Gorgeous Rotten Scoundrel

by Nina G. Jones

  The house was so quiet and new to me that I felt like an intruder when I first entered. The place was surprisingly neat considering it sheltered a hard partying, weed-smoking, model-fucking bachelor. Upon closer inspection, however, I noticed an empty bottle of Ciroq overturned on the coffee table, and a bong on the island in the kitchen. Mind your business Sadie. Buuuuut it is sort of your business now that you live here.

  I made a point to look straight ahead and focus my eyes on the things in the box I was carrying. As I entered the room I realized I was far too shocked by our initial encounter to fully appreciate how nice my living arrangements were. The spacious room had bamboo floors, a walk-in closet almost as big as my living room at home, and a gorgeous spa bathroom. It was furnished just enough so that I could make the space my own: a king-sized wooden platform bed, full-length dressing mirror, a large white lacquer dresser drawer and a black lacquer desk. The bathroom was like stepping into a high-end spa, a modernist's interpretation of a jungle. A stone path led to a Japanese soaking tub, which was surrounded by plants and bamboo accents. The shower was big enough to do the electric slide in it. A frosted-glass door that led outside drew in a flood of light. I opened it to find a deck and--get this--AN OUTDOOR SHOWER. Fuck yes! This was actually turning out to be pretty sweet.

  I did a little fist pump and cha-cha'ed out of the bathroom, chanting yesyesyesyesyesyes to myself (in the conga-line melody), feeling very pleased with the brilliant decision I had made.

  "Nice!"

  My heart dropped down to my ass. "Oh! I uh...hi!" Fucking-A.

  "That was a nice dance you had going there, don't let me stop you."

  Of course he would make me soak in my embarrassment.

  "I thought you would be gone all day."

  "Why, were you planning on having a party for one?"

  "No!"

  "I'm kidding."

  I sighed to get rid of the heavy feeling of embarrassment in my stomach. He really caught me off guard and it had me all frazzled. "Yes, of course. Sorry, I'm a little embarrassed you saw that."

  "Ah, who cares? I'm sure you'll be hearing me sing in the shower from all the way over here," he smirked. The humiliation had finally cooled enough for me to really look at him. The day was very warm already, and he wore a loose, light blue tank top with wide armholes that allowed peeks of his physique. He wore it with a pair of heather grey fleece lounge shorts with a pair of leather flip flops. "Anyway, my afternoon appointment was cancelled, so here I am. I was going to hit the pool. Wanna join?"

  "No, thanks. I need to finish unpacking."

  "Your stuff will be here. Loosen up a little. If you're going to stay here, you gotta loosen up."

  "I didn't bring a swimsuit."

  "You didn't being a swimsuit to the Hamptons?" he said, rubbing his brow in dismay. "I have a collection from girls who have left theirs behind. Don't worry, they've been washed," he winked. Gross.

  "Well..."

  "Yes. Come on. We need to talk anyway, about business." And so in a way, now it became a duty to join him. I shrugged and followed him to his bedroom where he directed me to his closet. "That one. Have your pick."

  When the large drawer opened, swimsuits popped up like they had been held prisoner all winter and wanted to be liberated. Pastels, neons and dark hues tangled together like a nuclear bowl of spaghetti. Several strings I managed to untangle didn't lead to much else, which is what happens when you are rummaging through the swimsuits of swimsuit models. Finally I found one in the thicket that seemed appropriate enough to wear in his presence. It was a bit of a throwback, a green and white polka dot halter top with a hipster bottom.

  When I met Heath down by the pool, he lowered his sunglasses and cocked his eyebrow ever so slightly, but I didn't know him well enough to interpret whether it was approval or distaste for my conservative choice. Heath was in a very Euro-looking pair of navy swim trunks, the kind the guys wear in South Beach, and he could pull it off. I couldn't help but allow my eyes to wander to his bulge. I had always heard models stuffed socks into their briefs for the "full" look, but I guess Heath was the real deal. Either that, or his artificial soon-to-be water-logged balls would start to droop down to his knees with one dip in the pool.

