Page 75 of You're so Bad

I lift it from the pocket of my cutoffs.

It’s obvious she doesn’t want to leave me here by myself, but after another tight hug that I soak in as if I’m thirsty dirt, she walks off, giving me a backward glance full of sweetness.

I soak that in too—I’m going to need it.

After she’s gone, I step out of my sandals to feel the wood under my feet, something that’s always grounded me. Then I sit stewing for several minutes, my mind full of fire and brimstone. I want to decimate Bianca and Colter. A plague of crickets isn’t enough. I want…I need…

There’s the sound of footsteps approaching on the path, moving fast—running—and a shiver shakes through me. Because, Christ, Leonard had something going with the whole Jason thing. The gazebo is isolated and quiet but for the chorus of crickets and the occasional bird swooping down. It’s a place good or bad things could happen without being noticed by anyone but nature.

Then Leonard steps out of the opening in the trees. He’s sweating and his hair’s a mess, sticking to his forehead in places. His tattoos are muted in the low light from the gazebo and the stars. He looks good enough to eat, and I can’t deny I’m relieved to see him. Then again, I befriended Bianca. Maybe I have poor judgment.

“Oh, it’s you,” I say as coldly as I can muster. “How’d you find me?”

“I ran into Shelly on the path,” he said, breathing hard as if he’s trying to catch his breath. “She told me where to go. And I remembered what you said about that gazebo near your folks’ place.” He takes a few steps closer, then leans against one of the wooden supports of the gazebo.

His gaze meets mine, and even though I want to look away, I can’t.

“I didn’t know about the cheating,” he says, huffing the words out. “Not until half an hour ago. I didn’t tell the psychic to say that. She was free-balling.”

Relief wants to wrap me up like a blanket, but I don’t let it. Not yet. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

He swears. “You don’t. I’m…asking you to believe me. Also, you should probably know that we might have some trouble on our hands. There’s a chance we’re gonna get kicked out of Murderland.”

“What kind of trouble are we talking about?” I ask, immediately on high alert.

“I punched Colter in the face.”

“Youwhat?” I ask, pushing toward him. He meets me halfway, standing on the floor of the gazebo, and I take his hand and lift it into the dim light. Sure enough, the scarred knuckles of his right hand are bleeding. I sweep my hands softly over his knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking like he thinks I might throw him in the pond. “I fucked up. But I guess the psychic lady was right about the twelve months thing. Sorry about that too. He admitted to it, and then he told me about your birthday, and I just…snapped.”

Tears fill my eyes again, and I lift his hand to my mouth, pressing a kiss in the center, and then hold it to my chest. “You did that for me?”

Rafe would have hit Colter for me, of course, and I could have hit him myself—hard enough for his balls to retract—but for some reason this feels different. It feels like some sort of declaration.

He studies me in the dark, then he reaches his other hand up and thumbs away my tears. “I sure as shit didn’t do it for me. I’ve been trying to stay out of trouble. Which you probably won’t believe after tonight.”

Another thought pummels into me. “Does Shelly know?”

“I’m sure she does now. He was farther down the path from where I saw her.”

“Did you knock him out?” I ask, my heart racing. Not because I’m worried about Colt, but because Leonard could get into trouble for this. Colt’s not a litigious guy, but Bianca has been looking for ways to screw me over lately. She’d probably delight in the opportunity.

“No. I told him he could punch me back, but he didn’t.” He shrugs and looks off. There’s an expression in his eyes I can’t read, something I’ve become used to with him. “He said he didn’t blame me.”

“Leonard, what are you doing out here?”

He meets my gaze again, and his eyes are warm. “I needed to see you. I know you don’t think much of me, but I couldn’t let you think I’d do something like that.”

My heart expands and breaks at the same time. I pull the top of his shirt down and kiss him. He makes a sound of surprise, then kisses me back like he’s desperate for it. Within seconds we’re tearing into each other in the fairytale gazebo, our hands in each other’s hair, our bodies pressed together, our mouths clashing like it’s a battle each of us wants to win. He pulls his hand from my hair and reaches under my shirt, and the feeling of his hot, callused hands on my flesh unleashes something wild in me—maybe that tiger he’s always talking about.

I break our kiss with a bite to his bottom lip. Trailing my hand down to touch his hardness through his shorts, I say, “You know, I had a dream about you once.”

“Only once?” he says, moving his hand up to the bottom of my bra. His fingers skate across it, sending tingles cascading through my body.

“Let’s call it a recurrent dream.” I rub as I talk, feeling him get harder under my hand. The fact that we’re out here in the breeze, just off that path anyone could come down, is an unexpected turn on. Even more so than earlier.

“That’s my tiger.” His other hand moves around to my back, and within seconds my bra falls to the slats.

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