Bad Boy Boxset

by JD Hawkins

  Then life happened, and I learned (the hard way) that it takes more than some sculpted muscles to make a good boyfriend. Nate went off and started womanizing, I went off and spent so much time worrying about my career that even having a pathetic secret crush felt like a luxury. Nate’s still sexy as fuck, of course, and we did hook up that one time on The Night That Shall Not Be Mentioned, but at this point in my life, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather get into a relationship less than with him. I may have made a lot of mistakes when it comes to men, but Nate’s so obviously not boyfriend material that it wouldn’t be a mistake – it would be signing up for trouble.

  When I step through the doors of my apartment I suddenly realize how tired I am. I drop my bag in the hallway and head straight to the kitchen to check the fridge. On the way, I pass through the living room, and stop when I see Lorelei.

  “Hey! Are you watching porn again?” I tease, after seeing the naked male torso on the desktop computer screen.

  She tosses her headphones off, looks at me, and winks.

  “Better. The newest Bad Boy Confession video just got posted.”

  “Ugh,” I say, continuing on into the kitchen, “You’re watching that again?”

  Lorelei’s obsessed with this blogger who calls himself the ‘Bad Boy’ and makes video posts that his followers watch with a kind of obsessive fervor. At first I thought the anonymous blogger was just one of those fads Lorelei tends to jump on, but over the past year it’s felt like every time I go into a women’s bathroom, a Sephora, or even the gym, I end up hearing his name uttered in a kind of reverent whisper.

  Lorelei jumps out of the chair and follows me, leaning her slim frame against the door.

  “Seriously, this one is so hot. You’ve got to watch it. I’ll send you the link.”

  “You always send me the link, and I never watch them,” I say, randomly opening cupboards to find something that catches my attention.

  “I left half a sandwich in the fridge if you want it,” Lorelei says, and I immediately go for it. “You’re like the only girl in L.A. who isn’t talking about his videos. You’re so out of the loop, Jessie.”

  “I know,” I reply, tearing the foil away from the sandwich like it’s Christmas day.

  I take a big bite into the heavenly layers of Italian meats and cheeses soaked in oil and vinegar and immediately feel a little less on-edge. Then I turn my attention to Lorelei. We’ve been roommates for a few years now, pretty much as soon as she moved down from Ohio to become a dancer. I never saw her dance, but I can confirm that she dresses like an extra from Fame at every opportunity. After a couple of months she found out that L.A. didn’t really need another dancer, but that its appetite for gossip was insatiable, so she wrangled herself a job as a writer for one of the biggest gossip sites around and never looked back. Lorelei had a knack for hunting out celebrity hotspots like a predator on the prowl – and more often than not dragged me along with her every weekend on her ‘fact finding missions.’

  “You should have seen the video he put up a couple of days ago – oh my God! So hot! He was talking about doing it outdoors and—” Lorelei physically shivers before biting her lip as if the ‘Bad Boy’ is in the room and flirting.

  I try not to choke as I swallow the food.

  “That sounds gross,” I reply. “Why would anyone want to hear about some guy screwing around like a frat boy on spring break? And anyway, he’s probably just some nerd who lives in his mom’s basement, spinning a bunch of stories that make him feel good.”

  “Have you seen his abs?”

  “So he does sit-ups,” I say, before taking another big bite.

  “No,” Lorelei says, shaking her head as if she’s about to reveal a devastating secret, “he’s the real deal. You can tell. It’s in his voice, his magnetism, the way he speaks. Trust me, Jessie. This guy is it.”

  I put the sandwich down and open the fridge.

  “But he just sounds so…so much like a dick. Do you want juice?” I say, looking at Lorelei, who shakes her head. “I mean, here’s this guy who’s just going around sleeping with random girls all the time, and then he goes and talks about it to thousands—”

  “Millions.”

  “Millions of people. It’s…sexist. Degrading. It’s plain disrespectful.”