  I sat awkwardly in the beach chair next to him, crossing my ankles and clasping my hands, waiting for him to say something. After all, he made me come out here.

  "Sit back, relax," he said, almost exasperated. "Want something to drink?"

  "Whatever you're having is fine."

  He rose and walked over to the bar, opened a mini-fridge and pulled out a Miller Lite.

  "Hot as hell today."

  "Yeah, it's nice that summer came early for a change."

  He rose the neck of his bottle towards mine and we exchanged a half-hearted toast.

  "So, dinner tonight..." he started.

  "Of course, I can run down to the store and--"

  "Woah, woah...I wasn't trying to make you cook when you've barely settled in. I thought I could show you around." I wasn't sure how I felt about the idea of going out to dinner with Heath. I think laying around half-naked together was enough for one day.

  "Sure, but I'm beat. I could cook, no problem."

  "But you literally just said you were tired."

  "Well, you know to get dressed up and stuff."

  "Okay.Well, you are the boss when it comes to food."

  "I thought we could talk about your likes and dislikes. So I know if anything is off limits. Of course, you hired me because I specialize in making healthy food, but tell me anything you like. You'd be surprised of the things I can make that taste just like your favorite guilty pleasures."

  "Guilty pleasures..." He purred the words at me as he searched his thoughts for an answer. "Honestly, I like everything. The only thing I don't like is fishy fish. I can hang with sea bass, whitefish and the like. But no salmon please."

  "You're easy to please."

  "Depends on what we're talking about." He tilted his head at me, looking over his sunglasses.

  I rolled my eyes. If he was going to pull this crap, I was going to be a bitch about it. He could fire me if he wanted.

  He shrugged. "Next order of business. I want to have a party here next weekend."

  "Okay."

  "So this is where your other duties come in. I want catering, a bar, live music. I was thinking security to keep the wannabes out."

  "Wannabes?"

  "Yeah, some assholes from the club who invite themselves to my house. The parties get too big for me to monitor attendees."

  "Of course. And this is for next week?"

  "Yeah, I know you can make it happen," he said, in a way that made me believe he thought his charm was going to make me swoon. My mind raced, wondering how I could pull this all off within a week, but after all, I had accepted the job knowing how difficult he might be to handle.

  "That's what I'm here for," I said with flattened enthusiasm. "I should get back in and start prepping. It's already five."

  "Can't wait to see what you come up with!"

  I reentered the main level and for the first time noticed a mammoth art piece on the dining room wall. It's a strikingly contemporary piece, crafted from splattered paint in contrasting neons and blacks, a recreation of the billboard of Heath in Times Square.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After dinner, Heath left the house to meet up with some friends. He invited me, but I was as tired as I claimed I felt earlier that day and told him I'd much prefer to spend the night inside. I used the alone time in the house to finish setting up my room. One difference I quickly noticed between Heath and Brock was Heath's eagerness to include me in social activities, making it crystal clear he was okay with--no--encouraged me to mix business and pleasure. While Brock and I were close, it was usually within the walls of his condo. He had his celebrity friends, his girl-toys, and his parties. None of which I was a part of. It felt like Brock did that on purpose, like our relationship was something he didn
't want to taint with the outside world of celebrity debauchery.

  Heath, on the other hand, seemed to want me to delve into the mud pit with him.

  Dinner with Heath was actually okay. Besides the fact that he was getting non-stop phone calls from people who wanted to meet up with him that night (really fucking annoying), I made a variety of smaller dishes so he could tell me what flavors he preferred.

  I have to admit that I really couldn't stop staring at his face. Now, I found him to be insufferable and so I didn't want him, but his face, it was remarkable. You just had to admire its mathematical perfection. His eyes are a hazy blue, his nose straight with a small bump of the bridge, just enough to make what could be a weak nose appear masculine; his jawline is strong but not overbearing. He had the perfect amount of sunkiss on his face to make his eyes and dirty blond hair pop. Then his smile, it's like someone hooked up a lightswitch to his face. In a purely objective way, his face was fun to look at. Just like a sunset. I like to stare at sunsets, but it doesn't mean I want to hump them.

