J.D. Hawkins - Confessions of a Bad Boy

CONFESSIONS OF A BAD BOY

J.D. HAWKINS

CONTENTS Copyright Foreword Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Epilogue Afterword The Bet About the Author Also by J.D. Hawkins Acknowledgments

Copyright 2016 © JD Hawkins Cover Design: Najla Qamber Designs All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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FOREWORD

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PROLOGUE

G od bless the women of L.A.

Bless the gym bunnies who run their toned asses past the best cafés, bless the tight-dress crowd on a Friday night making beauty seem so effortless, bless the tanned women in bikinis getting high on the sun. But most of all, bless the woman in those tight, ripped jeans and thick-rimmed glasses browsing in the corner right over there. I try to peel my eyes away from her ass and remember why I came into this bookstore, but it’s too late. My blood is up, muscles tightening, jaw clenching. Suddenly I’m not browsing in a bookstore on a Thursday evening for the debut novel that an old friend just got published; I’m a man after a woman, and everything else – the bookshelves, the people around us, our clothes – are just unnecessary obstacles. My target looks up from the book she’s browsing and scans the shop quickly, but her eyes settle on me for a split second longer than anything else. Her lips part just a little, and she quickly looks back at the page. It’s a small sign, the kind of sign most men wouldn’t notice…right before they start complaining that women are a mystery. I drop the book I’m holding and walk towards her, the curve of her back conjuring up enough ideas to fill a porn series. “You need some help?” I ask, leaning up against the shelf beside her. She glances at me and goes about as red as a stoplight, though the quick smile and the way she pushes her dark hair behind her ear makes me wanna run it. “No,” she murmurs, biting her lip. “But thanks.” “You sure?” I ask. “I really don’t mind helping you out.” This time she laughs a little, radiating nervous excitement that’s so obvious I almost feel guilty at how easy this is. Almost. Her eyes travel slowly down from my stubbled jaw to my white tee, then lower, lingering appreciatively, and then back up, lips parting as her green eyes meet mine again. “Do you even work here?” she says, a little mischief in her smile. “No. I just really wanna help you.” She plays with her hair again, a dead giveaway. “I…I’m okay. I’m just looking.”

“I’m not talking about choosing a book.” This time she giggles so loud she draws looks. She stifles it quickly and clears her throat. “Sorry,” she says, turning to face me head on, “it’s just…this is crazy. The whole ‘meeting a nice guy at a bookstore’ thing. It’s the kind of cliché I didn’t think really existed.” “Who says I’m a nice guy?” She tilts her head a little now, the redness gone, replaced by a sparkle in her eyes. “What are you then, a ‘bad boy’? Like the guy in those videos?” I laugh a little more than I should. The comparison isn’t new, but I still get a little kick every time I hear it. “What’s wrong with being a bad boy?” I say, as she rolls the book she’s holding in her hands tenderly. An unconscious gesture she’d be embarrassed of if she realized she was doing it. “Bad things tend to be the most fun, the most interesting. Food, booze, men.” “And nice guys finish last, I suppose?” “Nobody’s favorite is vanilla.” She laughs a little, nodding, and I gently take the book out of her hands, sliding it on top of some other books on the shelf – I hate to be untidy, but I’ll forgive myself this time. I keep my eyes fixed on her, an open invitation. She struggles a while, not sure whether to look back, but unable to turn away. You can say a lot with a look – and my eyes have always been my best feature. I can give a girl a look that’ll mean more than most guys can achieve in a year of presents, poems, and pleas. It’s a tragedy that so many women spend so much time on their appearance, communicating the depths of their being in a visual language that’s right there in front of everyone, striving to express themselves fully, yet these same women will spend most of their lives with the kind of men who never truly see them. But I do. “Wow,” she says, pushing an invisible strand of hair behind her ear again, “do you do this a lot? Approach women in bookstores?” “Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed how sexually charged bookstores are?” She smiles, and I see the challenge in it. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.” “All that stroking of the covers, the fingering of the pages. The intimacy of reading. The idea that there are infinite possibilities contained inside the books, that anything could happen. People indulging all of their fantasies, secrets, and imaginations in the only way they can. It’s sexy.” I watch her blush and subconsciously move her body even closer toward me. “I can’t say I’ve ever thought of books like that before.” “Then you must not be reading the right kinds of books.” She shifts on her feet, angling her hips a little, her head still tilted in a way that makes her seem incredibly coquettish for a girl who says she doesn’t do this kind of

