Page 118 of You're so Bad

“Remember that movie?” Mira snaps her fingers a few times as if it might get our synapses going.

“Are you talking aboutWest Side Story?” I ask. “Because otherwise the snapping isn’t helping you get your point across.”

“Very funny. No. I mean the one where the cool girl gives the geeky guy a makeover, only it’s Patrick Dempsey, so we all know he’s going to be a smoke show, and then—”

“Are you the cool girl in this scenario?” I ask.

She gives my shoulder a shove from across the bar.

“Is Danny the smoke show?” Delia asks pointedly.

“Look at you, learning an attitude,” I say. “I don’t hate it.”

Mira starts laughing, then snaps her fingers again.

“Still not helping.”

“Can’t Buy Me Love. That’s the movie.”

“Are youattractedto him?” Delia asks, propping her elbow on the bar, her head cradled in her hand. It’s like she’s settling in for a long listen.

“What? No! I just talked to him on the phone. And I know you told me I’ve met him before, but I literally don’t remember, so he can’t have made much of an impression. I mean, sure, he does have a good voice. Like a low and sexy rumble, but when all that voice does is talk about power bills and gas bills and yada-yada-yada it seems like a damn shame, you know?”

“Interesting,” Delia says, then her expression sharpens. “You haven’t had hate sex with Byron, have you?”

“Hold that thought.” Mira heads off to the other side of the bar to grab someone a drink.

“Classic deflection,” I say.

“I don’t think she’s done it yet.” Delia watches her, her head still propped up. “But she’s thinking about it. We need to make her unthink it.”

I feign shock. “You mean you don’t like Byron?”

“He’s the kind of guy who writes a song about a generic woman and then tells every girlfriend it’s about her.”

“Seems like she’d see through that kind of bullshit.”

She laughs. “She does, but she says he’s hot enough for her to forget it occasionally. Are you still going to the photoshoot this weekend?”

I sigh and take a long sip of the drink. “Yes, Leonard and I made an agreement.”

“He wants to go?” she asks, laughing.

“Yes, but God knows why. It’s going to be a nightmare.”

* * *

I meantwhat I said to Delia. I’m not looking forward to taking photos in a field of flowers with my ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend. But I have to admit, the look on Bianca’s face is pretty satisfying when Leonard and I walk into the field on Saturday afternoon.

This is a place I brought Bianca to, ages ago, because I wanted to go flower picking. It’s only twenty-five minutes out of town, but it looks like it was plucked from a story about English country life. There are rows and rows of different flowers mixed in together, lifting up as if they want people to breathe them in or stoop and pick them. It sounds silly to say, but it’s magical.

If some idiot ever convinces me to marry him,I told her,I’m going to do it out here.

It’s hard to think it’s a coincidence. All the same, I’d be happy to be here with Leonard under different circumstances—say if we’d snuck in here at night with a bottle of wine so we could enjoy each other under the stars. Currently, it’s full of uncomfortable-looking people in formal wear, because the high today is an unseasonal eighty degrees, and the men were all told to wear suits.

Leonard istechnicallyfollowing the directions. His suit is our assigned color—bright red—and Reese let him borrow Mira’s boy-band shirt to go underneath it. It’s much too big for Reese, but it’s a little tight on Leonard, which only adds to the outfit. He looks like a pimp. It’s kind of hot, honestly, although maybe one man in a million could pull it off.

He’s doing this for me, and he’s having fun doing it. I may not have wanted to say the words out loud to Delia, but I’ve already fallen good and deep. I’m in love with him. It’s exhilarating, and also terrifying.

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