  After setting up my space, I became woozy and knew I had to call it quits. I had a very busy week ahead of me scrambling to plan this "emergency" party. I dozed off at about 10pm feeling like maybe I had been a little too harsh in judging Heath.

  ***

  The sound of a woman's laughter crept into my room. I tossed and turned a few times, but it only became louder as she came closer. Then I heard Heath mumble something and a loud SHHHH as they passed my room. I felt in the dark for my cell phone. 2:41 in the fucking morning.

  It's not your house Sadie. But one would think that maybe, just maybe he would have kept quiet knowing he now had a roomie whom, I might add, HE insisted live with him. I rolled over, turning my back to the bedroom door, as if that would make any difference. More giggling. I'm no voice recognition expert, but I was pretty sure this time it was another girl. Then I became certain as I heard her footsteps run past my door and her voice calling out "Heath! Heath! Are you two starting without me?"

  At that point I was up and pretty pissed. I am a big fan of sleeping and not a fan of dumb bitches screaming throughout a house in the middle of the night. I debated whether I should go ask them to pipe down (politely of course), but it was my first night with this new gig and I just wasn't comfortable enough to do so. I turned on the lamp on the nightstand and sat up sharply, frustrated by the lack of consideration. The cackling got even louder, and eventually I stopped hearing Heath's shushes.

  And then--hold onto to your asscheeks--music started blaring! They were having an all-out party. Maybe Heath had genuinely forgotten about me. I mean, that would be the only rational explanation for such assholedom. Finally, I figured I should just venture out and see what the party was all about. I slowly opened the door and poked my head out of the doorway. Underneath the loud hip-hop music I heard their stupid bitch-ass giggling coming from down the hall. I straightened out my hair, threw on a cardigan and slowly followed the sounds of debauchery to Heath's bedroom door, which was not wide open, but far wider than slightly ajar. I deliberated for a few more seconds if I should walk in or knock, but to my surprise I caught a glimpse of Heath's activities through a crack in the space between the door frame and the door.

  Heath was sitting on the edge of a chair while two naked girls, one brunette with a severe bob, and the other with long blond hair, were on their knees giving him a blow job! Yes, at the same time! All three were so engrossed in their sexual escapades that none seem to have felt my presence just beyond the half-opened door. I froze for a few moments, in total disbelief of what I was seeing. I mean, what the hell?

  How vile. How inconsiderate. How disgusting. And yet, I couldn't move. This dark hallway shielded me from visibility just enough so that I felt safe from being discovered. I was filled with revulsion, but at the same time, a deep sense of curiosity. Heath had to have known I could stumble into this room at any moment. In fact, the loud music almost guaranteed that.

  The blond girl stood up, walked to the bed, and bent over. While I could hear the rhythm of their voices, I could not make out what they were saying, but it didn't matter, because in seconds Heath was pounding her from behind. She yowled like a crow, her high-pitched, ear-raping voice carrying out over the heavy bass blaring from the surround sound. The brunette then slid in the bed in front of her, spread eagle, and bam! The blond started going down on her!

  WTF. I clasped one of my hands over my mouth in disbelief. Within seconds after seeing this, I decided I needed to go back to my room, if I got busted it would be tremendously awkward and I think I would have killed Heath on top of it all. Just then, the brunette crunched up while the blond was still munching between her legs, and squinted.

  Heath, I think someone is out there. I am almost certain I read that on her lips as she pointed to the door. I froze, afraid my movement would call more attention to me. Heath glanced over his shoulder, his taut butt flexing as he did so, and literally waved off her concern, getting back to the very important business at hand.

  Oh shit! Finally, my body agreed to make a move. My first instinct was to run but my socks on this slippery wood floor could backfire very badly, so I tip toed away as quickly as I could and quietly slipped back into my room, leaving one lamp on so I wouldn't be sitting in complete darkness.