thing. “What’s your name?” she asks, with a seriousness that shows she’s made her mind up. “No names,” I reply. Her face drops, the first sign of stand-offishness she’s given me since I walked over. I continue, “I’m sure you’re an amazing person. I’m sure you could show and teach me things I’d appreciate for my whole life. I’m sure you’re kind, and generous, and all that good stuff. But that’s not why I started talking to you.” She laughs a little, the nervous one again, as she wrestles with an entire society’s worth of convention and guilt. “So you just wanted to say hello? You don’t want to get to know me a little better?” “My idea of getting to know someone is probably a little different than yours.” “Oh yeah?” I shrug. “You know everything you need to know about me already. You knew it the second I spoke to you. And I definitely know what I need to about you: that you’re hot enough to make a busy guy like me forget everything he’s supposed to be doing for the next hour. Am I wrong?” She inhales deeply, brushes her hair back three times in succession, and struggles to pull her eyes away from me again. “And here I thought today was going to be boring.” I smile. “It still can be. Just say the word and I’ll walk away right now. You can go back to browsing the shelves and take this whole conversation as a flattering compliment.” She swings her hips girlishly from side to side for a second, then raises an eyebrow. “Or…”

WE DON’T EVEN MAKE it a third of the way to my apartment before she’s all over me in the car, so senseless with lust I can barely keep my eyes forward with the way she’s pulling at the button of my jeans and sucking on my neck. I veer off the road and take the BMW up to the top of an empty parking lot – I could tell myself I’m doing it ’cause I’m a safe driver, but the truth is that I love fucking in the open air. I stop the car with the L.A. skyline framed perfectly in the windshield, and we both step out, eyeing each other over the hood like bullfighters. There’s a wildness in her eyes that can only come from this situation being rare, new, the complete opposite of her normal life. She’s got the zeal of the new convert, the enthusiasm of a first-timer. We stalk around the car, meeting at the space between the hood and the rail separating us from the open vista beyond. Our bodies come together in the dimming light of a sunset with the intensity of a car crash. Lips locking tightly, tongues grappling thirstily for the taste of each other. Her body fits perfectly against mine, athletic and tall, but made soft by the swirl of emotions pumping through her.

She’s going fast, her hands tearing at my clothes, her body trembling with need. I let my hands explore the curve of her back that drove me crazy when I first saw her, and push her away from me gently, watching her mouth fall open with a gasp, reluctant to break from mine. I spin her around and pull her back up against me, one hand delving into the line of her cleavage, my other hand sliding down the front of her jeans. “Relax,” I say, calm and low into the softness under her ear, “no need to rush it.” Her breath comes in fast pants, her fingers at her lips like she’s embarrassed to feel this good. I work her fly open with my hand, my cock stiffening quickly against her ass as I see those hips wind back onto me. Her body’s got the sleekness of an animal, the tender beauty of a blossoming flower. I’ve fucked a lot of women, and I’ve got high standards, but right here, right now, I can’t think of a girl turning me on more than she does. I bury my nose in her hair, run my tongue up the side of her neck and take the lobe of her ear in my mouth. The hiss of pleasure she releases is like music for me to dance to. I push my hand down into her panties, stroking at the slick cleft, and she sucks in air like she’s coming up from water. “You’re wet,” I whisper into her ear. She gasps a few times as I roll her clit between my fingers. “So fuck me already.” “Say please,” I command, just to hear her beg. “Please,” she moans. I don’t need to hear it twice. I slide her jeans down past her hips and she wriggles them down the rest of the way, baring her toned ass to me. I pull out a condom as I spin her around and guide her back onto the hood of the car, making sure she’ll have a nice view of the city while I’m pumping inside her. As I hoist her up, she winces a little at the coolness of the metal on her ass, then smiles with delight. She takes the condom from me and tears it out of the package as I do the same with my cock. Her tongue flicks between her teeth as she slowly rolls the latex over my dick with the restrained anticipation of a carefully unwrapped birthday present. Once it’s on I lean over her and she hooks herself onto me, arms around my back, legs pulling my center towards hers. Her moan is sweet, warm, inviting, just like I know her pussy’s gonna be. Her body’s slender, especially under my wide shoulders and tensed torso, but as I push inside of her I feel engulfed by her. Trapped between her fine legs, pulled by her clawing nails, squeezed by her hot, wet pussy. I unbutton her shirt and push her bra up over her chest, her soft breasts slipping out of it and bouncing mesmerizingly, the brown nipples hard and beckoning. When I take one between my lips and suck, she freezes for a second with the burst of new pleasure before succumbing once again to the pounding rhythm of my cock inside her. I’m just getting into it when her gasps start to stutter, and her hands start to slip against my back. Her head thuds against the metal of the car, and I take the hint.

