It is indeed sublime. The best bourbon I’ve ever tasted.
We drink as we talk, and the minute I finish my glass, Manning tries to pour more. “No thanks. Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Absolutely,” he says, “so I can take advantage of you.”
At this point he actually might be serious. It’s hard to tell. Trying to deflect his attempt, I laugh and say, “I have no intention of becoming number five hundred and one. Or higher, if you’ve had three or four more already today.”
“I can respect that. Now I guess I’ll never know if you look as stunning naked as you did in my dream, unless...”
“Unless what?” Do I really want to know what he has in mind?
“We could do the rest of the interview in the Jacuzzi.”
Now I can tell he’s definitely serious. “Drake, it would take more than one bourbon to get me out of my clothes.”
He immediately pours me another glass.
“You are relentless,” I say.
“For real, let’s do it. It’ll be fun.”
The thought of Drake Manning seeing me naked is equal parts thrilling and mortifying. I find it hard to believe he’s interested in seeing my body and assume he merely wants to park his cock in yet another woman. But even that sounds pretty damned good at the moment. Why not have a one-nighter with this hot guy? Then I think about ending up on the Drakecount site and the hit my reputation might take.
“That would be stupid on both of our parts,” I say. “Especially mine.”
“Think about it: You could be the journalist who interviewed me naked. It’ll get tremendous publicity. The Times can get a picture of me in my hot tub from the waist up, with my clothes in a pile behind me. ‘Drake Manning Finally Bares All!’”
This man sure knows how publicity works. I have to say, it’s an intriguing possibility. But I’m a professional journalist and I’m not going to strip for my interview subject.
“I dare you to let me see you naked, Allie Winters,” he says.
“I don’t do dares. Especially naked ones.”
We stare at each other for a few seconds. Remembering why I’m here in the first place, I say, “Besides, we both know you haven’t given me shit that I can use. Unless you cooperate, this interview is going to be exactly the same crap as all those others you used to do.”
“Come on, Allie. Loosen up a little. I promise I won’t attack you.”
At this point, the thought of him attacking me is an appealing idea and I have to stop myself from going there.
“We’re not lovers, Drake,” I say, “and we’re not going to be. So I’d be embarrassed to be naked in front of you.”
“There’s no need to be embarrassed. Nobody will know unless you decide to tell them.”
“I’m already embarrassed just thinking about it. Besides, you’ll know. And I don’t have a body like yours. The very thought of seeing you ogle my nude body scares the shit out of me.”
“We can blindfold you, then, so you don’t have to see me looking,” he says with a grin. When I look at him as if he’s lost his mind, he retreats by saying, “Just kidding. But seriously, sitting in the hot tub under the cool night sky doesn’t appeal to you?”
Trying to dodge the bullet, I say, “A hot tub sounds amazing, to be honest. But I’m not going skinny-dipping with you, and I obviously didn’t bring a swimsuit.”
“I have plenty of spare swimsuits in the pool house.” I give him a skeptical look. “Seriously, both men’s and women’s. I have lots of pool parties, and suits are often left behind. I just have them washed and store them out there in case someone needs one. There are dozens of them, all types and sizes.”
I stare at this gorgeous man and his equally gorgeous smile. It would definitely be nice to see him without a shirt on. But more importantly, how can I use this to my advantage?
“I’ll do it on one condition,” I say. He grins and waits for me to continue. “I’ll get in the hot tub with you – neither of us naked, of course – but you have to answer a half dozen questions honestly. No bullshit answers. Give me something I can actually use.”
He looks into my eyes. I’ve been around enough to know that look. Manning has plans to try to take this further. He’ll get me in a bathing suit and liquor me up, let the LA night work its magic on me, then the next thing you know I’ll be one of his conquests. My own plan, though, is to get what I need for the interview, then bail out before anything else happens.
“It’s a deal,” Drake says. “Six questions. Better make them good.” He hands me my tumbler and picks up his own. We clink glasses and I finish mine in a single gulp. If I’m going to wear a bathing suit in front of this man, I need liquid courage.
