Bad Reputation Read online

  MOM: Okay kiddo… hope you can ask her for it before next week or her bday will be over and no card… call me when u can.. Kisses

  Connor stared at Brigid’s last text for a bit. Heaving a sigh, he tossed his phone onto the table and leaned back in his lounge chair. He hated being short with his mom but he was also painfully aware of the danger that came with extending their conversations. And it had nothing to do with his exes.

  It had to do with Shane.

  Thirty-five years old and he was still his parents’ weakness. Connor, on the other hand, was through with him. After what happened six years ago, he’d made it clear that Shane had screwed him for the last time. But that didn’t mean Brigid was giving up. She was still hell-bent on bringing her sons together, so anytime she and Connor laughed for long enough on the phone, she tried her luck, easing Shane into the conversation somehow. With stupid stories, usually – like the fact that he bought their groceries the other week, or that he swept the patio without anyone asking. It took everything in Connor to bite his tongue and refrain from telling Brigid that these were things any halfway decent son would do.

  Not that Shane was halfway decent in any form.

  “’Morning, sunshine.”

  Looking up, Connor’s eyes landed on Millie wearing his Yankees T-shirt. Millie?

  No. Mila.

  Fuck. Right.

  Connor’s mind had been so occupied last night that he’d forgot about letting Mila crawl behind him into the cab that was taking him home.

  “Connor, help me escape these crazies,” she’d whined in a drunken slur.

  Since her party had still been going strong at 4AM, she’d snuck out the back entrance of her building to follow Connor to his duplex. But contrary to this morning’s tabloid reports - the ones Brigid had texted to express disturbed concern about - they hadn’t had sex on his balcony.

  Or anywhere. After several failed attempted to seduce Connor, Mila had drunkenly danced on his balcony for five minutes before passing out on the rattan chaise. Connor had woken her up and escorted her into the guest room before showering then lying awake in his bed, his mind racing as he tried to think about something besides Peyton.

  It was ridiculous.

  He barely knew the girl yet all he did these days was wonder a million fucking things about her. Where was she now? What was she doing? It was beyond unlike him. His headspace was generally devoted to work, so staring at the ceiling last night, Connor tried to visualize anything but those plump, red lips and the sexy rasp of that voice when Peyton got pissed at him.

  But like Mila’s attempts at seduction, it was a no-go.

  “You know,” Mila started, squinting in the morning sun as she perched her ass on Connor’s armrest. “I do recall being rejected by you last night,” she feigned anger, “and I’m pretty sure that’s a first for me.”

  “Well, I imagine there’s a first time for everything,” Connor said, removing her legs from his lap and rising from his seat. “Can I call you a car?”

  “Wow. You really get to the point, don’t you, Schaffer?” Mila snorted. But rather than whine or grovel, she popped up from the chair and followed him into the apartment. “Something tells me I caught you on a rare morning,” she said, grabbing her phone off the kitchen counter. Connor cocked an eyebrow.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The fact that you don’t already have me bent over your kitchen counter and coming for the second time,” Mila said bluntly, her manicured nails tapping away on her Lyft app. When she finished calling her car, she turned to Connor, crossing her arms over her shirt and peeling it clean off her body. “All good,” she smirked, sauntering naked to him and trailing a bejeweled finger down the line between his pecs. “I’m sure you’re distracted with work or family or some other buzzkill, so I’ll call you tonight. God knows I’ve been waiting long enough for my turn to ride that famous dick.”

  No. Please, no. This has got to be a joke.

  Staring at her canvas, Peyton fished desperately through her tote bag for earbuds. This morning was supposed to be her escape. She was supposed to work on her oil painting at the artist studio in Brooklyn. It was a sunny, open space in DUMBO to which Peyton paid forty dollars per day of use. There, she painted alongside Hailey and other aspiring artists, some of whom she recognized from art school. But generally, she went early in the morning, when there the studio was emptier. It was quiet, peaceful and most importantly, her time. For once, she just wanted to think about her own thing.

  But it was hard to do that on this particular morning while sitting next to three other early bird artists, none of whom could stop talking about Connor Schaffer.

