Confessions of a Bad Boy Page 3

  This is wrong for so many reasons. It’s wrong because we’ve grown up together as friends. It’s wrong because her overprotective brother (who also happens to be my short-tempered best friend) would go fucking crazy. It’s wrong because she’s a sassy-mouthed costume artist who doesn’t take any shit, and I’m a smart-talking talent agent who trades in bullshit. It’s wrong because this one single act could ruin so many of the best things in both of our lives.

  But the fact remains, we’re alone in a hotel, she’s wearing jean shorts that are driving me crazy, and I’ve got a hard-on that could drill granite – all the wrong in the world isn’t going to stop the inevitable from happening.

  I wake up feeling like my head’s been dried, roasted, and half-chewed by the neighborhood dog. My tongue feels like it’s growing its own beard, and there’s an uneasy feeling I might never know which way is up again.

  But at the same time, I feel pretty fucking awesome. The kind of beat-up, bruise-wearing triumph that I imagine boxers feel when they’ve taken a hell of a thrashing but still won.

  It lasts about four seconds. About the time it takes me to realize that the pressure on my bicep is Jessie’s head. About the time it takes to realize I’ve just fucked my best friend’s little sister. About the time it takes to realize I’m a dead man. If he finds out.

  Slow and tense, as if defusing a bomb, I pull my arm out from underneath Jessie’s head, and shift slowly away from her. Maybe it’s the way my ears are ringing, or the fear of what might happen if she wakes up, but everything seems as loud as if it’s amped up; the rustle of the bedsheets, the soft moans in her breathing, the brush of my stubble against the pillow.

  After pulling myself out of bed like the slowest ninja in the world, I start moving around the room and picking up my discarded clothes from the night before. I find most of them, but either my left shoe decided to go for a walk on its own, or I’m going out of my mind. I decide to risk one last look under the bed before I put it down as a casualty of war, and get down on all fours on the same side as where Jessie’s sleeping.

  “Shit,” she says, and I realize she’s awake, looking at me.

  I swallow, and wonder if the bad taste in my mouth is the hangover, or the guilt.

  “Uh…yeah,” I say, slowly getting up. “Shit.”

  Jessie shifts up and back in the bed, sitting up against the headboard, the top half of her body out of the sheets – naked. Her tits are luscious and perfect, and suddenly a rush of memories from last night hit me with all the relentless power of a freight train.

  I look away and clear my throat loudly until she realizes she’s exposed, quickly pulling up the sheets to cover herself.

  I go to the end of the bed, as if unable to trust myself if I get any closer to her, and sit down, rubbing my forehead roughly.

  “This is bad,” I say, breaking the awkward silence between us.

  “Yep,” Jessie replies.

  “We shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Nope.”

  I get up and start pacing.

  “If Kyle finds out about this—”

  “He won’t find out,” Jessie interrupts quickly.

  “But if he does—”

  “Why would he?”

  “I’m a fucking dead man.”

  “Nate!” Jessie says, making as if to get out of bed before realizing she’s still naked. “Calm down. I thought you did this kind of thing all the time?”

  I turn around to glare at Jessie, pressing my hands together and pointing them at her.

  “I do. When I don’t know the girl. When I’m never going to see the girl again. When I haven’t been friends with the girl’s brother since I was out of diapers. This is not something I do all the time.”

  Jessie sighs and slumps back against the headboard as I continue to pace.

  “Do you even remember anything?” she says, after a while.

  I stop for a second. “No,” I lie, flashes of Jessie’s ass swaying in my hands immediately playing themselves out in my mind. “I don’t remember a thing.”

  “Okay,” Jessie says, tightening the sheet around her body as she gets up out of the bed, “then maybe we can just forget this ever happened.”

  I look at her as if she’s just solved the secret of life.

  “You think we can do that?”

  She shrugs, her bare shoulders making me immediately remember how she went down on me, my hands in her hair as she bobbed back and forth, sucking me hard into the back of her throat, her moans reverberating against the head of my cock. Fuck, snap out of it.