However much I want this moment to last, I’m not going to get left behind. I let myself gorge on the sight of her ripened lips, run my hands once again along the delicate lines of her open thighs, suck and bite at the shuddering perfection of her breast. I come seconds after her body goes limp and soft, its last dregs of energy used up in the effort it took her to scream into the sky. I raise my head from between her breasts and smile at how wonderful the sight of a woman satisfied looks. After I pull myself away, she stares up at me, still stretched out on the hood of the car. She’s smiling at me with a new kind of disbelieving admiration. Little does she know I’m already planning a future vlog – on the pleasures of outdoor fucking, with some tips and tricks to help out the novice. Laughing softly, she says, “I guess this is why women like bad boys.” If she only knew…

1 NATE

I start taking off my clothes as soon as I’m through the door of my apartment. Shirt on the floor, kicking my shoes off, down to my underwear. I go into the bathroom and splash some water on my face, glaring at myself in the mirror. There’s a rush that happens when I’m about to make a video. Not the cockstiffening hotness of seducing a woman, not quite the intellectual satisfaction of closing a six-figure deal for work that I had no right to – it’s something else. Something I still can’t figure out. It’s a catharsis and a comfort, a deep feeling of fulfillment I’ve never quite gotten from anything else. I boot up my laptop and sit on the edge of the bed while I wait, taking out the candles my female fans love and lighting them so they cast an incandescent hue over my body, the lines of my chest coming alive in the flickering black shadows. I’ve asked myself a million times why I carry on making these videos. I don’t need the money, and all it would take is for a girl to recognize me, or for a slip to happen, and I’d be discovered. If that ever happened I’d probably enter a world of problems. Work would suck – if I could even keep my job – and I’m still not sure if it would help or ruin my sex life. But something brings me back, something deep inside of me. It’s not quite the ego-boost – I’m self-aware enough to admit that - and it’s not even the idea of helping people – I’m not that altruistic. Again and again though, whatever it is still compels me to sit here, stare into that lens, and talk. And it’s not the kind of bullshit I roll with at work- it’s the truth. Maybe that’s the part I’m addicted to. The part where there are no boundaries, no rules. Where I can tap into the deepest, darkest part of what it means to be a man, to lust and to hunt and to conquer. All amid the liberating joy of anonymity. I set the angle right with focused precision, just below my mouth, nothing visible in the frame but my chiseled torso, the waistband of my Calvin Kleins, and the blank wall behind me, and then I press record.