As he walks me past the eerily glowing pool, surrounded by a dozen or so huge palm trees, it occurs to me that sitting with Drake Manning in a hot tub is the kind of work that millions of women would love to be doing. The night really is beautiful – there’s something special about the Hollywood Hills in spring, when the nights are still cool. Steam rises from the huge nearby Jacuzzi. A cluster of outdoor furniture sits near the pool house, and Manning says I can change in there, then takes a seat and pours himself another bourbon. That’s right, Drake, I think, loosen up just a bit more.
His pool house is bigger than any bedroom I’ve ever had and includes a full bath. There’s a dresser, and I open a drawer to find the promised bathing suits. One by one I remove them and look them over. It takes a while, but I find one in my size. It’s a bikini, but it’s not too skimpy. I hold the top against myself and look in the mirror. This should do.
When I remove my clothes, though, something happens. I look at my naked body in the mirror and start thinking that it’s really not bad at all. Sure, it’s not perfect, but I do watch my weight and I like to think that I’m sexy in my own way. Getting naked with one of the world’s most eligible bachelors wouldn’t exactly be a terrible thing.
The wine and bourbon are doing their thing, but maybe too much so; I’m feeling braver than I should. When my eyes land on a navy blue silk scarf hanging next to the dresser, a plan hatches in my fevered brain. What if I were to walk out naked and blindfolded, like Manning said? Display my courage and my sense of humor, let him know I’m not a typical stuffy journalist. Then we can get in the Jacuzzi together, both naked like he wants – and even more importantly, both totally exposed. If I can’t get him to open up at that point, then there’s no hope. His idea of a naked interview might actually work in my favor.
“Everything okay in there, Allie?”
I jump and cover myself, then laugh at my foolishness. Maybe I’m not as brave as I think.
It’s time to decide: Can I really do this? Can I walk out there in front of Drake Manning with absolutely no clothing on? The bourbon tells me I can, and tricks me by convincing me this is for the sake of work. I look at my naked body in the mirror one more time, then decide to go for it.
“Almost ready,” I say, raising my voice so he can hear me. “I have a little surprise for you.”
I take a couple of minutes to properly psych myself up. I’m thankful that I’d waxed just a few days earlier and was perfectly smooth from the waist down. I put the bathing suit away and pick up the scarf, folding it to make a blindfold. I place it over my eyes and tie it tightly behind my head.
Feeling brave and also pretty damn anxious, I feel my way to the door of the pool house. I can’t see a damn thing and can’t believe I’m actually going to do this.
“I’m coming out,” I say. I need him to be looking when I walk out. I want to shock the famous Drake Manning.
“Okay,” he says. Something about his voice sounds odd, but I’m committed now.
I take a breath – it’s now or never. You can do this, Allie. It’s all for the interview.
I open the door and tentatively step out into the cool night air. The concrete feels warm beneath my bare feet and my heart is beating like a drum. I take a few steps toward where I remember the
pool furniture being and can feel his eyes on me.
“You didn’t think I’d do it, did you?” I ask, laughing as I put my hands on my hips.
There’s no response at all, just the sound of the breeze blowing through the nearby palm fronds. My nipples stiffen.
“Drake?”
Not a sound.
Then I hear a snicker. That jerk.
“You’re not funny,” I say.
I lift the blindfold over one eye to peek out and am startled to see three strange men, all sitting there staring right at me. There’s a very tall black man, a massive weightlifter type with a shaved head, and a normal-sized guy – all ogling my nude body.
They burst out laughing simultaneously, and I scream and run back into the pool house.
What the fuck? I think. Who are those guys and why are they here? Where the hell is Manning?
“Sorry,” someone says. “We didn’t mean to laugh. We just weren’t expecting that.”