  “No no no, Jessie!” Lorelei says, stepping towards me and waving her hands as if begging for understanding. “That’s the thing! I know what you mean, there are guys like that – but he’s so different. He doesn’t lie, he doesn’t manipulate women. He’s just honest about what he wants, and respects women enough to understand that we love sex too! He’s got this whole philosophy about just being in touch with yourself, about being open, about grabbing the moment. He gives advice on how to navigate our sex lives responsibly in a world still defined by an outdated culture of repression! What could be more empowering than that?”

  I stare at Lorelei, blinking. It takes me a moment to process all the ridiculousness that just spilled out of her zealous mouth. “Wow. You make him sound like some kind of guru cult leader.”

  “I’ll tell you this: I would drink his kool-aid for sure.”

  I pause mid-sip to cast a dubious look at Lorelei.

  “I hope that’s not a euphemism.”

  “All night long.”

  She looks at me with psycho-eyes before we both break out in laughter.

  “Between you saying all this and another fourteen-hour shift, I need a shower,” I say, packing stuff away.

  “I need a man like him, Jessie. I really do.”

  “Stop. That’s the last kind of man you need. The last kind of man any girl needs. He’d cheat on you the second you went to the bathroom and then make a video telling the whole world about it,” I say, walking past her and back into the hallway. The doorbell rings, and I hold a hand up to tell Lorelei I’ll get it. “I wouldn’t go within ten feet of a guy like that.”

  I swing open the door.

  “Hey Jessie, did you get my messages?”

  Nate is almost mid-sentence the second I realize it’s him.

  “It’s okay, Lorelei. It’s for me,” I call back over my shoulder before turning back to face him. “Nate? What are you doing at my apartment? It’s like ten o’clock at night.”

  “I tried calling you all day. Did you change numbers or something?”

  I look at him for a few seconds while the fact that he’s standing at my doorstep processes.

  “You came all the way to my apartment to ask me if I changed numbers?”

  Nate gives me a look. “No. I came all the way to your apartment to beg you, Jessie. I really need your help.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, laughing with the sheer absurdity of it all, “but there is no way in hell I’m helping you with this. You’re ridiculous.”

  His eyes narrow as he leans forward, shooting me a sexy-dangerous glare that goes straight between my thighs. “You did say you owed me one…”

  “Oh come on!” I yelp, stepping back and snapping myself out of the ‘do-whatever-I-say’ spell he’s trying to cast over me. “It was five minutes at the police station! And I already paid you back!”

  “Okay, okay. You’re right, and I’m sorry for even asking,” Nate says, hanging his head and shuffling his feet a little. “This is just really important to me. It’s my career. I’ve worked so hard to get where I am, and now I’m hitting a wall and it’s just…frustrating. I’m gonna hate seeing someone else get this promotion. But I respect your decision.”

  I sigh a little, trying not to break. It’s way harder to reject someone when they’re standing in front of you looking like a sheep-dog, talking about the impending death of all their hopes and dreams. I should have sent that rejection text on the bus.

  “I have work on Friday,” I protest. “I won’t even get out til eight or nine if I’m lucky.”

  Nate shrugs. “I can find someone to fill in for you, don’t worry about that. I still have strings I can pull with your producers. Hell,
I’ll try and get you a couple of extra days off for yourself too if I have to.”

  The thought of a few much-needed days off is undeniably appealing. I feel myself wavering. “But…don’t you know some actress who could do it? What if I can’t pull it off?”

  Nate looks at me with a gleam in his eyes that tells me he already knows he’s won.

  “Even if we pretend that Robinson hasn’t already met you, and even if I could get an actress to stand in, I’d have to go and tell her everything about myself so somebody doesn’t ask her the wrong question. And we’d probably be weird around each other. With you, it’ll be totally natural. You’re the only girl who actually knows me. Besides, you need a vacation. And after this, we’ll be even.”

  Maybe it’s the effects of it being the end of a hard day, maybe it’s the weird sense that long-buried feelings are getting stirred up inside of me like a breaking storm, or maybe it’s just the dizzying effects of his distinct cologne – but I suddenly can’t think properly.