  “Oh God, what’s the Internet saying about him today?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not done drooling at the pictures.”

  “Let me see!”

  “God. Those lips. I’d let him do fucking everything to me.”

  Peyton focused her gaze on the beginnings of her abstract floral piece, trying her best to tune out the conversation. They had left off on an exhausting but technically good note at the party, but for some reason, the name Connor Schaffer still made Peyton’s skin crawl. She wasn’t sure if the shudders were thanks to embarrassment or anger or general mistrust of the guy, but she just wanted them to stop, so she blocked him out the way she had after their first meeting. And she’d been doing a stellar job of not thinking about him for the past twelve hours, or however long it had been since she left the party. After waking up, she’d cooked herself breakfast and eaten in the company of a book instead of TV. After preparing the lime, salt and soda drink that magically cured Kensie’s hangovers, she showered, packed up her brushes and took the F train to Brooklyn.

  But the second she got there, she heard Connor’s name. It was madness.

  “Wow, seriously? This article says he had sex in front of everyone on his balcony this morning.”

  Tune it out, Peyton scolded herself as she felt her interest piquing.

  “With who?”

  “Says Mila Milani, probably.”

  Fucking seriously, Connor?

  Shit. Eyeing the clock, Peyton hoped Kensie was still sleeping. Maybe she could magically scrub the Internet clean of the rumors before Kensie woke up and realized that her good friend had allegedly slept with her crush.

  “No, this is bullshit. Mila Milani’s in Spain right now, I saw it on Instagram.”

  Nope.

  “Yeah, most of this is bullshit. Connor Schaffer’s probably like, a perfectly nice guy in real life.”

  Wrong again.

  “I know, I just read this crap for fun,” the blonde one defended herself. “But I am gonna choose to believe the stories about that famous dick of his.”

  The girls all burst into giggles. Peyton continued staring ahead.

  “I mean yeah, it’s probably pretty big.”

  “Huge,” a third girl quipped.

  “And veiny.”

  They burst into laughter as Peyton chewed her lip. Those were rumors she couldn’t speak to. But she imagined that they were probably as true as the rest of the stories on the Internet. After all, there had to be a reason for Connor’s massive female following despite his awful reputation. Even scorned exes went back to him.

  So, if not big, he had to be pretty good.

  Not that Peyton had been thinking about it.

  Stop. Don’t think. Enjoy your alone time, Peyton scolded herself, breathing a hard sigh of relief once the pads of her fingers made contact with her earbuds. Eyeing the time on her phone – 9:15AM – she plugged the buds in and turned Spotify on, ready to spend the next forty-five minutes thinking about nothing but oil, canvas and Peyton Avery Green.

  Not Kensie or pool parties or Connor Schaffer’s big, famous dick.

  8

  It was noon by the time Peyton got home, so there was about a fifty percent chance that Kensie was up. She braced herself as the elevator door opened to her apartment, her lip protruding when she saw a tea
r-streaked Kensie on the couch, swaddled from head to toe in her king-sized comforter, her big, wet eyes staring blankly at the television. Approaching carefully, Peyton waved a hand in front of Kensie’s eye line, trying to get her dazed attention.

  “Hey. You.”

  Kensie blinked, her big, wet eyes turning from the flat-screen to Peyton. “Oh, hi. I didn’t even hear you come in.”

  “What’s going on, buddy?” Peyton asked, though she was pretty sure she knew the answer.

  Kensie chewed her lip, tossing the remote aside with dejection. “Oh, nothing. Just realizing for the millionth time that I’m a total idiot.” Her voice cracked on the last few words. Peyton heaved a sigh and plunked herself down on the couch next to Kensie.

  “I’m taking it you heard about Mila and Connor.”

  “Only everywhere.” Kensie wiped the fresh stream of tears running down the side of her cheeks. She turned to Peyton with a pitiful look. “It just… hurts ‘cause she’s like, one of my closest friends. And I feel like I really like him. He’s just so gorgeous. And he’s so nice.”

  Peyton paused. “We’re talking about Connor Schaffer right now?”