  “Here’s what we do,” she says, with the determined slyness of someone explaining a robbery, “I get in the shower, you leave. We don’t see each other for a month – no, two months. Then when we do see each other again, and for as long as we live, we never bring this up again. It never happened. No excuses. No apologies. No explanations.”

  “What about—”

  “And no Kyle. I don’t want him finding out any more than you do. He’d kill me, too. Deal?”

  I blink at her with hungover eyes, processing what she’s just offered me. “You really think that plan will work?”

  “We need it to work.”

  I nod slowly.

  “Okay,” I say, starting to scan the room again. “I just need to find my shoe.”

  Jessie sighs, tightens the sheet around her again, and moves toward the bathroom.

  “Well hurry up, ’cause I’m gonna get in the shower now.”

  “What if I don’t find it?”

  Jessie shoots me a look of utter disbelief.

  “What are you, Cinderella? Fuck the shoe, Nate!”

  She goes into the bathroom and I watch her close the door, smiling to myself. For a split-second, I almost wonder if I should leave at all. Then I spot my shoe behind the trash can, and I take it as a sign to get the hell out of there and never look back.

  2

  Nate

  Kyle’s already there when I get to the bar, hunched over a table in a booth, staring at his beer like he wants to fight it, his small, wheeled suitcase beside him. I grab the barman’s attention and order two more beers to be sent to the table, then make my way over.

  “Did the Lakers lose?” I say, patting him on the shoulder.

  He looks up and smiles weakly as we clasp hands.

  “Dude, the Lakers always lose now.”

  I settle myself down on the other side of the table. It’s kind of disturbing to see him when he’s down, partly because he looks like Captain America, and partly because, for him, there’s a thin line between the emotions of anger and sadness. In fact, there’s a thin line between anger and pretty much any emotion when it comes to Kyle. He’s got a pair of shoulders that make you wonder if he’s wearing football padding, and the kind of square jaw that would break any fist stupid enough to hit it. Under a certain light, his short blonde hair and crystal-blue eyes give him an all-American good-guy action-hero charm, but anyone who knows him will tell you that’s just for show. If his job as a lawyer didn’t require him to be so clean-cut, he’d grow a beard, cover his body with tattoos, and swap his suit for sweatpants quicker than you could say ‘fight night.’

  “So what’s up?” I ask, as Kyle drains the last of his beer, and the barman puts the two more I ordered in front of us.

  “Jessie. Again.”

  “What happened?”

  “A whole load of shouting, arguing, and foot stomping, that’s what happened.”

  I shrug, taking a long swig of my beer. “And there was heavy traffic on the 101 this morning – the same old bad news isn’t worth worrying about all the time.”

  “No, it wasn’t like that. It was different this time.”

  I gaze around at the nearly-empty bar. Kyle chose it. Probably to make sure my attention wasn’t distracted.

  “How so?”

  Kyle tenses and sighs so heavily he sounds like a boiler breaking down. At this angle he looks like a bull about to charge.


  “She’s just…all she does is complain about her life, but when I give her solutions, she never listens! She’s still working on that crappy TV show – sixteen hour days most of the time. They pay her next to nothing and they treat her like she’s still an intern. Get this, I met her for lunch a couple days ago and apart from the fact that she could only sit with me for twenty minutes, she had to go and order about forty lunches for the crew and take them back herself! Can you believe that shit? She’s gonna have a fucking meltdown.”

  I nod, but I’m having a hard time getting as riled up as my friend is about Jessie’s job. Maybe because I know the entertainment industry all too well. “So she works hard.”

  Kyle slams his beer down and shakes his head. “For what? So that she can say she’s ‘chasing her dream’ over and over again? Shit. The hardest working street cleaner doesn’t become CEO of the company – any fool knows that. She needs to get her head out of her ass and start acting like an adult.”