  “I guess I do need a few days off…”

  “There’s a spa, a pool, room service. It’s like a free resort getaway.”

  “A free resort getaway where I have to pretend to be married to you, and spend most of my time with a bunch of manipulative Hollywood types. I get enough of that at work.”

  Nate grimaces a little and shrugs.

  “But don’t forget the spa. By the way, we’re not married, just dating. Long-term though.”

  I exhale slowly, weighing the many pros and cons. It’s weird, feels insanely risky, and even though I’ve only considered it for a few moments, I can already imagine it going very wrong. But then again, it is a free vacation, some pampering, and maybe even an opportunity to network a little myself. Maybe it’s just that almost anything sounds easy and convincing when it’s coming from a face as good as Nate’s, a voice as natural to follow as his, but I find my initial resistance crumbling completely.

  “Okay…I guess…maybe it could work.”

  Nate’s face lights up, he leans toward me and grabs my shoulders.

  “You mean, you’ll do it?”

  I take a deep breath, feeling like I’m about to take my first parachute jump.

  “I’ll…do it.”

  “Yes!” Nate shouts, grabbing me in a quick, tight embrace that borders on a choke hold, and then leaping back. “You won’t regret this, Jessie.”

  “Believe me, I will.”

  “Two days, we’ll drink a little wine, talk to some boring old dudes, and have a great time. It’ll be awesome.”

  “It won’t.”

  Nate smiles and points at me like an MVP as he takes a few steps down the hall, then stops.

  “And don’t forget, your name is Tessa.”

  “Believe me, Nate, I won’t be forgetting any of this.”

  7

  Nate

  I spend the rest of the week leading up to the big trip arranging for someone to fill in for Jessie at work, and double, triple, and quadruple confirming that Jessie is still coming. I barely get any work done, the big mental countdown in my head distracting my attention like a bikini-wearing rollerblader on Venice Beach.

  In case it wasn’t obvious, I hate depending on other people – no matter who they are. The truth is, not many people in my life have been dependable to begin with. On my own I feel like I can move mountains, that there isn’t a goal in this world I can’t achieve. No deal too tough, no woman too unattainable, no obstacle too big. Control. Focus. That’s my philosophy, and I’m proud of it.

  Things start to get messy pretty quickly when you depend on others. Even when they’re doing their best, even when people are capable – shit can happen. I trust Jessie more than anyone – probably even more than her brother – but my entire career is in her hands right now, and it’s enough to make my stomach do barrel rolls every time I think of it.

  I turn the car onto Jessie’s street and see her standing on the sidewalk, her backpack and an overstuffed duffel sitting on the ground beside her. She’s in short jean cut-offs and a tank top, and my eyes immediately scan her legs with all the tender patience of foreplay. Fuck, does she know she wore those same shorts the night we…? No, probably not, she wears those a lot. Still, maybe she’s trying to send me a message…shit, of course she isn’t, and the last thing I need right now is to start thinking with my dick. I park the car in front of her and she pulls open the passenger door and ducks her head down.

  “Just the BMW?” she says, tossing her backpack in the footwell and her duffel in the backseat before climbing in. I keep my eyes on her face. “I thought you’d be bringing your Lamborghini this time.”

  “When everyone at the party can afford to be flashy, it’s tacky to actually do so.”

  “Right,” Jessie says, nodding sarcastically.

  “And besides, I don’t have a Lamborghini – well, not anymore. That’s the kind of detail we still need to iron out before we arrive,” I say, putting the car in gear and pulling away.

  “You know, I could swear I saw a French movie once with a plot like this.”

  “Oh yeah?” I ask. “What happened?”

  “Nothing. It was a French movie.”

  She looks at me with a smile and I laugh.

  “Well I’m sure they’re going to love you at the retreat – even if they don’t believe you’re actually my fiancée.”

  “Fiancée?”