  “Who else would I be talking about?” Kensie asked, genuinely confused. She blinked at Peyton for a few seconds before sighing and staring down at her hands, which inadvertently caught one of her tears. “We talked so much after you left last night, Peyton,” she said, her voice quiet. “For like, hours. About the script and my favorite movies and his favorite movies and my dreams and his dreams. I thought he didn’t go home with me that night because he actually… liked me. Like, really liked me, to the point where he’d want to go on a real date with me before trying to get into my pants.” She laughed, looking up at Peyton again. “After everything that’s happened, I still thought that a smart guy could be dumb enough to like me.” Kensie laughed quietly, drying her eyes with the back of her hands. “How silly am I?”

  Peyton frowned, feeling her nose crinkle in the way it did when she tried not to tear up. “Kensie. Anybody would be lucky to have you. You’re kind and gorgeous and talented and you have the biggest heart in the world. So please don’t judge your worth based on some dude, especially not Connor Schaffer.”

  Kensie wiggled her pursed lips. “It just feels like I keep losing. I dated a bunch of jerks and spoiled druggies. I spent three years with… with…”

  “Let’s not even say his name.”

  “Okay,” Kensie laughed, sniffling. Peyton sighed.

  “Honestly, Kenz, Connor hooking up with Mila has nothing to do with how good or smart you are or aren’t. It has to do with Connor probably wanting to keep things professional,” Peyton said, remembering the promise she had held Connor to before leaving. She had asked him not to hurt Kensie. In her mind, that meant not sleeping with her, which he did right. But in Connor Schaffer fashion, he had to screw it all up by sleeping with one of her best friends. Brilliant. Now he’d probably torn apart the friendship of two girls who had known each other since the eighth grade. “So I guess this means you’re pretty mad at Mila?” Peyton asked warily.

  “Hm? Oh. No. She had no idea. I never told her I had a crush on Connor.”

  “What? You?” Peyton couldn’t even hide her shock. She had to giggle. “Kensie, you tell everyone about your new crushes. Charlie and Randall know all the names of your crushes,” she said, referring to the two doormen downstairs. It was like a tick. Kensie had to tell everyone about her new “prospect” the second it developed. She had once explained it to Peyton, saying that it made the excitement bigger, especially when she finally landed the guy. Then, everyone could celebrate with her, having known what a long road it had been to get to this happy coupling.

  Not that that coupling ever lasted very long.

  “I didn’t want to jinx it this time because I thought I had a good feeling,” Kensie explained. She sighed. “But I was wrong because I’m always wrong. And I’m beginning to think that some girls are just born the ones you marry and others are born, you know, the ones you fuck,” Kensie said, whispering the word “fuck” as if she didn’t say the word all the time. She looked up at Peyton with a defeated shrug. “I’m not marriage material. All I want is for someone to love me enough to make me his wife but that’s not gonna happen.”

  “What? Kensie! You’re marriage material to me,” Peyton said incredulously. “In fact, I love you so much I stood on a stupid, hyped-up bakery line today so I could buy you a cronut,” she said, taking out a surprise paper bag from her tote. Step two of comforting Kensie was always distraction by way of trendy pastry. It always worked like a charm.

  “Omigod.” Kensie’s eyes lit up as she took the bag, opened and inhaled. “Oh, P, I love you. Now if I could just find a male version of you.”

  “Who isn’t blood-related.”

  “Yes,” Kensie giggled. “Though sexing your cousin is legal in some states.”

  “Okay, Kensie.”

  “What? I’m hopeless and you never date anymore. We might have to get married to each other if we’re both single at forty,” Kensie argued seriously. She watched Peyton’s face contort with an odd look before bursting into laughter. “I’m just kidding. We can’t be a couple ‘cause if I marry you, I won’t have a maid of honor.”

  “Yes, that’s the main reason it shouldn’t happen.”

  Kensie smiled. She dug through her pastry bag, pluckign it out and taking a bite. “Mm. Thank you, P. You always know how to make me feel better,” she said calmly, sucking in a deep breath as if to meditate. “Now, if I could just distract myself from thinking about Connor for the rest of the night.”

