Confessions of a Bad Boy (7 page)

“Hey!” Jessie smiles, inserting herself between me and Will, effectively cutting off my explanation.

“Jessie! What are you doing here?”

“I was just out for a run and dropped by your office to see you. The receptionist told me you’d be here,” she says, before turning to notice Will. “Hey! You’re the guy who used to be on that goofy kid’s show!”

“That’s not its official name,” Will drones. “But yes.”

“Wow. I think every girl in my high school had your picture up in their locker.”

“Did you?” Will says, leaning in a little.

“No way! Your hair looked like roadkill in that show. I had much better taste than that – no offense.”

I tense up a little, knowing how sensitive he is about his teen idol days. But instead of getting offended, Will just throws his head back and laughs. “None taken. I said the same thing to the set hairdresser.”

Jessie grins. “You look much better now.”

“Thank you. I must say, the ‘hot and sweaty’ look suits you as well.”

“Hold on,” I say, interrupting the exchange before I start cringing too much to talk. “You ran all the way here from my office?”

“Well…” Jessie says, drawing the word out and glancing at Will quickly as if to say ‘let’s talk in private.’

“He’s cool,” I say.

“I’m very cool, you should get to know—” Will says, before I raise a hand to stop him.

“I wanted to pay you back,” Jessie says uncomfortably, pulling out some folded dollars from the arm band that her phone’s attached to, “for the…um…bail money. I got paid, so…”

“Come on,” I say, pushing her hand away. “It’s cool. Forget it.”

“No way, Nate. I don’t work sixteen-hour days to have someone else pay my way. I’m leaving the money here,” she says, putting the money on the bar. “You can take it or leave it.”

“A woman of principle,” Will says. “I like it.”

“Okay,” I sigh, peeling a bill from the crumpled-up and sweaty twenties. “But let me get you a drink at least.”

She smiles but then shakes her head. “I shouldn’t be drinking in the middle of a run.”

“I’ll bet you do a lot of things you shouldn’t do,” Will says, his eyes still scrolling Jessie’s body like he’s reading small print off it.

“What happened to the English being reserved?” I say, as the bartender takes the bill and replaces our beers.

Will grins. “That was always a myth – much like that of Americans being unfit,” he says, looking at Jessie’s toned waist as he does so.

“
Anyway
,” Jessie says, turning her head towards me. “I just wanted to say thanks a lot, Nate. I owe you one.”

Then, all of a sudden, it clicks. She
does
owe me one. I turn to Jessie with determined eyes.

“Come with me to a work retreat this weekend. My boss already thinks you’re Tessa.”

There’s a split-second pause.

“Wait. You’re saying this is the same girl?” Will says, incredulous. I nod.

Will starts laughing so hard he has to stop himself from spitting beer all over the place. I clench my jaw and start preparing arguments in my favor.

But Jessie’s already got her arms crossed over her chest, shaking her head no.

“Hear me out, Jessie. My boss invited me to a big gathering this weekend – Hollywood types, decision-makers, that kind of thing. It’s a big deal. Thing is, he wants you – I mean, my girlfriend – I mean, the fake girlfriend I made up – to come along. I need Tessa to be there, and you’re the only one who can do it, Jessie.”

“This is too good!” Will says, raising his bottle like it’s a cup of tea. “Positively Wildean!”

“You want me to pretend to be Tessa for an entire weekend?”

“Don’t think of it as an ‘entire’ weekend, think of it as ‘just’ a weekend. Two days, and it’ll be over before you know it.”

Jessie looks at me with an expression that says she’s wondering if I’m actually crazy, or just plain pitiful.

“Not a chance in hell, Nate. You’ve got plenty of ‘enablers’ around you already,” she says, glancing sideways at Will. “I’m not going to help you maintain whatever scam you’ve got going.”

“It’s not a scam, Jessie. Come on...”

She shakes her head again as she steps backwards away from the bar. “Here’s an idea: Try being honest, Nate. Tell your boss you made the whole thing up. He’ll respect you more for it, and you won’t have to lie anymore. Maybe you guys will even laugh about it together.”

I feel the blood drain out of my face, imagining just how well that’d go over.

Jessie goes on, “Thank you again for bailing me out, but I’m gonna have to say no on the whole ‘pretending to be your devoted wife while you sweet-talk a bunch of old dudes into promoting you’ thing. Sorry.”

She turns quickly and starts making for the exit.

“Jessie!” I call out.

She waves behind her, and a second later is gone. I slump over the bar in defeat.

“She seemed sparky,” Will says, sympathetically. “Probably could have even pulled it off with her.”

“Yeah,” I say, raising my head and narrowing my eyes.

“Sorry, buddy.”

“Don’t be,” I reply, “I’m not giving up on her that easily.”

Y
ou can tell
the pecking order on a set by the order in which people leave. Terry, Dominique, and Pablo – the lead actors on the show – pretty much disappear the second the director yells cut on their final scheduled scene. Soon after that, the director, script supervisor, and camera operators finish up and head home. An hour after that, the grips, sound, and electric departments go. Then it’s down to just the costume department and assistant director trailer full of exhausted PAs collecting the last of the day’s walkie-talkies and time sheets – all of us left behind to hustle for however long it takes to tidy the mess everyone else made and set things up for the next day’s shoot.

It’s dark by the time I hang the last business suit on the rack, pick up my bag and leave the studio lot, waving goodbye to the workmen smoking a joint before they finish up themselves. I pull out my phone as I walk towards the bus station – I gave up taking my car to work when the days got so long that I was half-asleep every time I got behind the wheel. Working too hard might end up killing me, but I’d prefer it didn’t happen when I was driving home.

The second I look at my phone I almost stop walking – it’s packed with missed calls and messages. The ones from my ex-boyfriend I delete without even reading, but there are still plenty left from Nate. I read the texts until I get to the bus stop, then board a bus and occupy myself by listening to his voicemail messages – each plea more desperate than the last.

Even after what feels like thirty minutes’ worth of begging (I can almost hear him falling to his knees) the whole idea still feels like a bad sitcom script. I quickly type back.

You’re deluded. How would that even work? There’s no

The bus pulls in at my stop and I delete the message, get up, and storm down the aisle and out the door. Then I walk the few blocks to my apartment, and as the sheer craziness of Nate’s plan begins to fade, it leaves behind a strange sad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Ten years ago I would have chewed my own arm off to have Nate begging me for…well, anything. I had a crush on him the size of the moon – and about as difficult to try and hide. How could I not? Between the ages of twelve and eighteen every girl I met was obsessed with him. I’m sure half of them were only talking to me in the first place as a stepping stone.

It happened in an instant, a flash of lightning that changed everything. I was thirteen, Kyle and Nate were both almost eighteen. We were heading to the beach for the first time that summer, desperate for a little sun and sea after the stuffiness of school. Nate was his usual self on the way there; funny, kind, upbeat – but the second he took his shirt off something exploded inside of me, and I spent the rest of my teenage years picking up the pieces. Maybe it was just my way of hitting puberty, or maybe it was the fact that he’d developed the rock-hard abs and sleek biceps that would haunt my dreams for years afterwards.

It didn’t help that he was always around, hanging out with us and unafraid to pick me up and throw me around the room for a laugh. It’s hard enough to get by when you’re obsessed with someone, but it’s fucking torture when you spend almost every day with them. The first time I kissed a guy I imagined it was Nate, and I’d discreetly judge the dates and boyfriends I had afterwards by his standards.

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.”