You're So Bad (Finding You #2)

by Angela Casella

weak gag reflex.” “Yes, me too,” Constance added. “All of this pecking and mooning is all very good when you’re young and everyone’s pretty, but wait until you’re in your eighties and everything sags—” “Good God, Constance,” I said, giving her arm a gentle shove. “I just got done saying that thing about the weak gag reflex.” She laughed wickedly. “Tormenting you makes me feel young again.”

Sure, she has no more regard for me than her dog does, but it’s not off-putting. I’ve always had a thing for smart women who can see right through me.

“Three. I came by a couple of days ago to help Constance move her dresser when she got a bug up her ass about trying feng shui. You weren’t home, but Bertie came running out with your bra in his mouth, so it felt like you were spiritually present.”

“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?”

“Don’t you think he sees your grandmother as a kind of mother figure?” “Haven’t you met her?” I ask pointedly. “She may make dog sweaters and doilies, as of a month ago, but she’s not the most maternal person in the world.” “Yes.” She smiles. “And she seems like exactly the sort of mother figure someone like Leonard would want.”

“No need to break my hand, bub,” Leonard says with a lazy grin. “I’m not gonna touch her unless she asks nicely.” “Oh, you’re awful,” Nana says with a chuckle.

My grandfather was good to me too, but there’s something to be said for a person who shows up when they’re needed, how they’re needed. My parents never did. I guess that’s why I’m having trouble forgiving Grandpa Frank. Nana’s one of the only people who has ever shown me that kind of love—the kind you don’t have to ask for or deserve. The kind that can envelop you and make you feel almost full. So she’s the one who deserves my loyalty.

“Eat,” he says, surprisingly earnest. Then, when I make no move to slide behind the desk, he adds, “I don’t like my women too thin. I need something to hang on to.” “I’m never going to sleep with you.” I wave a finger for emphasis. “Never.” “Promises, promises.” He nods to my chair again. “Sit. No one likes cold french fries.”

He nods. “If that’s okay, Tiger.” “You’re really going to call me that?” “Does Milquetoast have a special name for you?” My scowl returns. “Bean.” Something resembling a laugh escapes him. “He call you that because you can only come with your clit?” I choke on a French fry and cough several times before I swallow it. “That’s none of your damn business.”

“Sure. I might want to be a better man, but I’ll never be a saint.”

“You got brand name,” he comments with a sigh, as if I just kicked a baby chick. “It’s such a racket.” “That’s okay,” I say numbly, handing over the box. “My treat.”

His mouth hitches up as he looks me over, pausing on the top of my gold sundress in a way that makes me feel his perusal.

“You’re a treat,” he says.

He pets Bean, who leans into his hand, her little eyes squeezing shut as she purrs. Does he know how sexy that is? Judging from the crafty look in his eyes, yes, he does. He’s trying to get me to bend on the whole no-touching thing. Not because he likes me, I’m sure, but because he’s the kind of man who likes to fuck. I’ll bet he’s good at it. I bet he could make me the delicious kind of sore. I deliver myself a mental slap.

“There will be no ass-grabbing of any kind,” I say, then swallow, my mouth dry. “You can hold my hand.” He turns to face me, his mouth in that ever-present grin, as we reach the landing at the top of the stairs. “So, it’s a summer camp kind of love. Got it. What about kissing? Can I kiss you, Tiger, or will you scratch?”

“Well, no one could say that to you. You look exactly like the kind of woman who’d professionally make pompoms.” She gives me a smile so coldly assessing my balls almost shrivel. We both know it wasn’t a compliment, but she says, “Thank you.”

“How’d you two meet?” Champ asks, patting me on the back. Shauna looks like she’s about to launch into her gym explanation, so I bust in with, “Funny story. She was choking at a restaurant, and I stepped in with the—” Fuck, what is that called? “—hug of life.” Good enough. “She told me she’d do anything for me for saving her life, and I said the only earthly thing I wanted was a date with her. We’ve been glued together ever since.”