  “Hm.” Peyton pursed her lips as she tried to think of a solution. “I’ll take you to dinner tonight if you promise not to make any jokes about cousin-banging.”

  Kensie burst out laughing. “Aww! Peyton! You’re gonna be my hot date tonight?”

  “Yes. I’ll even let you dress me like you’ve always wanted to.”

  “Omigod, so much fun!” Kensie squealed like a madwoman, hopping off the couch and waddling to the kitchen in her blanket like a giant burrito on legs. “I’m gonna make reservations now!”

  “Lilac?” Peyton guessed. The West Village eatery was a celebrity hotspot and had been Kensie’s favorite restaurant since Russell first took her there on her twenty-first birthday.

  “You know me too well,” Kensie grinned, waddling back to the couch to plant a big kiss on Peyton’s forehead. “’Cause you’re the best date ever, obviously. And we’re going to have the best night over. No. Boys. Allowed.”

  Because it made her so deliriously happy, Peyton let Kensie dress and style her for the very first time. After a trip to a boutique on Greenwich and then MAC on Bleecker, Peyton found herself wearing wild, beach waves, berry lipstick and a racerback mini-dress, which she chose as part of a compromise.

  “If you’re not going to wear heels, you have to wear something short,” Kensie said. And since Peyton would rather eat a stiletto than wear one, she opted for the little black dress. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, especially since she still got to wear her parchment Converses. And there was of course the fact that Kensie had been waiting years for permission to dress Peyton, so her sheer joy was totally worth it.

  Especially since their private girls’ night would end up truncated anyway.

  “Omigod!” a voice squealed just as Kensie and Peyton toasted to their silly date night in Lilac’s coveted corner booth. “Kensie-face!”

  Jumping in their seats, Kensie and Peyton looked up at the same time. Crap, Peyton couldn’t help her inward groan when she spotted the flurry of tanned skin, toffee hair and white crochet. It was none other than Poppy Somerville, running full-speed to their table in giant heels and no bra. Peyton eyed Kensie, whose big eyes fluttered as she tried to look convincingly happy to see the girl. But what manifested on her lips was the awkward smile of a first grader on picture day. The corners of her mouth quivered violently as she tried to hold her look in pla
ce.

  “Hey, Poppy,” Kensie managed brightly. But when she hugged Poppy, she looked over her shoulder at Peyton with a look of pure terror.

  Kensie’s relationship with Poppy could be described best with the classic “frenemy” label – but only because Poppy seemed to despise Kensie while obsessing over her at the same time. Having grown up in front of reality show cameras, she was the biggest attention seeker among Kensie’s clique, which was impressive considering the mix of quasi-famous socialites and celebrity children. Generally, it seemed she was envious of the perks of being Kensie – or more specifically, a Cohan.

  “Okay, Kenz, so you need to tell me your little secret here,” Poppy said, hands on her narrow hips. “How did you trick Lilac into giving you the corner booth when you’re only here with your little cousin? No offense, P,” she giggled, air-smooching in Peyton’s direction. “But honestly! I’m here with a future frickin’ Hall of Famer and they still stuck us over in general population!” She nodded incredulously over at her table in the middle of the room, where she sat with her date, New York Ranger Alexei Novikov.

  Kensie laughed meekly and shrugged. “Oh… I guess I got lucky.”

  “You do have all the luck, darling,” Poppy sighed, but then she paused and bit her lavender lips. “Well. In some places more than others – am I right, Peyton?” Her screechy laugh sounded borderline deranged. Peyton glared, reminding herself that she’d barely tried her drink yet, so she’d only be punishing herself if she chucked it in Poppy’s face. Besides, there was a two-percent chance that Poppy hadn’t been referencing Kensie’s failed engagement just now. Clearing her throat, Peyton tried to change the subject.

  “Poppy, I think your boyfriend’s waiting for you,” she said since, “Poppy, kindly fuck off to your own table,” seemed a little harsh.

  “Oh, but I’m not done catching up with my Kensie!” Poppy pouted, holding Kensie’s hands in hers.