Page 13 of You're so Bad

“I think Disney would have something to say about that.” There are already three drinks on the counter, but she slips back behind the bar.

“Why don’t you sit with us?” I ask. “I know that’s your safe space, but I promise we won’t bite.”

“Something tells me it’ll be a multiple round kind of night,” Mira responds.

“Speak for yourself,” I say, picking up the blue drink. “It’s Monday, and the last thing I need is to roll into Tuesday with a hangover.”

“Maybe Iamspeaking for myself.” And I realize she’s not looking her best either. She’s much better with makeup than I am, but there are circles under her eyes.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Nope, nuh-uh.” She pulls up a stool behind the bar and leans her elbows on it, looking like James Gandolfini does inThe Sopranosbefore he makes someone an offer they can’t refuse. Admittedly, I don’t think James Gandolfini ever touched a glitter bar in his life, but if he had, I’m sure he could have made it look intimidating.

“We want to know what happened with Leonard the other night,” Delia says. “He said he’s going to the wedding.”

I sigh, because for someone who’s pretty closed-lip about everything to do with his past, he can be as big of a gossip as my grandmother. No wonder they’re friends.

“Yes,” I say, then take a sip of the drink to steel myself. Damn, it’s good. It’s sweet and tangy and packs a helluva punch. I lift the glass toward Mira in acknowledgment. “You have a gift, my friend.”

“And you have gossip.” Waving a hand, she adds, “Out with it.”

So I tell them about my porch sit with Leonard, leaving out the sex dream for obvious reasons.

“He’s a good guy,” Delia says after I finish.

I almost choke on the last sip of my Loki drink. “Seriously? I can think of many words to describe Leonard, but ‘good guy’ aren’t two that come to mind.”

“But he is,” she says intently, swiveling her stool a little so she’s facing me. “You know, he almost crashed the car we were in when Constance admitted to lying about that photograph.”

“So he almost killed you, my grandmother, and Burke. This is supposed to convince me he’s salt of the earth?”

“He was surprised,” she says with a half-smile. “What I’m saying is that he instantly wanted to help you. There aren’t a lot of guys who’d step into a situation like that. And no one would do it for someone they don’t like.”

My mind flashes to my phone, to all of the texts he’s been sending me over the last couple of days. Funny messages but also memes. Photos of famous dick sculptures which he insists will have nothing on the clay dick he’s going to make under my tutelage. His mind’s like a squirrel’s—jumping from one nut to another. It’s been…entertaining.

I laugh uneasily. “Nope. No way. He flirts with me, sure, but I don’t think he knows how to interact with a member of the opposite sex without flirting. It’s like diarrhea of the mouth. He can’t help it.”

“Please never say that again,” Mira deadpans. “Hearing it ruined my day. Possibly even my week.”

Delia’s still watching me, and she shakes her head. “You’re wrong. He’s not like that with me. Or your grandmother.”

“Because you’re banging his best friend, who he’s in business with,” I say. “It would be a bad look, and he does so flirt with my grandmother. She loves it. All she can talk about lately is Leonard said this, Leonard said that. I’ve been thinking of hosting an intervention, but the only person I knew would be a definite yes was Bertie, and let’s be honest, that wouldn’t do much.”

Delia lifts her eyebrows but doesn’t say anything, as if her silence is all the answer I need.

“So you’re implying he flirts with her because she loves it. Fine, I guess that’s nice enough. But seriously, what do you even know about this guy? What do any of us know? Don’t you think it’s weird that he’s so buddy-buddy with my nana?”

“No,” Delia says, tracing the edge of the bar. “I don’t know much about his past, but his father was a horrible man, and from what I’ve heard, his mother didn’t protect him.”

She pauses, and I feel something sour in my stomach. Something almost protective. Maybe it’s the kneejerk reaction of someone else whose parents didn’t give a shit. Delia nods as if she knows what’s going on inside of me. “Don’t you think he sees your grandmother as a kind of mother figure?”

“Haven’t you met her?” I ask pointedly. “She may make dog sweaters and doilies, as of a month ago, but she’s not the most maternal person in the world.”

“Yes.” She smiles. “And she seems like exactly the sort of mother figure someone like Leonard would want.”

There’s an unwinding inside of me, because this makes sense. It makes me feel more charitable toward Leonard, less guarded. Which I’m far from sure is a good thing.

“Fine,” I acknowledge. “So maybe he really is doing all of this out of the goodness of his heart…”

---