“This is my boyfriend,” Shauna says pointedly. “And my kitten.” I give her the big, shit-eating grin that’s gotten me into plenty of trouble, then bend my lips to her ear and ask in an undertone meant only for her, “You don’t want anyone else to touch your pussy?”

Someone clears her throat over a microphone, and then Bianca, the Queen Bee of Pompoms and this here party, says, “Who’s ready to make some balls?” “This girl,” I call out, pointing at Shauna.

Bianca comes over, her eyebrows raised. “Did you have trouble following the tutorial?” “Not at all,” Leonard said, wrapping an arm around my waist again. He does it so confidently, like his arm belongs around me. Then again, he’s probably used to having his arm around a woman. “My girl prefers for her balls to be supersized.” He cocks his head. “You’ll understand why she needed to move on.”

Then I let her go, because she’s not mine, and if I’ve learned anything it’s that you shouldn’t take what’s not yours if you don’t know how to keep it.

Leonard, who made me come so hard I saw stars on the edges of my vision. Leonard, who loves cats and hangs out with grandmothers and tries to take care of runaways. Leonard, who fixed that broken mug I gave him the other day and left it out on his kitchen counter, like it was something worth saving. Leonard, who can’t sleep at night for reasons I’d like to know. Leonard, who watched The Sopranos with me.

“No, Tiger, but where you’re from isn’t the same thing as home. I think you know that.”

I’ve been feeling more of that lately, and that kitten is just the tip of the iceberg that’s going to sink me. Because Shauna, sitting beside me, has brought on a whole different kind of wanting—one that feels dangerous as hell.

“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, letting myself touch her leg again.

He’s got his phone in his other hand, and he’s grinning. “My surprise is almost here, Tiger. It’s for them, obviously, but it’s also for you.” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah, I think you’re gonna like it.” “Which means you think I’m going to hate it.” His grin widens, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and he’s so beautiful it’s like a gut punch. “I guess you’re just gonna have to wait and see.”

My grandmother reaches for my hand and squeezes it, and when she meets my gaze, I’m alarmed to see there are tears in her eyes. “There’s no end to the love inside of you, my sweet girl.”

back. It’s hard to unteach yourself the lessons life’s taught you. You have to work at it.”

“There’re some things I could tell you that might make you turn your back on me. I don’t think I could handle that.” Burke sets his beer down and leans over. He claps a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it. “There’s not a thing in this world you could tell me that would make me turn my back on you. You’re my brother. You need to bury a body, I’ll show up with a shovel.”

“So you’ve forgiven him?” I asked in disbelief. She threw her head back and laughed. “Of course I haven’t. I’ll resent that old boot until he’s six feet under, and I’ll throw vinegar on his grave. But there’s no reason for you to resent him for my sake. I am happier. Bad things happen to everyone, honey, and even if it hurts so much you can’t breathe, you can come out the other side and find unicorns shitting rainbows. It’s okay to still hurt. And it’s okay to enjoy the view.”

“I like you, Shauna. Truth is, I’ve got it bad for you. It’s been that way since we first met. When Constance told me about her lie, the honest-to-god first thing that came to mind was, ‘Here’s my chance.’ But I’ve never been in a relationship with a woman. Never. I don’t want to fuck everything up. Seems to me you’ve been hurt enough.”

His gaze burns into me. “I want to be a better man for you.”

I don’t want to disappoint her, is all. I don’t want her to look at me differently.

Maybe we get more than we deserve sometimes, to make up for all the times we got less.

And I feel lucky, so damn lucky, that I just know the other shoe is going to drop. Or maybe a couple of concrete blocks, right on my chest. But I’m going to live like it won’t, because I’m sick of living in fear. Been there, done that, lost the damn T-shirt.

You’re in charge of who you are. Not your father. Not this Joel asshole.”

“You mean to say you’re not going to wear that suit for the rest of the day?” I groan. “It may be stuck to my body. I think my balls are glued together.” “Charming.” There’s a grin on her face, though, and I put it there. That makes me feel like a god after the scene we just exited.

Shauna? I’m always going to be broken. And that means everything I touch is going to break too.”