Filmed: An Alpha Bad Boy Romance (City Series Book 3)

“N
oah, come back to bed.”

I paused outside of the bathroom and looked over my shoulder at the blonde through an early-morning hangover, her hair doused in weak dawn light, and I had no clue what her name was. Jackie? Jessa? It was something with a “J,” at least. Déjà vu flooded through me, and I had to physically shrug it off. I grunted at her softly, hoping she’d understand what I meant, stumbled toward my toilet, and began pissing for what seemed like ten minutes. I could practically feel the toxins flushing out of my body, and it felt horrible.

It was the same way I had started the morning nearly every day for the past few months. There was almost always some strange chick in my bed and my head always felt like a truck was driving around in it.

The night before, after the grand opening of the new student movie theater my father had purchased for Temple’s campus, I had gone out with my coworkers to a club in south Philly. Everything was on my dad, of course, and we overindulged: shot after shot, beer after beer, and eventually I found myself hitting on what’s-her-name.

Like every other vapid club slut I met, she was easy to draw in as soon as she figured out who my father was. I hated playing that card, but I was too drunk and too tired and she was too boring to give her an ounce of real effort. One thing led to another, and we were in a cab, blondie’s hands all over my hard cock, my friends left back at the club.

Things got a little hazy after that, but I did have a distinct memory of her big, firm tits bouncing while she rode my dick.

“Noah, what are you doing?” she called out, sounding impatient.

I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, self-loathing melting off my body in thick waves. My skin looked pale, I had heavy bags under my eyes, and my hair was a mess. Frankly, I didn’t think I had ever felt so terrible in my entire life, and it wasn’t just the hangover. I was sick; sick to death of the emptiness, of the cash and the fame that came with it, and of my father’s unceasing need to control everything I did. I was sick and drowning at the same time. I knew I needed something new, some change to pull me from whatever ocean I was barely treading water in, but I had no idea what that change was or how I’d find it.

Blondie said something again, but I ignored her. Most girls didn’t last more than a night. Some made it through breakfast, but none had ever gotten a call the next day. It wasn’t my style. They understood what I wanted, and they went for it anyway on the insane off chance that I’d fall in love with them or something. They were deluded and I didn’t care. I made no promises.

I sighed, rinsing my mouth out with cold water, spitting it down the drain. The theater was the only decent thing in my life. For the first time ever, I had a place that I felt like I belonged, even if it was populated with some of the biggest weirdos I knew. But those weirdos were the only people in the world who gave a shit about me, except for maybe Ellie.

I turned and looked back into the bedroom, at the clothes scattered around the floor and, most importantly, at the gorgeous pair of perky, firm breasts and lean, tan skin perched on its hands and knees, staring at me hungrily. For a second, all I could see was another way to hide myself in plain sight.

When everybody thought they knew you, it was easy to give them what they wanted. It was easy to camouflage yourself with their expectations, and that’s exactly what I did. Noah Carterson, the asshole playboy, who fucked as many women as he could and spent his money recklessly, was empty and pointless.

Maybe there was some truth to that, but it wasn’t how I saw myself. It wasn’t who I was. Although, truthfully, sometimes the lies bled into my reality, and I couldn’t tell where the rumors ended and where myself began. But it was easier that way. It was easier to push everything else away, and to give everyone what they expected.

I wasn’t a good person.

I didn’t care what I had done. I wasn’t a good person.

“There you are,” blondie said, smiling softly. I could tell exactly what her look meant and, although I had class pretty soon, it was tempting. I wasn’t in the mood, but it was tempting.

As much as I didn’t feel like it, my cock began to stir.

But I knew what she really wanted. It was the same thing every other girl before her had wanted, what they always wanted. She wanted a shot at my dad’s movies and at my money. She wanted to try and bleed me dry, and she was willing to put out as much as she needed to get it. She didn’t care about me or who I was, and for the most part, that suited me just fine.

I didn’t care about her, either.

She crawled forward and reached out, stroking my dick through my tight cotton briefs, her thick hair spilling down around her face in soft curls. Her full lips pouted, and another memory came flooding back: blondie moaning softly as she wrapped her lips around my hard cock.

I grunted again, grinning. I decided class could wait as she slowly slipped my briefs down and firmly grasped my dick in one hand, looking at it like it was the most important thing she had ever touched.

Maybe she did care about one part of me, at least.

I
t was not love at first sight. It was more like loathe.

In movies, the meet cute happens when the main girl meets the main boy, usually in some crazy circumstance that leaves them both reeling.

In the movies, the main guy is always handsome and charming, maybe slightly goofy, maybe emotionally immature, but always good at heart.

I didn’t live in the movies. Noah Carterson was not goofy, far from it. He was probably good at heart, although he kept that side of himself deeply hidden. He was definitely emotionally immature, and he loved to make sexual jokes at my expense. Above all though, his defining characteristic was one that the movies never showed.

He was an asshole of the first degree, with grinning blue eyes, perfectly groomed dark brown hair, and muscles in just the right proportion. He was a gorgeous asshole.

No matter how great the main guy in any decent rom-com was, Noah made all those awkward, skinny-tie wearing protagonists look like children by comparison. But in the movie that was actually my real life, instead of some immediate deep and impossible attraction between the leading man and the leading lady, I disliked Noah from the start, and didn’t want to get to know him one bit.

And yet, for some reason, I kept thinking back to our meet cute, and I wondered how it could have possibly led to everything that followed, including me struggling into unfamiliar clothes in one of the many rooms of his insane family home. I wondered how I ever got involved with a gorgeous jerk like Noah Carterson. I wracked my brain, replaying our meet cute over and over, and had no clue.