Shaking like a leaf, I quickly get dressed while mentally berating myself for being so foolish. What the hell was I thinking? I just want to get out of here as fast as possible, but I have to assume Manning knows those men and I can’t afford to be rude and alienate him. I’ll have to just roll with this as best I can. After all, it’s my own damn fault. There’s still enough residual courage in me to get through this. I finish putting my clothes back on and walk outside, my face still beet red.
The three men are still there, but Manning is nowhere to be seen. All of them stand when I walk out. They begin to apologize profusely, but before I can even say anything Drake walks up, three more glasses in his hand.
“I see you met the guys,” he says. “I totally forgot I told them to come by tonight to meet you.”
I blush all over again. “Well, they met me,” I say. “Sort of.”
“You didn’t find a bathing suit?” Manning asks.
Someone stifles a laugh, then each of them introduces himself. The black guy, Marcus, is even taller than I thought. He’s easily six foot eight or more, and thinner than Manning but still muscular. His head is shaved and he has no facial hair to detract from his smooth look, and something about him is familiar. I know I’ve seen him before. The big guy is named Link, and he’s just plain huge; well over six feet tall and as wide as a door. His biceps are as big as some people’s thighs, with tattoos covering both arms, and his head is also shaved. He doesn’t smile much, either. The last man I meet is Mason, and he’s a few inches shorter than the others, but still much taller than my own five-seven. He’s got more of an average build than the others. With his short medium brown hair and chiseled face, Mason is handsome enough to be a male model. He’s got an intense confidence about him. I get the feeling all of these guys are players just like Manning is. Women can sense that in a guy.
“Allie and I were just about to get in the hot tub,” Drake says, and everyone seems to be fighting back smiles. Manning knows something up. “What? What did I miss?” The guys all laugh at the same time, and I can’t help but grin.
I tell him what happened, blushing yet again as I briefly recount the event. His eyes get big and he says, “And nobody got pictures?” I punch him on the arm, surprised at how little give there is to his flesh.
They all decide that getting in the hot tub sounds like a great idea, and I initially think it’s time for me to leave. Though I didn’t get to ask Manning my six questions, I feel pretty comfortable he’ll agree to meet me later for that purpose, especially considering the peep show I accidentally gave his friends. Then it dawns on me that sitting with these men in a Jacuzzi might be the perfect stealth way for me to gather information about my subject. Just chill with them for a while and let them talk. I’ll certainly learn more about Manning than I’ve uncovered on my own to this point.
When they ask if I want to join them, I say, “Sure – but in a bathing suit this time.”
I return to the pool house once again and change into the suit I’d found earlier. It’s yellow and orange and actually fits me well. It’s not too revealing and looks cute. It nicely shows off my big breasts and curvy hips without looking slutty.
I feel surprisingly comfortable as I approach the hot tub. The men are all already in the water, bourbons in hand. I’m hoping they’re in their underwear or borrowed swim trunks or shorts, but I can’t see anything under the water because the jets are too strong – it’s all bubbles down there. I dismiss the thought as silly, then smile at Manning and catch him staring at my body as I walk down the steps into the roiling water. It feels amazing, my body being caressed by the warm jet streams while my head remains in the crisp night air.
Manning apparently played golf with these men earlier in the afternoon and told them about the woman who was interviewing him for the Times. It’s unclear whether he asked them to stop by or they insisted on coming, but either possibility seems strange, and I can’t help but wonder what he told them about me.
We all sit with our heads poking out of the water as I rather artfully ask questions that sound like I’m just curious about their friendships, but are actually designed to further my knowledge of Drake Manning. I’m in a corner of the Jacuzzi, surrounded by four gorgeous, partially naked men, and I have a buzz. Some professional journalist I am.
“So how do you boys know each other?” I prod.
“Drake and I were boyhood friends,” Mason says. “Then we met Link at college.”
That left out Marcus. I turn to him expectantly, but before he can provide an answer, Drake speaks up.
“I met Marcus when he sat in my lap one night. I was instantly smitten, so I introduced him to these other reprobates.”
