits tonight.”
Humor bubbles in my throat. This girl. “You don’t even know these guys. What if they’re hideous?”
“They aren’t. Their names wouldn’t be comin’ outta every girl’s mouth if they were.” She sighs happily. “Besides, that girl down the hall from us—Nina? Dina? Whatever her name is. She showed me a picture of ’em and don’t you worry, Miss Mac, they are fine.”
My laughter spills over. “Alright. Got it. I’ll keep my eye out for a pair of bad boy clones.”
“Thank you. Now, what about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“I’m not in the market for a bad boy, no.” My phone lights up again with a text from Preston telling me his next game is about to start.
Another thing I appreciate about Pres is routine, predictability. I prefer things that act within expected parameters. I’m a planner. An organizer. A boyfriend that’s running all over town at all hours wouldn’t fit in my life. Then again, I don’t get the impression that Bonnie is in the market for a long-term investment. Maybe something more like a microtransaction.
“I’m just sayin’.” Bonnie winks. “This is a circle of trust. I’d never snitch on a roomie if she wanted to entertain a little on the side.”
“I appreciate it, but I’m good. Pres and I are loyal to each other.” I wouldn’t have done the whole long-distance thing if I wasn’t confident we could be faithful. Now that we’re both at Garnet, cheating would be even more pointless.
She looks at me a little cross-eyed then smiles in a way that’s a bit patronizing, though I know she doesn’t mean it. “So you’re really the relationship type?”
“Yeah.” I’ve only been with Preston, but even if it were someone else, monogamy is my thing. “I don’t understand the point of cheating. If you want to be with other people, be single. Don’t drag someone else along for the ride.”
“Well, cheers to knowin’ what we want and goin’ after it.” Bonnie raises her glass. We toast, then suck our cocktails dry. “Come on,” she says, “let’s get outta here. I got twins to hunt.”
She’s not joking. For the next two hours, I find myself trailing behind Bonnie as if I’ve got a dick-sniffing bloodhound on a leash. She drags me from one bar to the next in search of her elusive twins, leaving countless mesmerized victims in her wake. One poor loser after another throwing himself at her feet, slayed by her dimples. I’ve never had trouble attracting attention from guys, but standing next to Bonnie May Beauchamp, I might as well be a broken barstool. Good thing I have a boyfriend, or else I’d develop a complex.
As much as I want to help Bonnie in her crusade to locate and destroy her townie bad boy, the sidekick routine gets tedious as the night wears on. If she doesn’t tire herself out soon, there’s a chance I’ll need to club her over the head.
“Last one,” I warn as we cross the threshold of yet another boardwalk bar. This one’s called the Rip Tide. “If your twins aren’t here, you’ll have to settle for any old bad boy.”
“Last one,” she promises. Then she bats her eyelashes and, like every guy we’ve encountered tonight, I find myself melting in her presence. It’s impossible to stay annoyed with her.
She links her arm through mine and pulls me deeper into the Rip Tide. “C’mon, girl, let’s do this. I got a good feeling about this one.”
CHAPTER FIVE
COOPER
She’s here.
Fate must be on board with the plan, because I’m out with some friends on Saturday night to see a buddy’s band at the Rip Tide when I spot her. She’s alone at a high-top table, placed directly in my path as if by some higher power.
Her face is unmistakable. And holy hell, she was good-looking in photos but a total knockout in person. The kind of girl who sticks out in a crowd. Stunning, with long dark hair and piercing eyes that shine under the lights from the stage. Even at a distance, she’s got an effortless cool about her, an aura of confidence. In a white T-shirt knotted at her waist and a pair of jeans, she stands out for not trying too hard.
All that would be enough to capture my attention even if she didn’t have a killer body. But she has that too—impossibly long legs, a full rack, a round bottom. She’s the girl my daydreams daydream about.
“That her?” Alana leans in to follow my gaze to where Preston Kincaid’s girlfriend is sitting. “She’s better looking in person.”
I know.
“Quick smoke while the next band sets up?” suggests our friend Tate. He rises from the table, dragging a hand through his messy blond hair.
“Nah, we’re staying here,” Alana answers for us.
He quirks a brow at me. “Coop?”
Once again, Alana is my mouthpiece. “Cooper is cutting back on the cancer sticks.” She waves a hand. “You guys go on out.”
Shrugging, Tate wanders off, tailed by Wyatt and Wyatt’s girlfriend, Ren. The moment they’re gone, Alana turns her gaze on me.
“Lemme hear it,” she orders.
“Hear what?”
“Your game. Pitch some lines.” She flips her hair and props her chin in her hands, giving me sarcastic doe eyes.
“Fuck off.” I don’t need a pickup coach.
“You need a plan,” she insists. Thing about Alana, when she gets her claws into something, she tends to take over. “You can’t just go over and drop your dick in her lap.”
“Yes, thank you, I’m aware.” I drain the last of my beer as I get up from the table.
Alana stops me, pulls the sleeves of my black Henley down and runs her hands through my hair.
“What’s that for?” I grumble.
“Best foot forward,” she says. “Just in case she’s a prude. Tattoos scare off the prudes.” Leaning back, she takes a final appraising glance before shooing me with her hand. “You’re done. Go forth and conquer.”
This is the problem with having girl friends.
Before I approach my mark’s table, I take a quick scan of the room to make sure Kincaid isn’t lurking somewhere. Not that I have any qualms about a rematch. Getting into a bar fight isn’t part of the plan, though. This’ll work best if I can swoop in there undetected until it’s too late for him to intervene. Win her over before he even knows the enemy is inside the gates.
Satisfied that she’s flying sans-boyfriend tonight, I walk up to her table. With her face glued to her phone, she doesn’t notice me until I tap her on the arm.
“Hey,” I say, bending my head toward her so she can hear me over the music from the loudspeaker. “You using this stool?”
“No.” She doesn’t lift her attention from the lit screen. “Go ahead.” When I sit, her head jerks up. “Oh. Figured you’d just take the stool to another table. But okay.”