  “So what would you have her do? Give up on her dreams and…what?”

  “Get a real fucking job!” Kyle says, directing his frustration at me like I’m standing in for Jessie. “Do something that pays well and doesn’t ask you to play butler to a bunch of has-beens on a TV show made for people who lose their remotes and can’t change the channel.”

  “It’s not as easy as—”

  “You know where this is heading, right?” Kyle interrupts, too full of steam to listen now. “’Cause I can tell you. I’m the one who’s going to end up having to fix all this. If Jessie doesn’t grow up fast she’s going to find herself too old to change, with no other prospects, and nobody else to turn to. Then it’ll be time for the big brother to step in, like I always do. I don’t want her to give up on what she loves, but it’s leading her down the wrong path. And I know I’m gonna be the one who ends up paying her rent and picking up the pieces.”

  I pause before speaking, waiting for the dust to settle.

  “It’s shitty, I know. But come on, dude. She could say the same about you. What is this, the third time we’ve had a drink this month? And you’re going to leave early again, to go on yet another business trip. You even told me you work through your lunch breaks, and where has it all led so far? You guys are more similar than you think.”

  “The difference is,” Kyle growls, as soon as I finish, “that I’ve got something to show for my hard work. Big fucking difference. Me, I’ll probably end the year on six figures, and I’m this close to making partner. If I do well in London, I am going to be one step closer to being a made man. She doesn’t even get benefits, Nate. They could fire her tomorrow and she’d have fuck all to show for it. Nothing! She’s wasting her fucking life.”

  “Kyle, she’s—”

  “You don’t get it!” he interrupts, unable to stop himself now he’s built up momentum. “You’ve had your lucky breaks and now you don’t have to worry about any of this shit. But she’s never gonna get lucky like that. I’m not the bad guy here. I’m just a realist.”

  Kyle glowers at me, his face red, his eyes narrowed. I stare back.

  “I’ve paid for my luck, Kyle.”

  Kyle hangs his head, breathing out his hot anger.

  “Shit. I know you have, Nate. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t expect most people to see that, Kyle, but you’ve known me long enough to know better.”

  “That was out of line, I get it. I’m just pissed. I want better for her, and I worry.”

  I look over at the barman and gesture for him to bring a few whiskeys over.

  “Look, you’re probably right, Kyle. Jessie is way too good to still be doing what she’s doing. She’s probably stuck in a rut. But you can’t fight her over these things. She’s still your little sister, but she’s also a grown woman now who needs to figure shit out for herself. The best you can do is be a big brother, look out for her, give her some support. Not fight with her over it.”

  Kyle looks at his drink for a long time, then shakes his head.

  “You’re right.”

  “I mean, when did fighting ever work on her anyway? She loves one as much as you do. Maybe more.”

  “Would you talk to her?”

  I roll my head to the side in a gesture that says ‘not good idea.’

  “I dunno…she’d probably figure out that you asked me to.”

  “But she’d still listen. You’ve always been the voice of reason between us. Come on, dude.”

  “Okay,” I sigh. “If it’s really as bad with her as you say, then I’m sure all she needs is a fresh perspective.”

  “Right,” Kyle says, nodding with enthusiasm at the idea. “Also, she’s got a new boyfriend.” He shakes his head in disgust and slams down his whiskey, waving the barman over and ordering us another round.

  “What’s he like?” I ask, although I already know Kyle hates him. He always hates Jessie’s boyfriends. No guy is good enough for his sister, as far as he’s concerned.

  “I don’t know,” Kyle shrugs. “I think she’s hiding him from me.”

  “That’s smart of her,” I grin. “Whoever he is, I’m sure he won’t meet with your approval.”

  He looks at me sharply. “Actually, I was gonna ask. Do you think you could—”

  “No. No I won’t find out everything I can about him and report back to you. Even if he’s an asshole, Jessie is big enough and tough enough to figure it out herself. Gotta let her make her own mistakes, dude. Same as you did.”

