“What did you do?” I ask, unable to fathom being in such circumstances at that age.
“I moved in with Mason’s family down the street. He was also an only child and I was already like a second son to his parents because I was over there so much. I was there for about two years, then when I graduated high school, I went to college for a year. I ran out of money, so I quit and worked a series of construction jobs for a while before leaving for Los Angeles, determined to become an actor.”
I’m literally speechless at his tale. We walk for a bit in silence until I say, “I’ve never heard this story. Have you ever told anyone in the press about your parents?”
“No, I changed my name when I got to Hollywood, and nobody’s managed to track down my real name.”
I stop in my tracks and stare in surprise at this man, stunned that he’s decided to open up to me and even more shocked that he’s not really Drake Manning.
He senses my unasked question and says, “Edward James Drake, Jr. I was Eddie to my friends.”
Still rooted to my spot on the walking path, I ask, “Can I use this in the interview? You don’t mind?” I can’t imagine not using it, since it came out of his mouth in response to a direct question, but I feel compelled to be certain he’s okay with this information being public.
“Sure, Mason told me I need to be more accessible. And it would have come out sooner or later. I trust you to present it in the right light.”
Something about him trusting me feels good.
“My turn now,” he says, and I fear the worst. “When did you lose your virginity? And what’s the story behind it?”
“Two questions!” I say, getting a laugh in return. “Okay, okay. I was seventeen, and he was a football player. We were in the back seat of his mom’s Corolla.” Manning is looking at me for more detail. “It wasn’t great, but I was madly in love. I never got anywhere close to an orgasm, but he had two in fifteen minutes. I thought he’d become my boyfriend, but a week later he was dating a cheerleader.”
That seems to satisfy his curiosity, so I move to my second question: “Who was the first girl you ever kissed?”
I could swear he’s blushing ever so slightly. “I can’t give you her name,” he says.
“You don’t want the poor girl to be inundated by the press?” I ask.
“No, I never knew her name.”
I look at him quizzically and he elaborates. “It was at a massage parlor. Went there with some buddies one day. I honestly thought we were just getting legit massages. As it turns out, I would have gotten my first blowjob if I hadn’t shot my load while she was massaging my thighs. I was mortified, but she thought it was so cute she gave me a kiss. Tongue and everything.”
“This was during high school?” I ask.
“No, it was during my year at college.”
I’m now staring at him in utter disbelief. “You’re bullshitting me, aren’t you? Great prank, Drake. You had me.”
“I’m totally serious.”
“So you’re telling me that Drake Manning, the man of five hundred lovers, never even kissed a girl until he was almost out of his teens?”
There’s that smile again. I honestly don’t know if he’s fucking with me or not. I press him. “You were a never-been-kissed virgin all through high school?” My tone of voice conveys my doubt.
“I was a chubby kid, with glasses, bad skin and bad teeth. Supremely dorky.”
I’m not sure whether or not to believe him. “But how…?” What’s the right way to finish this question? But how is it possible that such a gorgeous man started out as an ugly duckling? As I’m trying to navigate my way through, Manning answers my unasked query.
“I started lifting weights after I dropped out of college. That led to a healthier diet, and my skin cleared up once I stopped eating shitty food. I got contacts. And I used some of my construction work money to get braces. Little by little, the dorkiness disappeared and women started noticing. Especially my body.”
I’m honestly stunned by the revelation. “Was it painful?” I ask. “Being ignored?”
“It’s not fun, but you get used to it if you think that’s all you’re getting out of life. Okay, I answered honestly,” he says. “It’s my turn now.” I nod, putting a mental pin in the concept of People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive of 2011, 2014 and 2015 not getting cheerleader tail right and left in high school.
“Have you ever had a threesome?” he asks. The focus his one-track mind shows is impressive.
“Yes, a former boyfriend and another woman.” Johnny the rock singer had talked me into it.
Manning is looking at me eagerly. I know exactly what he’s thinking, so I don’t play coy.
“Yes, I did,” I tell him, “because he specifically wanted to watch me do that.” He’s still looking and it makes me laugh.
“Would you do it again? Be with another woman?” he asks.
“I’m not sure. It wasn’t bad. I’m much more into men, but in the right situation I might.”
“Please let me know when that happens, because I simply have to see that,” he says.
I’m pretty sure his impression of me just changed a little. I’ve nearly told anyone that I went down on another woman. It only happened that once and I didn’t think about it much afterward, but part of me wants to titillate Manning, to make him think I’m more of a badass than I actually am.
For my third question, I ask him how he feels about people who see him only as The Body and ignore his acting skills. He responds with an answer that says a lot of nothing. My fault for not asking a better question, I suppose.
“Next?” I ask.
“Are you a member of the mile-high club?”
“No.”
That was easy.
“We could remedy that,” he says. “I have my own jet.”
“First things first, like this interview.” Jesus, he never quits trying to pull me in that direction. It’s flattering, but I keep thinking about the other five hundred women and how quickly he disposed of them afterward. “Next question: Give me one female co-star you hated working with.”
Manning doesn’t even have to think. “Sorcha Keenan.”
