Goode To Be Bad

by Jasinda Wilder

  I squealed, and gripped Myles by the arm. “It’s Harlow!”

  He eyed me with amusement. “Did you act like that before you met me the first time?”

  I laughed, poked his ribs. “Ohmygod, I was so much worse. I admire Harlow as an actress and role model—but I had a huge, major crush on you.”

  “You did?”

  I frowned. “Um, duh?” I stared at him. “Do you think I jump into bed with just any celebrity I happen to meet backstage? I met Harry Styles backstage once and he invited me to hang out with them after, but I was already going to a party with some friends so I didn’t because they were my ride, and it was Harry Styles, whom I admit I also had a little bit of a thing for, even if I’m not a huge fan of his music.”

  Harlow was watching this with amusement. “Once upon a time, I’d have taken that opportunity with Harry, had it been offered to me. He’s cute!” She grinned at Myles. “And you’re Myles North. Holy shit. I’m a huge fan.”

  I blinked. “Wait. Do celebrities get celebrity crushes?”

  A tall, lean, clean-cut guy with tattoos on his forearms and heavy-rimmed glasses stood next to Harlow. “I think for a celebrity, it would simply be considered a normal crush.” He paused. “But then, a celebrity is a celebrity, regardless of who they are, objectively speaking, so from that perspective, yes.” He glanced at Harlow. “What is your opinion, Low?”

  “Hmm. Interesting question. I mean, yeah, I’d still consider it a celebrity crush. I suppose I am technically a celebrity, but so is Tom Hardy, right? I’ve never met him, and he’s super famous, and I think he’s mega hot. So it would be a celebrity crush.” She grinned at me. “So I guess that makes the answer yes, celebrities get celebrity crushes.”

  The brother with the glasses seemed puzzled. “You find Tom Hardy attractive? Who is Tom Hardy?”

  She patted his shoulder. “An actor. A very talented, very good-looking actor.”

  “And you have a crush on him?”

  She sighed, looked at him with love. “A celebrity crush is different than having a normal crush on an average person, love. It just means you really admire and are attracted to them, as a star. Being famous, it’s assumed it’s unlikely if not impossible that the crush would ever be anything but an idle fantasy. So it’s not a real crush like you’re thinking.”

  He was still frowning. “But you’re a star. You could meet him at a press junket, or on the red carpet, and become his girlfriend with ease. You are famous yourself and thus have access a not-famous person would never have. So it is not an impossibility for your celebrity crush on this Tom Hardy individual to become a reality.”

  She leaned into his side and pressed her lips to his ear. Whispered something that mollified him—and more, judging by the way he shifted awkwardly.

  He was odd, and serious, and earnest, but clearly totally in love with Harlow, and she with him.

  I extended my hand. “You must Xavier Badd.”

  He was puzzled. “We have not met. How do you know my name?”

  I gestured at Harlow. “It’s a well-known fact that Harlow is engaged to Xavier Badd, a robotics genius, Silicon Valley start-up darling, and inventor of fascinating devices which I’ve always wanted, but have never been able to afford.”

  Harlow laughed, nuzzled him. “What she means is, you’re becoming famous yourself, baby.”

  “Famous because of my connection to you is not famous for me,” he said. “But I suppose that is a natural risk of being romantically entangled with a woman of your elevated social status.”

  I laughed. “You’re funny.”

  He didn’t laugh with me. “I was not joking.”

  “I…um. Oh.”

  He blinked, frowned. “I am not comfortable in such large gatherings, so my social capacity is somewhat hampered. My apologies.” He turned to Harlow. “Please excuse me, my love. I need some space.”

  She just nodded, kissed him with quick familiarity. “Go up to the break room and tinker. I know you brought a gadget with you.”

  He nodded. “I have my briefcase. I’ll just catch my bearings and return when I’m able.”

  I watched this exchange with curiosity. When Xavier had vanished into the crowd and up a flight of steps, Harlow smiled at us. “He’s on the autism spectrum. It makes big parties like this hard for him.” She smiled proudly. “He’s done a lot of research into ASD, and we have a charity foundation which we do a lot of work for, funding research and promoting awareness. He does a lot of speaking engagements on the subject in schools near where we live down in LA.”

