Page 9 of You're so Bad

“You should know, you’ve seen it plenty.”

I laugh, because she really is something else, then rub my hands together. “On to Plan Chaos. You know, I’m not so good at planning. I’m more of an on-my-feet kind of guy. What do you say we take as it comes? Seed little bits of fucked-up fun wherever we go without looking like we’re the bad guys. And, of course, I’ll be the most devoted doctor boyfriend you could hope for.”

“What do you want for helping me?” The look on her face says she won’t accept that I want to help for no other reason than that Ilikeher. And Constance, of course.

“Pay me in clay. You can teach me how to make something.”

She gives me a you’re-full-of-shit look. “You want to learn how to use a wheel?”

I lift my hands. “Chicks dig a man who can use his hands.”

“Fine,” she says with a sigh. “Why do I think you’re going to want to make a huge clay dick?”

“Because you’re an excellent judge of character,” I say with a bark of a laugh. “So when’s the wedding, sugar?” Sugar tits almost comes tumbling out, but I have some self-control.

She bites her lip, and it looks so damn luscious, I feel a sucker punch to my chest. There’s no denying I want her. I’ve wanted her since the first time she threatened me with physical harm, within minutes of meeting me, but that’s not what this is about. It’s been too long, is all. I’ve been in Asheville for a couple of months now, and I haven’t brought a single woman home. I’d promised myself it was going to be different here—Iwas going to be different—and the first step is to stop repeating old patterns. Still, there’s a pretty big damn difference between a man’s hand and a soft, wet—

“It’s not just the wedding.”

“Oh?” I ask, cocking my head.

“There are events all next weekend. They’re calling it a Sten party—stag and hen.”

“Excuse me?”

“There’s an event on Friday night, then an adult sleepover at Camp Smileshine on Saturday. And we wouldn’t want to forget the photos at the flower farm the following weekend. The wedding is two weeks later at the NC Arboretum.”

“Smileshine?” I ask in disbelief. “Sounds like a place where people go to get murdered by killer clowns. What if their relationship falls apart on Friday night? Then we won’t have to do that other shit. Maybe I can infiltrate enemy lines, find out if Douchebag is dicking around on her.”

She laughs. “I guarantee you he’s not. She’d kill him.”

“That would solve our problem, wouldn’t it?

I get another laugh from her, which makes me feel pretty damn good.

“I don’t necessarily want to ruin the wedding,” she insists. “I’m cool with them getting married and making each other miserable. I just…” She blows out a frustrated breath. “I can’t back down, like I said, but if I have to be subjected to all of this bullshit, I wouldn’t mind making them a little uncomfortable.”

“I can do that,” I say, wanting the gig more than I should.

“You’re really going to do all of this shit with me?” she asks in disbelief. “For a couple of clay lessons?” She shakes her head. “I’ll pay you, Leonard.”

“Sure, whatever,” I lie. I’m not going to take a cent from her. It’s not that I have an objection to money, but her money? Hell, no. If I take it from anyone, it’ll be Ole Douchebag. If I told her that, though, she’d deny me.

She turns in her rocking chair and studies me for a long moment, our eyes locking. “Thank you for being good to my grandmother,” she finally says. “Even if I don’t understand why. Doing the movie helped her a lot…even with the trouble.”

The trouble being that someone in the crew tried to kill Delia. It has made what would have been your average D+ romantic comedy into something people are excited about. I’m just glad she’s alive. I was the one who saved her from that fucker, and sometimes when I wake up at night, my heart racing, it’s because of that, not all of the stuff that came before.

“You don’t need to thank me,” I say slowly, trying not to be drawn in by those lips, slightly parted, or that messy lilac hair. Her big brown eyes are still watching me, seeing God knows what. “It’s like I told you. I like Constance. She’d be hard not to like.”

“I agree with you there,” she says with a slight nod.

“She raised you, huh?” I ask softly. I know that much from Constance. Shauna’s parents died in a car wreck, and she moved in with Constance and the asshole formerly known as Mr. Constance. “You were lucky.”

She nods again. “She’s the best. My grandfather’s a bit of a disappointment. But what can you do?”

“You’re one of those women who think all men are fuckers, aren’t you?” Admittedly, from what Constance has told me, Shauna’s ex isn’t a prince among men—he’s just one of those posers who likes to seem like one.

A side of her mouth lifts. “Maybe I’d like someone to prove me wrong. But no, I don’t think all men are like that. Rafe, Sinclair’s fiancé, is one of my oldest friends. He’s not a fucker.” Her gaze doesn’t leave me. “What about you? What are Leonard Smith’s parents like? It’s hard to imagine you as a kid.”

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