I’m surprised because Keenan’s name was listed on the Drakecount website. “Why?” I ask.
He sighs, then says, “Okay, I promised to be honest with you, so here goes: I wanted to fuck Sorcha, even while we were still shooting the movie. She was just out of a relationship and let me know she wasn’t interested in me in that way, that she’d prefer we remain friends. Well, I don’t do so well with women friends.”
I can sense the pain in his voice.
“When Sorcha refused to have sex with me, I acted immaturely. You know that famous scene where she’s full frontal and I’m also totally nude, but shot from behind? Well, I had the great idea not to wear the modesty pouch like I was supposed to – you know, it’s a little sock that hides your junk. And I mentally worked myself into a state of arousal so that when she pulled my towel off, I had a raging hard-on. Due to the angle of the shot, the crew had no idea what was going on. Sorcha barely flinched, then continued with the scene, having to hug me like that. We filmed another thirty seconds with my hard cock twitching against her stomach. And she did such an amazing take that the director didn’t bother shooting it a second time.
Afterward, she pretended nothing had happened, but kissed me on the cheek and whispered, ‘You’re an asshole and I’ll never work with you again.’ Anyway, it was a stupid thing to do and could have hurt my career if word got out about it, but Sorcha was kind enough never to mention it. I’m still grateful that she took the high road. But the rest of that shoot was agony, as was the press tour afterward, when we had to pretend like everything was fine between us.”
“I’m guessing you’d rather I not print that?” I ask.
He mulls it over, then says, “Yeah, I’d prefer nobody know about that. Just say I continued to try to hook up with Sorcha after she told me she wasn’t int
erested. And that I now understand I crossed a line.”
“Do you think—“
“Don’t make me seem too wimpy about it, though,” he says. “I have a reputation to maintain. I’m not sure why I told you.”
“Because you promised to be honest with me.” I sense that he’s about to go into a funk, so I try to lighten the mood. “And because I tried to show you my naked body last night.”
When he laughs, I slip in a follow-up question. “Speaking of nudity, actresses are asked to do nude scenes all the time. That’s very unfair, to require women to do something men are reluctant, or even afraid, to do. Would you do a nude scene if asked?” Let’s see how much he believes in equal rights.
“I’m guessing you mean full-frontal, right? Because I’m shirtless in movies all the time, and have even shown my ass twice.”
“Really? I’ll have to rent those two films,” I say, only half kidding.
Manning stops and turns his back to me, then before I can say anything he pulls his sweats down, exposing his bare ass. In the split second that I can’t help but look, I see how glorious it is. Then I swat him on the arm.
“You pervert! Exposing yourself to girls in the park!”
“You said you wanted to see it.”
“In the movie! Now answer my question.”
“It depends,” he says. “It would have to be the right role, for the right reasons. But yeah, I would probably show my cock to the world.”
I look down so he won’t see my reaction to hearing him say that word. It doesn’t matter, though, because when I say, “Your question,” he comes right back to it.
“What did you think last night on my driveway when you realized I had a hard-on?”
Again I stop walking and look at him, amused by his brazen attempts to steer everything back to sex. Before I can answer, he adds, “That’s my question, and you have to answer honestly.”
I stare blankly and he says, “You did realize you’d given me a boner, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I realized it, Drake. It was impossible not to notice,” I say, fumbling for words. “Let’s just say that when it happened, I thought you must be enjoying that kiss as much as I was.”
Quickly changing the subject, I say, “My turn now. Here’s one for your countless female fans: Describe your perfect woman.”
It occurs to me that I’m actually enjoying this give-and-take with Manning. Hell, I’ve enjoyed every moment I’ve spent with him thus far. He’s an arrogant prick, certainly, but engaging and fun.
“If you had asked me a few days ago, I would have told you I like stupid young blondes with sexy tight gym bodies. That’s most of what you meet in this town, and I’ve always thought those types are better for fucking.”
Then he looks right at me and says, “Now I’m not so sure. I kind of like having a woman who can hold my interest with her brains.”
Is he talking about me? “So now you like smart skinny women?” I ask.
“I am currently reassessing what makes a woman perfect,” he says.
I’m determined not to let him off the hook. “So in Drake Manning’s world, a woman doesn’t necessarily have to be skinny to be fuckable?”
Manning knows I have him pinned. He squirms, reaching for the right thing to say.
“Would you call yourself skinny?” he asks.
“Hardly.”
“Well I’m dying to fuck you.”
I feel my breath catch in my throat. “The question wasn’t about you and me, Drake. It was about you and other women.”
“There are no other women at the moment,” he says. “And you’re dying to fuck me, too, aren’t you?”
I laugh at the absurdity of there being “no other women.” It’s ludicrous on so many levels, and such an obvious player’s line.
“Answer the question, Allie,” he says. “Honestly, as per our agreement.”
“What question?” I honestly don’t remember hearing one.
Before I can react, his arms are around my waist and he’s pulling me into him. His lips touch mine and I find myself in the middle of another of those amazing kisses. This time I slide my hands behind his neck and give in fully. Goddamn, this man smells so sexy, so masculine. My pulse races and our tongues seem to match each other perfectly. I actually feel a twinge of sadness when he finally pulls away to look into my eyes.
