Page 23 of You're so Bad

I’ve been saying the same thing for weeks, but I’m annoyed to hear it from him. Then again, Rafe and I have known each other for over a decade, and he’s always been friendly with my grandfather. They used to drink beer together in my backyard every Sunday afternoon before my grandfather discovered his passion for water aerobics. For all I know, they still do, although I’m guessing Rafe would rather spend his time with his fiancé than my flatulent, swear-happy grandfather.

“Nana’s happier than she’s ever been,” I say in a clipped voice. “Has Grandpa Frank been whispering in your ear like some sort of consigley—” I think for a moment, then admit, “Okay, I forgot how to say that word.”

“Consigliere?” he asks, his expression amused. “Have you been re-watchingThe Sopranosagain?”

Short answer, yes. I figured it was good preparation for going into enemy territory. Tony Soprano dominated at every game he played, and I’d like to dominate at this one.

“Irrelevant. Youhavebeen talking to him, haven’t you? I’m guessing he came to you with some sob story?”

He shrugs, his expression half-amused, half-wary. The wariness is smart. It’s the attitude of someone who knows me. “He hasn’t behaved well, but he’s still Frank. You know he’d like to talk to you.”

“He has my number. We don’t need to play telephone through you.”

He tips his head. “You don’t answer your phone when he calls, and you haven’t been responding to his texts.”

“Yeah,” I say breezily, “funny how that happens. Whenever he gets in touch, I’m busy. Go figure. He should pick better times.”

“And yet you’re still going to Dipshit’s wedding.”

“Yes, but that’s out of spite.”

He gives a shrug that suggests he’s mystified by women, women in my family especially. “Frank’s not a bad guy—just a shitty husband. I don’t think you should give up on him just because he’s—

“A jerk? He’s clearly been talking smack about Nana if you think she has a screw loose.”

He lifts his hands and shakes his head. “No, that’s all from you. You told me that she spent hours feng shuing her bedroom the other week.”

“Yes, and it looks fabulous.”

“What would it take for you to give him another shot?”

“Him getting amnesia. But only so I can convince him he’s one of those Nascar guys.”

“He hates Nascar,” he says, giving me a wry look.

“He should have thought of that before he messed around.”

“You’ve only got one grandfather left.”

I smile and flick him on the chest, balancing the lovers mug in the other hand. “Sinclair’s really gotten to you, hasn’t she? She’s turned you all gooey on the inside.”

He doesn’t look displeased. “Sure. What can I say? Love does crazy things to a man.”

“It really does, doesn’t it?” a familiar voice quips.

I drop the mug, the two lovers splitting apart with a loud, resonant crack.

A horrified gasp escapes me, and not just because it’s hours of work down the drain. It feels like a sign.

I look up to see my grandmother walking in with none other than Leonard. The pile of boxes in front of the window hid them from view, but I guess they still heard us. Nana’s wearing one of the bright, airy kaftans she picked up after my grandfather defected, and Leonard has on worn jeans and a band T-shirt he’s probably owned since he was a teenager, judging by the way it hugs his arms. I dislike the tingling feeling inside of me, but I assure myself it’s a natural reaction to a pair of muscular tattooed arms. Admittedly, Rafe is both muscular and tattooed, but looking at his arms does nothing for me.

“You made me drop my mug,” I accuse, even though it’s not exactly fair. I meet Leonard’s eyes and feel an undeniable twinge of attraction. It’s that naughty glint in his eyes and the way they’re framed by those long lashes. It’s the way his hair looks like he’s been running his hands through it.

“You need to stop swooning every time you see me, Sugar Puffs.” But he bends down and picks up the two halves. A whistle escapes him when he sees the phallus that was sculpted inside of the mug. “So you really can teach me how to make a clay dick,” he says as he hands it over. I set the two pieces on the desk next to the display case I’ve been filling up.

“This the guy?” Rafe grunts, reverting to a caveman.

Really, where was this protectiveness when we were talking about Grandpa Frank? Admittedly, my grandfather didn’t do anything to me personally, but any insults paid to my grandmother are very much insults to me.

---