Page 37 of You're so Bad

He smirks at me, one corner of his mouth inching up above the other, his eyes crinkling with mirth. It’s hard to look away from him, but I do, lowering my gaze to the kitten. “Are you telling me you learned how to create clay dicks all on your own?”

“Sure. I knew what I wanted to do.” I smile at him. “The clay part, not the dicks specifically. I didn’t see any point in waiting.”

No, at the time, I thought the future was spread out before me, waiting to be staked with a flag with my name on it. It didn’t take long for me to realize I was a dumb kid—that “making it” is nearly impossible as an artist, and even harder when you make things people figure they should be able to get in a discount bin, but I haven’t let that stop me.

“What made you want to sculpt with clay?” he asks, watching me intently, as if he actually cares how I answer the question.

“The same old cliché answers you’ll get from any artist, I’m guessing. Making something out of nothing. It’s like being a god of small things.”

There’s laughter in his eyes, but none of it escapes, so I have no reason to shove him. “I like being a god too.”

I give him that shove then, careful to avoid the kitten. “If a woman calls that out in the bedroom, she’s probably faking.”

His expression turns positively lecherous. “I can tell when someone’s pretending.”

“Everyone thinks they know,” I scoff.

“Most people aren’t natural liars,” he says pointedly. “I’m not most people. You don’t get good at playing cards if you can’t pick up on other people’s tells without giving up your own.”

“Are you good at cards?”

He laughs a little, his eyes crinkling. “You know what? Maybe I’m not so hot at it after all. I’ve won a lot of money. Lost more.”

“I knew you were trouble.” I poke him in the chest again.

“Don’t try to hide it.”

No, he doesn’t. It’s one of the things I like about him. Most people try to conceal their flaws. He hangs his over himself like a sandwich board.

“You know,” he adds, “Burke’s parents gave me a pay-off years ago to keep quiet about their shitty business practices. I pissed all the money away.”

“Too bad you didn’t invest it instead, huh?”

He laughs harder this time. “Nah, then I would have lost it anyway, but I wouldn’t have had any fun.”

There’s a look in his eyes that’s not so amused though. It suggests that he wasn’t having all that much fun, and that’s just a story he tells himself.

“What’d you buy?” I ask out of curiosity. “I’m guessing you didn’t gamble itallaway.”

“Nothing I could keep.” He clears his throat. “I changed my name a few times too. That’s expensive, if you do it the right way.”

“Is your name even Leonard?” I blurt.

“I mostly stuck with changing my last name. There are a lot of last names out there to choose from. I guess I got lazy with this last one. There are a lot of Smiths.”

I can’t believe he’s telling me all of this. He’s usually a man who plays his cards close to the chest. So why open up like this?

At the same time, what has he really told me? He’s revealing bits and pieces of himself, but not enough that I can join them together into anything meaningful. All I know is that he’s more complicated than I expected. Beneath his charm there’s a history that’s as full of patches as a quilt.

Maybe he’s trying to scare me away or give me an out. Either way, I don’t want him to stop talking. I’m fascinated despite myself. “Is this not the first time you pretended to be a pediatric surgeon?”

“Oh, that’s a first, all right.” He pauses, then adds, “I did it because of the Burkes in the beginning.”

“Then why did you come back here?” I ask, pointedly.

His mouth hitches up again. “Burke can be very persuasive. Besides, his parents are in legal trouble now. He played hero, the way he does best, and turned them in.”

He doesn’t say it darkly or with any menace. He thinks Lucas Burke is a hero and deserves to be.

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