Page 84 of Wrong For Me

And from the easy smile on his face, I think he might be enjoying it too.

“So she dragged you to crazy roadside attractions,” he says, topping up his glass from the bottle on the table then refilling mine without asking. There’s something strangely sweet about that simple act of taking care of me, but I’m sure it’s just the wine putting thoughts into my head. “What else does she do?”

“That game we played back there?” I gesture in the general vicinity of the reception. “That’s one of her favorites. She also throws thebestparties. Seriously. She plans all of our birthday parties. Anniversaries. High school graduations. She even tries to plan parties for all the girls in the family when they first get their period.”

Leo’s expression is a mix of shock and amusement. “Period parties? That’s a thing?”

“It is for Paige.”

“But…why?”

I can feel my grin stretching across my face. “She says being a girl is awesome and we should take any excuse to celebrate it.” I raise an eyebrow at him. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys that loses his shit at the mere mention of a girl’s period.”

Leo looks distinctly offended. “I’m ascientist. Of course I don’t care about something like that. I’m just trying to figure out what onedoesat a period party.”

I laugh. “It was basically just an excuse to have a slumber party, eat a lot of snacks, and paint each other’s nails.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t tell if that’s really cool or really weird.”

I laugh. “That’s basically Paige in a nutshell. Really cool, and really,reallyweird.”

Leo relaxes more into the cushions, watching me over his wine glass, waiting to hear more. So I tell him about the epic sleepovers she would throw for us. The neighborhood-wide games of water balloon wars she would organize. How she was the first person I told when I had my first kiss—the teenage son of one of the bands playing the same summer festival as Ransom when I was thirteen.

“Then there’s the Talk Lists, and the—”

He holds up a hand. “Hang on. Talk Lists? The fuck is a Talk List?”

I snicker. “Exactly what it sounds like. You make a list of all the things you want to talk about. And then you talk about them.”

He blinks at me. “Why?”

I shrug. “I have no idea. But it’s strangely fun? Like, I can’t tell you how many boring hours we passed on the road making Talk Lists.”

He watches me for a long moment, long enough for me to begin to feel self-conscious, before he starts rummaging between the empty glasses and crumpled up napkins on the coffee table in front of us.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for something to write on.”

“Why?”

He looks at me like I’m nuts. “We have to make one. Obviously.”

“You want to do a Talk List?” Something about the idea of Leo Malone—surly, stand-offish, taciturn Leo Malone—playing this particular game strikes me as hilarious.

“I’m pretty sure the only way I’m going to understand the insanity is if I actually experience it, so let’s do this.”

My face actually hurts, I’m smiling so big. “Go grab a few clean napkins at the bar. I think I have a pen in my purse.”

I get momentarily distracted as he stands, because he pulls his suit coat off when he does. And if I thought Leo looked good in a full suit? Leo in a crisp white dress shirt and slightly loosened tie is just ridiculous. Then he rolls up his sleeves, and I find it hard to breath. Funny, my cousin Everly is always going on about the hotness of nice forearms in rolled up sleeves, but I never really got the appeal until this exact moment.

I manage to pull myself together by the time he gets back, stack of napkins in hand. I take one, spreading it over my knee, and look at him. “So, the best Talk Lists are a combination of real conversation and a bunch of randomness.”

“You’re going to need to start us off, guru of the Talk List,” he says.

I scrunch up my nose, trying to channel Aunt Paige. “Okay. If you could be any animal, what would you be, and why?”

He nods thoughtfully. “What talent do you wish you had?”