  I didn't know what to do. It was way too late in the night to call anyone. What have I gotten myself into? He was exactly who I thought he was. The kind of guy who fucks a new girl every night, parties his ass off with no consideration for anyone but himself and yet he gets everything he wants. He gets to have it all just because he was born with a beautiful face. Suddenly, the music was turned down significantly, as if someone finally had the realization that it might make some sense to maybe not have the music on full tilt at three in the morning.

  My initial shock began to wear off and quickly morphed into rage. And just as the head of my rage thermometer was about to burst, the wailing starts again. Dear god, how long are these three going to be banging tonight? My anger diffused into laughter. Only I would find myself in such a situation. I am such a dick magnet. And I don't mean that in the way a guy means pussy magnet, I mean assholes gravitate towards me. I am a black hole for dicks...wait, that was a terrible choice of words, but you get my drift.

  Brock was different, but he had his ways too, which my distance from him was finally giving me the perspective to realize. He always went for the same type, the girl with the hair extensions, 20 pounds of makeup, a sequined mini dress two sizes too tight for her breast and ass implants and 6 inch stilettos. He used to joke that one day he would like to settle down with a girl like me, whatever that means (I assume a girl that doesn't have liters of silicone injected into her body so that he actually knows what type of gene pool he would be procreating with). Well hello! I AM a girl like me. The idea that these guys could go around fucking these Barbie types and put "girls like me" aside on some sort of shelf when they felt ready enraged me. And we all knew the truth: even when they plucked one of the "nice ones" off the shelf, that didn't mean they would truly give up the groupies.

  Men. They all disappoint.

  Don't get me wrong, I didn't want Brock, not even close. This was not a Kenny number two where I waited sheepishly for some man to tell me how much he needed me, but I couldn't deny there was maybe a little mutual attraction there early on. And quite frankly he was the only person in my life who I could even remotely compare to Heath. And sometimes I felt that even though I now saw Brock as platonic, in the back of his mind, he had put me on the metaphorical shelf.

  Eventually at approximately 3:35AM the never-ending sex marathon appeared to stop. I imagined them lying in a sexy tangle of long, tanned limbs and scattered sheets on his bed. I could only hope I wouldn't have to see those skanks in the morning.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  My alarm went off at 8:00 am, dropping like a sledge hammer onto my slumber. I didn't, of course, sleep well at all the night before. I threw on a pair of weathe
red pale blue skinny jeans and a loose-fitting sage-colored tank over a bralette. I twisted my hair up in a messy bun and hid the bags under my eyes with a pair of thick-rimmed Wayfarer glasses.

  I dragged myself down to the kitchen and pulled out the ingredients for Heath's breakfast, not that that twat-burglar would even wake up for the next five hours, but hey, this is why they pay me the big bucks. The house was soon filling with the aroma of onions sizzling on the skillet. And then I saw his feet (which were annoyingly perfect) slowly creeping down the stairs. As each step exposed a little more leg, I was sincerely terrified that he was going to emerge completely naked, but alas, he had on a pair of boxers hanging low off of his hips. I stopped my eyes from lingering on those fuck me lines that must be some sort of evolutionary mechanism to trigger thoughts of erect penises. When he was finally in full view, his eyes were squinty and his bed head was in full effect, much like the day we first met. He maintained a smirk as he walked over to the counter scratching his head. How the fuck can someone look so adorable upon just waking up?

  "Hey," he said groggily.

  "I'm surprised you're up so early," I said stoically.

  "Good food smells always wake me up," he said. Nice try, but the compliments won't work. "Hey, could you do me a solid and make a few extra servings? I have some guests over." They eat? I thought they subsisted on a steady diet of enemas, cigarettes, and ass-pussy.

  "Sure." I didn't make eye contact with him.

  "Something wrong?"

  "Nope. Actually, there is..." I could not let this slide. He tramples people, I could just tell that as soon as I met him. Just as I was about to blurt out my grievance, I saw legs as long as stilts coming down the stairs. And that stupid giggling, they were STILL doing that shit. Unlike Illy, at least these girls buttoned the shirts they borrowed from Heath. He raised his finger up so that I would hold my thought.