––––––––

A
fter a long summer, my best friend Chrissy and I were back on campus. We didn’t know where the good parties were yet, and besides, I wasn’t much of a partier anyway. Most people still hadn’t moved back onto campus, but we had an apartment with a lease that started early, so we moved in right away. It definitely beat living at home with my parents. I had known Chrissy since we were in high school; we grew up on the same block together, and we both decided Temple was the school we wanted to attend. It worked out perfectly.

Instead of wandering around for hours, we ended up in the student center looking for the movie theater. I had read online that they had built a brand new three-screen theater in the basement. Apparently, some rich movie producer donated a ton of cash to fund it.

“I have no clue what I’m doing, Chris,” I said as we turned the same corner and looked down the same hallway for maybe the hundredth time.

“I swear we’re walking in circles.” Chris was a smartass and gorgeous, with a short pixie haircut to go with her impeccable sense of style. Guys were forever chasing after her, but she barely seemed to care; Chrissy Planter, or “Chris” as most people called her, was going to be a famous brain surgeon one day, and she didn’t have time for distractions.

I was more or less the opposite of Chris. I had no real strong ambitions, at least not yet; the only thing I loved was old movies. I grew up with a cinephile professor mom, and she made sure that I had a solid foundation of the classics by the time I was ten. My dad was a minor poet, and he never got over the fact that I preferred movies to literature. Fortunately for him, my older sister was a novelist.

By fifteen, thanks to my mom’s gleeful training, I could rattle off the last twenty years of best picture Oscar winners backwards and forwards plus name their director and leading actors. It was a useless skill, unless I was in a trivia contest. Because of that, I decided I’d major in film studies, but hadn’t figured out what I was going to do. Everyone constantly asked what my plans were, and I liked to mumble about scriptwriting or something. The truth was, I just liked old movies, and my parents were pretty supportive of whatever I decided to do.

As we continued wandering the halls, I saw that there was a small staircase up ahead. I took the lead, a little embarrassed that I had dragged us out on a rainy Tuesday night to see a movie Chris didn’t care about and gotten us incredibly lost. I took the stairs two at a time, hopeful that I had finally found the right path. The theater was supposed to be in the basement, and basements were usually down. My logic felt sound.

“Wait up weirdo!” Chris yelled, laughing. I hit the bottom of the staircase and looked back at her.

“I have a great feeling about this,” I said. I grinned at her as I turned the corner.

Suddenly, I was knocked down on my ass, and popcorn was everywhere. It felt like I had walked directly into a streetlight. I hit the floor with an incredibly graceless “oof!” and my skirt fell around either side of my hips.

“Ow,” I said, looking up. Staring directly down at me, with a big grin on his face, was the most attractive guy I had ever seen in my life. Chiseled jaw and perfect nose, smooth skin, and short-cropped hair, his deep blue eyes pierced back into me, and ran up and down my body. He didn’t even try to pretend like he wasn’t checking me out, and I both loved it and hated it. The feeling left a knot of excitement in my stomach.

“Hey there,” he said, with a small laugh. It took me a second to fully understand: he was eyeing up my white with pink polka dot panties, clearly visible between my sprawled legs and skewed skirt. Turning bright red, I slammed shut my legs and smoothed out the fabric.

“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to scramble to my feet. I decided to pretend like he hadn’t seen anything. I was beyond mortified.

“Don’t worry about it, polka dots.” He reached out a hand and helped me up. His body was strong, muscled and well proportioned, and he was a bit more than six feet tall. I could have sworn he was made out of bricks when I ran into him.

And this gorgeous guy was calling me by my underwear. What an asshole.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” I said.

He took a step closer and my breath caught in my throat. “Are you okay?”

What a gentleman. He had been too busy staring at my panties to ask right away.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry about your popcorn.” A bucket of popcorn was spilled on the ground next to our feet, and I assume he had been holding it a second earlier.

He shrugged. “Worth it for the extra show.”

Wow. I couldn’t believe him. I felt both excited and humiliated, which was confusing. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to slap that cocky grin from his face, or if I wanted to run my fingers through this hair and bite his lower lip.

“I’ll buy you some more,” I said, trying to deflect his comment. Flustered, I crouched down and started to gather as much of the spilled kernels as I could.

“What’s your name?” he asked, bending down next to me to help. Our bodies and faces were inches away, and I could smell his sweet, wonderful scent.

“Linda.” I caught him glance along my body again, and I felt a thrill of excitement run down my spine. I hated that I loved his gaze so much. Part of me wanted to take him into a bathroom and give him a better look.

“Linda. I’m Noah.” His voice was deep and smooth.

“Sorry again about the popcorn,” I said. I avoided eye contact, feeling awkward, as my pulse quickened from his closeness.

“Don’t worry about it, polka dots. Really.”

“Well, enjoy your show, then,” I snapped at him, not sure what else to say. I stopped gathering and stood up straight.

He grinned up at me again, boyish and handsome.

“I already did, but thanks,” he said. With that, he gave me another smile, scooped up what popcorn he could, and then walked off into a theater.

I stood there shaking for half a second. I couldn’t believe how rude he had been. He didn’t even try to pretend like he hadn’t seen my underwear, and he was basically fucking me with his eyes. If I hadn’t liked it so much, I might have done something more drastic. As it was, I felt humiliated and angry and excited all mixed into one confusing moment.