Good Girl Complex Read Online Elle Kennedy

Categories Genre: Chick Lit, College, Contemporary, New Adult, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
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“Want me to toss ’em?” I ask her.

“Nah. I can handle them.”

“I know. But you don’t have to. I pulled six hundred from those dumbasses. I’ll split it with you. Let me get rid of them.”

“It’s all good. Just get me three Coronas and two Jäg—”

“Do not even say it.” My whole body winces at the word. If I never have to smell that vile black shit ever again, it’ll be too soon. “I gotta get some nose plugs.”

“It’s like you’ve got shellshock,” she laughs, watching me suffer through these pours.

“I should be getting hazard pay.” I finish up and push the drinks to her. “Seriously, though, if those guys can’t keep their hands to themselves, I’m coming over there.”

“I’m fine. But, man, I wish they’d just leave. I don’t know who’s worse tonight—Mr. Grabby Hands, or that senior on the patio who’s crying about his daddy reneging on his promise to buy him a yacht for graduation.”

I snicker.

Steph waltzes off with a sigh and a full tray of drinks.

For the better part of an hour, I don’t look up. The room is so dense the faces blur into a smudge of flesh, and all I do is pour and slide credit cards until I’m in a trance, barely aware of my actions.

The next time I check on Steph, it’s to see Richie Rich trying to persuade her to dance with him. She’s like a boxer, bobbing and weaving to get away from the dude. I can’t make out her exact words, but it’s easy to guess—I’m working, please let me get back to work, I can’t dance with you, I’m working.

She’s trying to remain courteous, but her blazing eyes tell me she’s fed up.

“Len,” I call, nodding toward the unfolding scene. “Gimme a sec.”

He nods back. We take care of our own.

I stride over, knowing I pose a menacing picture. I’m six two, haven’t shaved in days, and my hair could use a trim. Hopefully I look menacing enough to deter these bros from doing something stupid.

“Everything okay here?” I inquire when I reach the group. My tone says I know it’s not and he’d better stop or I’m going to toss him out on his ass.

“Fuck off, carnie,” one of them cracks.

The insult rolls right off me. I’m used to it.

I raise a brow. “I’m not leaving unless my colleague tells me to go.” I look pointedly at Richie Rich’s hand, which is latched onto Steph’s arm. “She didn’t sign up to get groped by rich boys.”

The guy has the sense to remove his hand. Steph uses the opportunity to clamber to my side.

“See? All good.” He sneers at me. “No distressed damsels requiring rescue.”

“Make sure to keep it that way.” I punctuate the warning with a sneer of my own. “And keep your hands to yourself.”

Steph and I are about to head off when a glass breaks.

No matter how loud a room, how full to the brim with sound-dampening bodies, a glass shatters on the floor and, in the immediate seconds after, you can hear a hummingbird’s wings flutter two counties away.

Every head turns. One of Richie Rich’s buddies, who’d dropped the glass, is blinking innocently when I meet his gaze.

“Oops,” he says.

Laughter and applause crush the momentary silence. Then conversation bubbles up again, and the collective attention of the bar returns to its previously intoxicated amusements.

“Fuck’s sake,” Steph mutters under her breath. “Go back to the bar, Coop. I got this.”

She marches off with an annoyed frown, while the douche crew dismisses us from their holy presence and proceeds to chat loudly and laugh amongst themselves.

“All good?” Lenny asks when I return.

“Not sure.”

I glance back toward the group, frowning when I notice their leader is no longer with them. Where the hell did he go?

“No,” I say slowly. “I don’t think it’s good. Give me another sec.”

Once again, I leave Lenny to man the battle stations alone while I duck out from behind the bar to find Steph. I head toward the back, figuring she went for a broom to sweep up the glass.

That’s when I hear, “Get off me!”

I throw myself around the corner, my jaw tightening when I spot Richie Rich’s pastel polo. He has Steph cornered at the end of the short, narrow hall where the supply closet is located. When she tries to dip around him, he steps in her way, grabbing her wrist. His other hand slides downward and attempts to cup her ass.

Nah, screw this.

I charge forward and yank him by his collar. A second later, I lay his ass flat out on the sticky floor.

“Get out,” I growl.

“Cooper.” Steph grabs me, even as gratitude shines in her eyes. I know she appreciates the save.

I shake her off, because enough is enough. “Get up and leave,” I tell the startled punk.


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