They all laugh and Marcus nods his head, feigning shame. “I was chasing a ball out of bounds and Drake was sitting courtside. Fate, and a missed three-pointer, brought us together.”
Of course. That’s where I’ve seen him before. Marcus Jennings is a star basketball player for the either the Lakers or Clippers – I can’t remember which. Probably anyone else in town would have known this immediately, but I’m not exactly a sports fan. I keep that to myself, though.
I learn that Mason is the founder of Media Arts Unlimited, one of the most hottest mid-size talent agencies in town. He personally handles only MAU’s A-list clients, including both Manning and Jennings.
“And what do you do, Link?” I ask. When he replies that he’s in personal security, I ask, “So you can protect me from these three menaces?”
That gets a laugh, then I turn beet red when Link gets an even bigger one by replying in that deep, gravelly voice, “I’d be happy to. Somebody needs to make sure nothing happens to those beautiful tits.”
As I feel myself flush, Drake catches me by surprise by abruptly changing the subject from my body.
“Allie, you may be the first woman who’s ever survived twenty minutes in a hot tub with the Hollywood Bad Boys Club.”
“The what?” I ask. I have no recorder with me and am furiously trying to take mental notes of all this, despite my alcohol buzz and the serene feeling imparted by the hot bubbles coursing over my body. As I wait for a response, I realize how blissfully content I feel at this moment.
The explanation I get from Mason is that these four man-boys have formed what they call the Hollywood Bad Boys Club, and have all vowed to remain bachelors.
When I ask why they want to remain single, there’s talk about career and wanting to be certain and how they have time for that later when they’re older. It’s Manning himself who divulges the real reason, though: “Forgive my honesty, but there’s just way too much ridiculously fine pussy in this town, and we don’t want to stop until we’ve had it all.” A glance at their faces confirms it. Manning raises his glass and says, “Here’s to perpetual bachelorhood!”
“And perpetual pussy,” I say, lifting my glass while adding, “for those who are into that.” They all laugh, then raises their glasses to toast.
When I turn back to Manning, he’s giving me a look that c
learly says, “… and you’re next.”
I hold his gaze while say to the others, “Tell me something about Drake that I probably don’t know.”
Manning smirks at me, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Beads of water have formed on his face and he’s looking at me like he’d love to fuck me right here and now. I feel my stomach tighten as I refuse to look away until I can no longer stand the tension.
The men tell story after story and before long, a fuller picture of Manning emerges. He’s definitely a player – they all are – but I already knew that about him. I learn about other aspects of him, with each of the men revealing something new, peeling back the layers of the onion little by little.
Link talks about how Manning volunteers his time at the Special Olympics every year, and Marcus discloses that he knows he can always count on Manning to help him with any charity event, often with no advance warning.
“If he’s not on location, he’ll be there,” Marcus says.
Mason decides it’s time to interrupt. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. Let’s not get carried away praising this asshole. Don’t forget the bumblebee thing.”
“Shut up, Mason,” Manning says. “She doesn’t need to know about that.”
Well, now I have to know. “What? Tell me!”
Mason waves off Manning’s glare and explains. “Drake is terrified of bumblebees. It’s like a true phobia for him. If he sees one anywhere near him, he shrieks like a little girl.”
They’re all laughing now as I turn back to Manning. He nods his head. “It’s true. I got stung by one when I was a little kid and I’ve despised those little fuckers ever since.”
This is all great stuff, and I’m pretty sure I can still meet with Manning at another time to ask him the specific questions I have, since it would be rude to attempt to resume the actual interview with his friends around. The men drink bourbon as they talk, but I go easy with mine in an attempt to keep my wits.
At one point, Mason, who I’ve learned helped to arrange the interview for the Times Magazine, says, “I have to take a leak,” and suddenly climbs out of the hot tub. I’m stunned to see that he’s naked, his cock on full display as he unashamedly walks to the pool house.
Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 1: Drake Page 5