  “My boss keeps pressuring me to get married, seeing as we’ve been together for…”

  I point at Jessie.

  “Three years – I know,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  I relax in the seat a little as I stop the car in traffic.

  “We really should go over some things. Just to be extra sure.”

  Jessie sighs, then turns to face me.

  “Okay, tell me something you’ve never told anyone before.”

  “I don’t think that’s the kind of thing that’s going to help us.”

  “But it might. Come on! Weren’t you saying we need to have good ‘rapport’ and seem like we’re really into each other? I’ll go first if you want.”

  I glance at her and see the determined look on her face, then shrug.

  “Okay. Go first.”

  Jessie puts a finger against her lips, a gesture that she’s thinking but which some part of my brain interprets as incredibly fucking sexy. Maybe it’s the fact this at this point on a Friday evening I’m only thinking about one thing, or maybe it’s the way the sunlight catches the curves of her body in a way that draws me in like a moth to a flame.

  “How about this,” she says, smiling softly with genuine embarrassment. “I’ve started writing a diary.”

  “A diary?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Like, ‘Dear Diary, today I got a zit’ – type of thing?”

  “Not exactly like that. But yeah, a typical diary. Totally lame.”

  “Why do it, then?”

  “I dunno. I just went into a card shop the other day, saw they had these really pretty notepads, and bought one. Then I started writing in it. That’s all. It’s kinda therapeutic. I spend every waking moment so busy, it’s really nice to just sit down before bed and think and write. Helps me order my thoughts.”

  I nod in appreciation.

  “Well I think that’s pretty awesome. Not lame at all.”

  “Thanks,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear in a shy gesture that seems totally out of character for her. Even after all these years, I guess she can still surprise me sometimes. “Okay. Now you.” I look at her, quirking a brow. “Tell me a secret you’ve never told anyone. Come on.”

  The only thing that comes to my mind are the Confessions video blogs. I try to push them away and think of something else, but they just cut through all my thoughts like a giant neon sign. I wince and breathe in through my teeth to try and make something up.

  “I’m waiting,” Jessie coos in my ear.

  “Um…okay…I keep sort of a diary too.”
/>   “Be serious, Nate!” Jessie punches me in the arm. “I told you mine. Come on.”

  “I am serious. I mean, it’s not exactly a ‘flashlight under the bedsheets’ sort of thing, but it’s a diary – more or less.”

  “Are you fucking with me?”

  “Absolutely not. It’s the truth. I’ve been doing it for a couple of years now. Like you said, it’s a cool way to organize your thinking a bit. Figure things out for yourself. Kind of like…”

  “Like making your thoughts count for something. So you know where you stand.”

  I look at Jessie, who’s gazing at me so sincerely I can’t look back at the road. A second later I do, somehow feeling like she’s just pulled at a part of me I didn’t know existed.

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  We settle into an easy rhythm for the long drive to Napa. Jessie hooks her iPhone up to the car stereo and plays a bunch of bands I’ve never heard of while we enjoy the scenery. The open road winding between the lush coastal mountains and the serene blue ocean makes me feel like we’re a million miles from the hustle and bustle of LA.

  I try to focus on a game plan for my networking weekend, but Jessie is such a bundle of energy to the right of me – drumming on the dash, singing choruses out loud, and basically making me feel more like we’re heading to the beach than an isolated resort full of stuffy corporate types – that I soon give up and relax into the simple joy of the road trip. As I look over at her, taking in the goofy grin and the gigantic coffee table book of Renaissance costumes that she brought along for a little light reading, I start believing that we might just be able to pull this off.

  We can tell we’re getting close to the retreat long before we actually do. The hills start to curve and roll like Picasso painted them, and the endless fields of grapevines seem to almost glow with greens and browns under the California sunshine. Everywhere you look, the valley appears to have had the most flattering Instagram filter applied to it, almost surreal in its perfection and vibrancy. I glance at Jessie, who’s doing her best ‘Alice in Wonderland’ eyes out the car window.