Page 3 of You're so Bad

“I’m wearing novelty pajama shorts,” I object.

“You can change.” She shrugs. “Or not. Pretend it’s a fashion statement. For God’s sake, it probably is. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if—”

“Just go, Nana,” I say, suddenly exhausted. “Have fun.” I lift a finger. “But don’t you dare tell Leonard about any of this. He’d find some way to twist it to his advantage.”

She clucks her tongue. “You’ve got that boy all wrong.”

“The only reason he posed for those photos with you was because he liked the thought of causing trouble. He admitted as much.”

To be fair, I thought it was fun too. Right up until I got a text about my pediatric surgeon lover.

“Did you give him a different name?” I ask.

“I felt it was best to stick as close to the truth as possible.” She says it with a straight face, as if she hadn’t promoted him from being a construction worker to a pediatric surgeon.

“So I’m madly in love with Leonard the pediatric surgeon?” I ask, groaning as I consider what to tell Colter. Is Nana right? Is it possible I don’t have to correct the story? I can tell him Leonard’s out of town or working for a Doctors Without Borders office in Mozambique or something. It sounds like a fake excuse, but better that than admithe’sfake.

“I don’t want to leave you like this,” Nana says worriedly, sharing prolonged eye contact with Bertie as if they’re both worried about me and are working out a strategy for my betterment.

“I’d prefer it if you did. I’m going to be pissed about this for at least twenty-four hours. Possibly twenty-four years, depending on the fallout.”

She nods slowly. “That’s fair. I’m still going to hug you, though.”

Sighing, I walk into her open arms, and breathe in her perfume—a different scent than the one she wore for fifty-some-odd years, because after my grandfather left she declared she was embracing new beginnings. At the time, I figured that was just the kind of shit people say after something bad happens, but she’s held to it. When Rafe’s fiancée said they were looking for extras for her film, Nana was first in line, and then she learned crocheting from a YouTube video and started making sweaters for Bertie. Finally, the cherry on top–the three thirty-something friends she made on the movie set. Delia, her boyfriend Lucas Burke, and Burke’s friend Leonard.

My grandmother’s switching things up from her perfume to her social life, and I’m stuck in a rut. If anything, I’m digging my way in deeper.

Nana swats me on the ass. “You need to be a little bad for a change.”

“Not the party line you gave me when I was a kid,” I tell her as I retreat to the sofa. Bertie, the little traitor, trails her to the door. “Have fun, Nana.”

I’m still pissed, but I don’t like the worried look in her eyes as she glances back at me. It’s been there for months because of my grandfather, and now it’s back because of me. Maybe it never really went away.

“I feel the need to point out that my career is going great for the first time ever,” I call out as she leaves and shuts the door behind her.

She doesn’t dignify that with a response, so I slump back into the cushions and turn on the volume. Whiney Pants is now making out with someone on the beach. Maybe it was the teeth that did it for him.

“Come to Mama,” I say and grab the beer waiting for me on the table. It’s starting to feel like a two-beer kind of night. Maybe three.

I’m near the bottom of it when a knock lands on the door.

Bertie stirs to attention in the dog bed he settled onto after Nana left, then darts toward the door, suddenly barking up a racket. I follow him, feeling cautious suddenly, because Bertie doesn’t typically bark at people.

“There is a life alert in this house,” I call out as I make my approach, “and I’m not afraid to use it.”

Then I look through the peephole, and the air whistles out of me.

It’shim.

Leonard’s wearing a button-down shirt that covers all of his tattoos. But nothing conceals the mischief in his hazel eyes or the chaos of his always messy hair. Still. This is the closest to looking like a doctor he’s ever going to get.

“No need to use the life alert,” he says through the door. “I’m a pediatric surgeon.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Idefinitelyshouldn’t open the door.

ChapterTwo

Leonard

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