  “So is that why he talks like…”

  “Like an eighty-year-old Ivy League professor, stuck in the body of a superhot twenty-three-year-old? Yeah. If you were to ask him something he knows a lot about—which is just about everything—you’d hear him go into real lecture mode. He’s literally one of the smartest people on the planet.” She gestured after him. “When I say go tinker, he’s going to pull some gizmo out of his briefcase that a billion-dollar robotics lab couldn’t conceive of in a hundred years, which he invented for fun while doing, like, quantum physics or something.”

  I felt a little dizzy. “Wow. So robotics genius isn’t just an online magazine tagline.”

  “Oh no,” Harlow said. “It doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of the genius of that man. He can quote all of The Iliad and The Odyssey…in the original Greek. He can quote Marcus Aurelius…in Latin. His most recent language project is teaching himself both Old and Middle English, at the same time. It’s a side hobby for him, learning obscure or dead languages. He says after he’s literarily fluent in Old and Middle English he’s going to teach himself Sanskrit because he heard it’s challenging.”

  I laughed. “How do you keep up with him?” I asked.

  Harlow just cackled. “Intellectually? You don’t. You just try to not get carried away in the flash flood of his intellect. It makes daily conversation interesting, that’s for sure.”

  I saw a quartet of dazzling beauties behind Myles: a pair of male twins and a pair of female twins, one with a toddler on her hip; the men were, like all the Badd men I’d seen so far, tall, lean, and muscular and devastatingly handsome; the women, again, were in a class all their own in terms of sophistication and beauty. The women made me feel frumpy and slutty, and the men made me feel weak in the knees and guiltily turned on.

  The circle Myles and I were part of—Lucian, Joss, and Harlow—expanded to include the twins. The men: same height and build as Lucian and Xavier, both had the grizzly bear-brown hair as the rest of the family. Both sported tattoos and piercings, wore ripped jeans and Sharpie-decorated Chuck Taylors and concert T-shirts.

  The women were a combination of Blake Lively and Marilyn Monroe, slender and elegant and sophisticated. Both were dressed like they could have stepped out of a Vanity Fair fashion ad—sleek and daring and revealing without being overtly sexual, highlighting their bodies without displaying.

  Harlow saw me eying the female twins. “Don’t worry, I feel the same way around them.”

  I blinked at her. “Sorry, what?”

  She indicated the two blond women. “Them. They’re so freaking perfect they make you feel…tawdry. Right?”

  I boggled. “But you’re…”

  She arched an eyebrow. “An absolutely ordinary woman with self-esteem issues, especially as regards to the width of my hips.” She smoothed her hands over her hips, which were almost as generous as mine, and then gestured at the twins, whose hips were quite a bit more slender. “They don’t mean to be perfect, they just can’t help it.”

  I laughed and realized one of the twins was staring at me.

  I waved. “Hi?”

  “Lexie?” the female twin with her hair up guessed. “He’s Myles North, which based on what Charlie has told me, makes you Lexie.”

  I tried a tentative smile. “Um. Yeah. My infamy precedes me, I guess.”

  The male twin with the undercut, the father of the toddler, nodded serio
usly. “Oh yeah, for sure. She was all like, god, that sister of mine. What a bitch. You’re gonna hate her. Please punch her for me.”

  The other twin elbowed him. “What my idiot twin, who thinks he’s funny, is trying to say, is that Charlie has told us very good things about you.”

  I frowned. “She has?”

  The longhaired one nodded. “She has. How cool you are, how much we’re all going to love you.”

  “That you’re bringing one of our music idols with you,” the other said.

  Myles snorted. “I’m ain’t worthy of being anyone’s idol, guys.” He shook their hands, one and then the other. “I’m Myles.”

  “No shit you’re Myles,” the jokester twin said. “I ate too much cheese yesterday so I’m majorly constipated, otherwise I’d be shitting myself, meeting you.”

  “Two things, Cor—one, fuckin’ gross, dude. Nobody needs to know you’re constipated. Two, quit fanboying the man. Get—it—together.” This from the other twin, the last three words emphasized with a light but loud backhand-forehand-backhand slap.