“Aren’t you dying to fuck me, too?” His arms are still wrapped around me, and my hands slide down to rest on his rock-hard biceps.
We have a brief stare-down. Dammit, why is this man so ridiculously attractive?
“I wouldn’t say I’m dying to,” I say. “But, yes, I have entertained the thought.” Entertained the thought? I can’t seem to get it out of my head! My breasts are pressing against his chest again, a feeling I could definitely get used to.
“Let’s go get in my bed,” he says.
“No,” I say, my stomach suddenly tight. “Not until I write this piece. I can’t have that between us.”
“I leave for Rome tomorrow.”
“Are you afraid if you don’t get me in your bed now, I’ll change my mind?” I ask. Actually, I very well might. Give me a few days away from Drake Manning to catch my breath and let my body stop tingling, and I could very well decide sleeping with him is a very bad idea.
“Maybe,” he says. “Show me your tits.”
What the hell?
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me, let me see them.”
For the first time, I think I can actually feel his smile between my legs. “And why would I do that?”
“Because my friends saw them and told me how amazing they are, and I’m jealous that I didn’t get to see them.” When he sees my nonplussed reaction, he says, “And because I want to have a mental image of you to take with me to Rome, something insanely hot I can think about when I’m jerking off until you finish the interview and fly out to meet me there.”
“Am I supposed to think there won’t be a line of skinny, dumb Italian women waiting to bed you?”
He knows I’m right. “Allie, you’re killing me. Don’t you—“
“Shut up and kiss me again, Drake.”
He does, and it’s as delicious as the first two. Maybe even better.
9
Drake
Damn, this chick can kiss. Usually for me, a kiss is merely a quick prelude to a woman dropping to her knees to put my dick in her mouth. This time, though, I’m in no hurry to get there.
“I should go,” she says, pulling back. I sense her will evaporating and am confident I’ll be inside of her soon. I keep my arms around her waist and look down at her. I’m surprised to notice those dark brown eyes hint at a depth behind them I’m not accustomed to.
“Please,” I say. The word sounds strange coming off my tongue. I don’t remember the last time I needed to use it with a woman.
“Please what?” she asks.
Unlike most women, she didn’t simply open her shirt and show me her tits the first time I asked. It’s refreshing that she’s holding back. I take her reluctance as a personal challenge and give her the smile, tinged with horny desperation. Though to be honest, it’s not an act this time.
“Let me see them.” If I can get her to do this, I’ll know I have her.
She looks at me and I can feel her resistance breaking. Allie looks around the little park and sees only a couple of old people who aren’t even paying attention to us. She takes a breath and I know she’s about to fold.
“Not here,” she says.
She walks toward her car and I follow, my suddenly plump cock visible under my sweats. It goes unnoticed as she reaches the little Fiat and opens the door, then sits sideways in the driver’s seat, her legs peeking out from under her skirt. I move in front of her, blocking the view of anyone who may pass by.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she says. “I must be crazy.”
Looking up at me, Allie seems to be checking for a reprieve, a stay of sentence.
She’ll get none from me, though. Once she shows me those tits, she’s as good as mine.
“You better think about these until I see you again,” she says. Then she reaches for the bottom of her shirt and lifts it up. At first, I see only a stomach with a sexy little roll on it, then a black bra. Just when I think she’ll stop there, her fingers find the bra and lift it up as well.
I get maybe five seconds of the most amazing tits I’ve ever seen. The guys weren’t kidding. They’re large and beautifully shaped and positioned – not too high, not too low – with perfect-size rose-colored nipples that rapidly grow taut as I stare. It’s all I can do not to put my hands all over them.
Then she quickly lowers her bra and shirt. “Show’s over,” she says as she adjusts herself. “Happy now?”
Before I can answer, she sees my suddenly erect cock pushing against the front of my sweats a foot or two from her eyes. For a split second, I even think she might reach for it.
“Really, Drake?” she says. “Seriously, are you like that all the time?” She’s trying to be nonchalant about it, but there’s no way this chick isn’t as horny as I am right now. What has just taken place between us was hot, from the conversation in the park to her flashing me and giving me a boner.
“For some reason, I seem to be when I’m with you,” I say as she looks away.
“I have to go,” she says quickly. “Thanks for… well, for being you, I guess.” It sounds like a compliment, only not exactly. She tucks her legs into the car and pulls on the door handle, but I’m standing in the way.
“One more kiss,” I say. “Since I won’t see you for a while.”
She looks up, past my still-hard cock and into my eyes. She seems torn, undecided exactly how she should feel about me. “Yeah, what’s the story there?” she asks. “Will I really see you again? I don’t go around flashing just anyone, you know.”
“As soon as you turn in that article, fly to Rome and meet me. I’ll send my jet back for you.” That would be a difficult sales pitch for any woman to turn down. She nods and tries to shut the door again, but I stand my ground. “One more kiss.”
Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 1: Drake Page 7