Page 61 of You're so Bad

Before Leonard and I left, we put out some things for Reese on the kitchen table in the little purple house: non-perishable food, fruits and vegetables, wet wipes, toothpaste and a toothbrush, and some other things he might need if he’s been sleeping outside or in shelters. Leonard texted him to let him know. There was a hopeful look on his face while he did it that made something hurt inside of me. So does the way he’s acting now—infuriated on behalf of a kitten.

“Yeah,” I say, trying not to smile, “it’s unreal.”

A chirp resonates from the backseat. We paid a little visit to the pet store after leaving the shelter, because Leonard needed some additional supplies for Bean.

Among other things.

My smile breaks out of captivity. I haven’t decided if we’re going to go full cricket on Colter and Bianca, but I don’t mind having the contingency plan. Call me cruel, but I love the thought of a cricket landing on Bianca’s face in the middle of the night. Maybe she’ll see the beauty in monsters after she’s had a few sleepless nights of her own.

Leonard says he’s got another surprise up his sleeve, but he refuses to elaborate. According to him, he ran it by Colter, of all things. When I asked him where he got Colter’s number, he gave me a wry glance until I answered my own question. My grandmother.

Of course she was involved.

“What’s got you smiling, Tiger?” Leonard asks now, giving me a sidelong look. It’s a warm day, and he dressed down in a dark green short-sleeve T-shirt and gray athletic shorts, both of them giving pops of color, because he has a leg tattoo too. Truthfully, he looks better like this. Nothing like a doctor, mind you, but then again, I’ve never wanted to fuck a doctor.

That look he’s giving me makes me shiver with more remembered pleasure.

“Are you thinking about midnight snacks?” he presses, his tone making it clear he’s not talking about Fruit Loops.

“It wasn’t midnight,” I insist, looking pointedly out of the windshield. The mountains stare back at me. It’s a windy road to Camp Smileshine, so I have to pay attention to the road. I also can’t look at him right now without feeling the need to pull over and climb on top of him…and without experiencing a strange ache in my chest that I can’t pinpoint. “But sure. I’m the kind of person who likes to finish what I start.”

“In front of an audience?”

“Not a juvenile one.”

“Oh, I’ll finish what we started,” he says, running his hand up my leg from my knee to the bottom of my cut-off shorts. Pleasure pulses across my skin, because it feels just as good as it did last night, a little rough but soft too. “That was just the appetizer,” he adds, his voice seductive, “you’re always supposed to leave people wanting more.”

I know he’s looking at me, not because I’ve glanced over, but because I can feel his gaze pounding into me, like other parts of him should be doing.

I suck in a breath. “Appetizer’s long enough to be a five-dollar word.”

“Everyone who’s worked at a restaurant knows what an appetizer is,” he says softly.

“So, you’ve worked at a restaurant?”

I do glance at him then, because he’s telling me things, even if they’re small ones. Enough pieces, and maybe I’ll be able to make that picture I want.

He gives me a half grin, his eyes crinkled with laughter. “A few. I killed at getting tips.”

I’ll bet he did. My mind skips to what he told me last night, about having a talent for liberating fools from their money.

“Did you get fired because you added extra zeroes to the receipts to up your tips?”

“No, that’d be a good way to get caught. I got fired from one of them because the hostess and I fucked on a table in the dining room after closing, and we got caught.”

“So youareinto public displays,” I say flippantly, ignoring the little ping of jealousy. I really am losing my mind. If I start being jealous of other woman who’ve gotten the whole Leonard Smith experience, I’ll never be able to stop.

“And I got fired from another place because I punched a customer.”

“Why’d you do that?”

From the corner of my eye, I can see his jaw working. “He didn’t give my buddy a tip on a big table because he was Mexican. Called him a shitty name on the receipt like a coward, but I saw what he wrote before he got out of the lot. Got in a couple of hits, but he had a knife on him and got me good in the arm. Still got fired.”

So that’s how he got his scar.

Leonard stands up for people, too.

Dammit.

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