  “Slap me again, bitch, and I’ll hogtie you and force-feed you Lena’s pureed peas.”

  “You said a bad word, Daddy,” I heard a tiny voice say from around my knees—a little boy of four or so, with his dad’s brown hair and his mom’s eyes. “You gotta give me a dollar.”

  Corin glanced down, ruffled the boy’s head. “Hey, kiddo. Didn’t know you were standing there, bud.” He frowned. “How do you know I said a bad word?”

  “Because whenever you get mad about stuff you say sonofabitch real loud and Mommy gets mad at you and you gotta give me a dollar.”

  Corin restrained a smile. “You’re right, that is a bad word. But if I owe you a buck for saying it, you owe me a buck back because you said it too.” He shrugged. “So I’d say we’re even.”

  The little boy shook his head firmly. “Nuh-uh. I only said it to say you said it. I didn’t really say it.”

  Canaan smirked. “He’s got you there, bro.”

  “No!” Corin said. “It still counts. Saying it is saying it, regardless of your intention.”

  And then the twins were arguing about swearing, until the boy tugged on Corin’s pant leg. “Daddy? Daddy!”

  Corin broke away from his argument with his brother and glanced down. “Yeah, bud?”

  “I gotta poop.”

  Corin laughed. “Well? Go! You know where it is.”

  “But it’s a big one, and I gotta go now.”

  Corin’s eyes widened, and he scooped his son up and whisked him off horizontally, making airplane noises while the boy laughed hysterically, interspersed with sing-song chants of “poop poop poopy poop.”

  I watched the proceedings with amusement and said to Myles, “I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to find at this family party, but not this.”

  Myles waved at the reduced circle around us. “Nice to meet you guys. Canaan, I think, right? Maybe we can get together for a jam session before I skip town.”

  The remaining twin nodded. “Yeah, I’m Canaan. And a jam session sounds like an awesome idea.” He hesitated. “Did you bring Betty-Lou with you?”

  Myles shook his head. “Nah, I keep her in a temperature- and humidity-controlled storage case. I have a new guitar I’m dying to break in.”

  Canaan’s eyes widened. “You have it with you?” he breathed, his voice awed and reverential.

  Myles frowned. “You know about the guitar?”

  “I was with Crow when he finished it. I know literally nothing about it because that man is the most tight-lipped human being I’ve ever met in my fucking life, but I know musical instruments and I know that was one hell of a special piece, and I’ve been dying to hear what it sounds like.” Canaan shook his head. “It was a masterpiece, and I mean that. Like getting a Stradivarius, but directly from the maker himself.”

  Myles didn’t answer right away. “Yeah, that’s a fair comparison. River Dog was a true master artisan.”

  “Wait, River Dog was a person? I thought the name was just, like, some sort of cool reference to a myth or some shit.”

  Myles laughed. “Yeah, Crow’s not real forthcoming with information, is he? River Dog is Crow’s grandfather, deceased now, God rest him. That guitar was the last thing River Dog ever made, and he died before he could actually finish it. He taught Crow everything he knew, but when he died Crow sort of…turtled a bit, I guess, refused to touch it. Until he moved here.” He scanned the bar. “Where is the sonofabitch, anyway?” Myles then glanced around his knees. “Shoot, anymore kids around for me to owe a dollar to?”

  Canaan laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, Lucas, the one who had to poop, is with Corin, Liam is over there being fed cheese sticks by Eva, Harlow has Lena, and that’s all my kids. Brock and Claire have Nina with them over by the stage, Mara’s two boys are playing the Switch with Eva and Bax’s son over there in the back booth, and Dru and Bast’s daughter is…actually it looks like she’s trying to braid Ink’s beard. And that’s the lot, I think.”

  Myles frowned. “That is a lot of kids.”

  Canaan laughed again. “We’re a lot of people and we all really like having sex, I guess.”

  Myles cackled. “Okay, well I’m gonna try to watch my language regardless. Good to meet you. I’ll meet up with you about the jam session.” He tugged my hand. “Come on, let’s go say hi to your mom and sisters. And where the…heck…is Crow?”

  Ink, a six-foot-seven giant covered head to toe with tattoos, currently having his beard clumsily braided by a little girl heard the question and gestured. “Kitchen. Him and Claire are fixin’ up some snacks.”

