You're So Bad (Finding You #2)

by Angela Casella

I probably shouldn’t be here. Maybe that’s exactly why I came. I’ve been good lately, doing and saying what I should. Sometimes it feels like a pair of too-tight boxer briefs strangling my balls.

Then there’s her art. She’s a clay artist, and most of the bowls, mugs, and vases she makes are monsters. They have sharp teeth. Tentacles for hair. You name it. They’re cool as hell, and the fact that monsters live inside that pretty little pint-sized woman interests me.

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.

“Well, you look like shit,” she says. “Thank you.” I try not to lift my hand up to cover Zit Mountain, but my will power is a fragile thing these days. “I always try to look like I feel. It’s my form of radical honesty.” She grins at me. “And telling it like it is, is mine. Come in, you have a drink waiting for you.” “Music to my ears.”

“Yes, there’s nothing newly single people love better than to live with people who are wildly in love. I’m going through my love sucks phase, thank you very much.” She nudges her mostly empty drink. “This is a Love Sucks, and let me tell you, it is dee-licious.” “You’re encouraging me to have sex with Leonard,” I point out. “Yes,” she says. “Fuck the living daylights out of that hot piece of ass. Just don’t fall in love with him. That would be a mistake.”

She glances at me as she pulls into Camp Smileshine, beneath a huge-ass sign of a bear smiling like it’s high on mushrooms. It looks like the kind of place a mass murder would go down in a slasher flick, and I say so. “I think we need to rename it from Camp Nightmare to Murderland.” She takes a look around as she pulls in, and says, “That tracks. But I heard there’s a gazebo on the lake. There was one near our house in Raleigh, and it was my favorite place in the world.” Her gaze darts to me before returning to the windshield. “You know, the people who have sex always die first in horror movies.” “But they die happy, sweetheart,” I say,

Mira: Remember, let him rock your body but DON’T fall for him. Delia: She can if she wants to, Mira. Stop being bossy. Mira: Trust me. The first time I saw Byron with his guitar, I knew I wanted to fuck him. If I’d left it at that, I wouldn’t have had to pour bleach in his laundry this morning. Me: I’m pretty sure no one made you do that. Mira: He brought a woman home last night. Mira: It’s a one-bedroom apartment, and he forgot that it was my turn to sleep in the bed. They literally fell on me while I was sleeping. Me: Okay, maybe he DID make you do that.

“Now, let me run in there and grab the bags. If I scream, don’t mind me none. I don’t like grasshoppers.” “What if Jason jumps out at you with a knife?” she asks with a smirk. “Then step in, for the love of God. I don’t have your fancy taekwondo moves.”

“There’s no way you nearly crashed a Rolls Royce because you were that excited about posing as a pediatric surgeon in front of a bunch of assholes.” “Think about it. I’m a former con artist who’s trying to behave. It felt like someone had just handed me a present.”

“The cake burned a little,” Nana calls out from the kitchen, “but I have a plan.” Naturally. “Bianca’s here.” About twenty seconds later, she comes out of the kitchen with a giant knife. “Jesus, Nana,” I say, reaching for the door as Bianca knocks again. “Is murder your plan?” She shrugs and then laughs. “For the cake, not Bianca. But I’m flexible.”

“Hi, Constance,” Bianca says, unflustered. “Always a pleasure to see you, dear,” she says with a grin that clearly says go fuck yourself, then disappears into the kitchen.

“We don’t need to talk about Phoenix.” “Thank God,” I say, pausing to swig some coffee. If I’m not mistaken, there’s a twitch of humor to his pursed lips. “What about you? I’ve heard you’re seeing someone.” “Yup, he’s a former criminal, and I’m madly in love with him.” “Very funny.” “I mean it, but we don’t have to talk about him either.”

“I’m going to crash the wedding,” I say. “Who’s giving me a ride?” “I tell him he’s a free man, and his first act is to commit a crime,” Shane comments blandly. “Oh, come on. If it’s a crime at all, it’s a misdemeanor. I’ll bet it’s not even an arrestable offense.” “Don’t punch anyone.”

“I’m sorry I fucked up the wedding,” he says. I grin at him. “No, you’re not.” He runs a finger along my jaw, ending at my chin. “No, I’m not. I told you I’d be there with you, and I’m going to keep my promises to you. It’s part of being a better man.” I lean in closer, getting up on my toes. Only a few inches separate us, and we’re sharing air, space. “What if I like you the way you are?” One side of his mouth hitches up. “No one said you need to have good taste.”