  Kyle mulls it over for a beat and then laughs, breaking the tension at the table. I feel myself relaxing as we down the rest of our whiskeys.

  “Speaking of assholes,” he says, with a big grin on his face now, “I saw your vlog the other day. It was about some one night stand you had a few years ago. Very nice, dude!”

  I choke on my drink, the smoky whiskey getting stuck in my throat and nearly coming right back up. Even when it clears I take a second before speaking. I hadn’t mentioned names in the vlog, so Kyle doesn’t know that the chick I was talking about fucking in a hotel room was the little sister he defends like a knight of the realm.

  “Who was that chick?” he asks. “That was when I still came out with you, right?”

  “Yeah,” I say, nodding a little too much. “Um… Sarah? I think. You know I don’t remember names. A redhead.”

  “Ha! Sure,” Kyle smiles.

  “You should come out with me again, man. We used to make a good fucking team. Don’t tell me you’re not getting any action these days?”

  Kyle shrugs, his grin gone now.

  “My mind’s been so focused on work for so long that I don’t even know if I’ve got any game anymore.”

  “You’re not going to make any time for those British cuties on your trip? That sounds like a waste to me, dude.”

  “It’ll be the same as ever. All work and no play. I bet I won’t even have time to see the sights. The most action I’ll get is probably watching your videos in a hotel room, so you’d better post something good, dude!”

  Kyle’s smile is weak and sad, not just because it’s a feeble joke, but because every time we talk about my vlog we ignore the elephant in the room. That it was Kyle’s idea. That Kyle was just like me only a few years ago. And that it could very easily have been him who just hit over a million subscribers on his channel.

  I thought it was the dumbest thing I ever heard at first. Who would watch a guy in a mask, or whose face was completely out of frame, leaving just his naked abs in shot, talking about his own sex life? At best we’d come off as bragging douchebags, at worst we’d be called out as fakers or perverts. Kyle loved the idea though. It was just when he was about to start making the vlog that work began taking over his life. Soon I was hitting the clubs on my own, and the only thing Kyle would talk to me about was making those damned videos, as if it was up to me to keep living the dream for both of us by starting up the vlog he’d envisioned.

  So I did.

  Mostly it was a favor to Kyle. The only
thing I expected to happen after I posted the first video was to be proven right, and for nobody to watch. But they did. And they kept coming back for more. The views counter flew up into the thousands, then the hundreds of thousands, and the comment sections raged with people loving it and hating it. Kyle cheerleadered and told-you-soed every time I saw him. So I made another. And another. Then I made a brief but athletic how-to video the morning after with a girl I’d picked up the night before, instructing viewers on some of the more exotic positions I knew of, in nothing but our underwear (and her hands over her breasts). Things really began flying after that. I was a guru.

  The first thing that surprised me was how many women were watching. You make videos about picking up women and your first expectation is that only men are going to be interested, but there were more girls than guys watching at my last count. Maybe it was just having great abs, or maybe it was seeing things from the other side, but either way, I wasn’t complaining. Then there were the messages. Nude photos and propositions, of course, tons of questions, pleas for advice, and even hate mail, but there were also invitations to be interviewed, a publisher wanting to talk about a book deal, and even someone who wanted me to speak at their university.

  The whole thing seemed insane. But then again, sex sells – and even more so when people know it’s for real. I showed Kyle everything during every step. The messages, the responses, the figures, and he kept on supporting, but it was always tinged by a sense of disappointment that he’s too earnest to hide. We both knew it should have been him. The whole thing was wasted on me; I only did it because he urged me to, and then carried on because it seemed stupid to stop now. And though I hate to admit it, I’ve realized that some part of me needs it.

  When I started receiving the checks from sponsors and paid advertisements, I told Kyle it was only right he received half. He looked at me like I’d just bought him lingerie for Christmas, and I never mentioned it again – even when the checks started hitting six figures.