  Cassie was sitting beside Ink and she leaned over and showed the girl how to merge the braids. “You’re gonna be a braiding expert soon, Delia.”

  “I always want to braid Daddy’s hair, but it’s too short. And Mommy says I’m too rough to braid hers, but she still lets me. Uncle Ink’s beard is the funnest to braid. It’s soft and scratchy at the same time, and sticks together. Mommy’s hair is all slippery and hard to braid.”

  Seeing Cassie, tough and hard-nosed and independent and as fiery as me, being all sweet and Auntie-like to this little girl was weird. Cassie saw me, kissed the little girl on the head and helped tie a rubber band around the very tip of Ink’s braided beard, and then hopped down from the stool and rushed over to hug me. “Lexie! God, it’s so good to see you.”

  I hadn’t seen her for a while but the first thing I noticed was that she was…different. All my life she’d been all muscle and bone and athletic, toned female physique. Now she was…softer. I wanted to say bigger, but that would sound judgmental. And softer wasn’t right either. Stronger. Not as hyper-lean and shredded as she’d always been. More muscular, and so yes, physically larger. But because of it, her diminutive size was offset by muscularity and just…feminine softness.

  “You look so good, Cass!” I said.

  She smiled, pushing back from the hug but not letting go. “You think so? I’m heavier than I’ve ever been in my life, but…I feel good, Lex. I’m teaching fitness and dance classes now, you know.”

  “Mom told me in her latest epic novel of an email,” I said, looking my sister over. “Honestly, in my personal opinion, you look way healthier and more feminine now. Not that you were masculine before, but…whatever you’re doing suits you.”

  She snorted. “What I’m doing is eating actual food and living an actual life. I lift weights and dance and teach, and I go for runs with the other girls sometimes, but I’m not obsessed with my weight anymore. I realized I had been. My whole life, I had to stay under a certain number or I’d lose my spot in the troupe.” She looks around at the room. “I’m so, so much happier.”

  I grinned at her. “I think it’s the happiness as much as anything. You’re like, glowing.” I frowned. “It’s not a pregnancy glow, is it?”

  Cassie’s eyes widened and she jokingly made the sign of the cross. “Heaven forbid. No. I’m not anywhere near
ready to be a mom yet.”

  “Well now you did it,” Ink rumbled. “Now we’re gonna get you pregnant.”

  “And there goes sex for you, big guy,” she teased.

  “What’s sex?” the little girl piped up. “Mommy says I’m too young to know.”

  “Crap,” Cassie breathed. “I, um…”

  “Your mom is right, little one,” Ink answered. “Auntie Cass should watch what she says around little ears.”

  “Mommy says I have the biggest ears in the world,” the girl said. “But I checked and they’re not big at all. So I don’t know what that means.”

  “It means you hear things you shouldn’t,” Cass said. “And then repeat them and ask questions adults have trouble answering.”

  “Auntie Cass, huh?” I mused.

  Cassie laughed. “If you’re part of the clan, you’re an aunt or uncle to the little ones. You don’t have a choice. You’re inducted, and thus expected to spoil, corrupt, and snuggle all the various children.”

  I looked around—it seemed very few of the children were with their parents, and seemed to think nothing of climbing up the leg of the nearest adult, regardless of who it was, and that adult would pick the child up without missing a beat and incorporate him or her into the conversation. It was odd, supremely, to see these men with the tiny children, the ones like the triplets and Bax especially, who resembled WWE stars in terms of raw athletic bulk, with the gorgeous, alpha-male sex factor of the kind of men who played superheroes on the big screen. None of them were dads yet, I didn’t think, but they were clearly each growing comfortable with kids, since I saw one of the huge triplets tossing up and catching a little black girl with tight ringlets and bright eyes and a squealing laugh.

  I watched. “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “The big blond guy with the wanna-be Duck Commander beard? Or the little girl he’s tossing in the air?”

  “Uhh, both?”

  “The blond with the beard is Ram, Lucas’s son.”

  I racked my brain for what Mom had shared in her emails. “Uhh, Ramsey is the outdoors one, right? Him and Lucas own a hiking guide company.”