CONFESSIONS OF A BAD BOY #234: The best one-night stand I’ve ever had

IT’S the Bad Boy here. Bringing you more illicit confessions from the steamy shadows, tales of torn panties and roving tongues. I’ve got to say, some of the messages I’m getting from you guys are out there – especially the women. I’m sure I’ve met a few of you out in the wild before. Just keep ‘em coming, as I like to say. A bunch of you keep asking me to tell you about the best one-night stand I’ve ever had, since I’ve got my method down to a science. It’s a tough question. Onenight stands are always good if you know what you’re doing. Each one is unique, different, its own little adventure. That’s why I keep coming back, why I keep doing it. That’s why I’ve made so many videos on the topic. But that’s no answer, and you know I hate to leave you hanging… So I’m gonna tell you about a one-night stand that might just be the best – it was definitely the most unexpected, the most unplanned, and the most dangerous. The one that I still think about sometimes, however much I try not to…

THERE’S something about a rooftop party that brings out the wilder side in women. Maybe it’s the stars overhead making them feel that nothing really matters. Maybe it’s the warm LA breeze against their bared skin reminding them of what it feels like to be touched. Shit, maybe it’s just the dizzying altitude. Either way, I never turn a rooftop party down. I like my women wild. I lean back against the railing, take a long sip of beer, and let myself drink in the scene. It’s a big rooftop, big enough for a dance floor, a drinks bar, and a small glassed-in area. Beyond the railing around its edges, the city reaches out in all directions, outlined in places by the dusty orange glow of a sunset. There are colored lights set around the rooftop, shimmering off the giant pool at its center and the toned thighs and glossy hair of the women around it. It’s a typical Hollywood crowd. Everyone looks young, but only around half of them actually are – the rest artificially so. Producers, actors, even a few directors and talent agents like me. All here to network, schmooze, and make empty promises. The DJ in the corner puts on the latest hit and turns up the volume. Like a war cry it compels some of the girls around the pool to stand up and start moving. I take another sip of beer and watch the parade of beautiful bodies, feeling like a lion thrown in the deer sanctuary. One of the girls catches my eye and I smile as she turns around to show me her best side. I watch her for a while before a tall blonde in a shiny dress struts past me, and puts a little swing into her hips as she does it – just enough for a guy like me to get the message. It’s almost enough to make me forget that I’m here to meet someone: Kyle. My best friend since childhood, and the only person who I’d stand at the edge of a party doing nothing for. Even though all I want to do right now is get my hands on whatever that blonde is hiding under her dress. As an ex-linebacker with a short temper, though, Kyle’s not the kind of person I’d disappoint even if he wasn’t my

friend. I check my watch – he’s almost an hour late. “Nice watch,” comes a voice a few feet away. I look up, taking my time, eyes lingering on a perfect pair of olive-toned legs, a little black dress that emphasizes the ‘little,’ and a pair of large, brown eyes that make you feel like someone turned a spotlight on you. “I like things that are built well,” I say, smiling at her. “It’s nice to meet a man with good taste.” I take another look at her figure, leaning on one leg, a hand against her hip, her other holding up her martini. Time’s up, Kyle. “Men need to have good taste,” I say, stepping a little closer and bringing my voice down, “after all, we’re not lucky enough to be as beautiful as women.” She giggles a little, her pink lips parting softly in a way that makes my balls ache. “I dunno,” she says almost in a whisper, “you’re kinda cute.” “Then we’ve got something in common,” I say, moving in even closer and putting a hand against her waist. “I’m Sophia.” Just before I can tell her my name, I hear it called out in the last voice I want to hear right now. “Nate!” It’s a husky, energetic voice that I know much better than I ever wanted to. I turn towards it, only because I can’t really believe it’s her. “Jessie?” I say, as she marches towards me. “Where’s Kyle?” “I don’t know. He should have been here already. Traffic?” “Ugh!” Jessie groans, slumping her shoulders. “I’ve been texting him all night and he won’t respond. Can you try?” “Jessie,” I say, controlling my impulse to throw her over the railing only because it wouldn’t look good in front of Sophia, “now’s not a good time. Why are you even here?” “Who’s this?” Sophia whispers in my ear, her eyes darting over to Jessie. Before I can explain that she’s just a friend, Jessie senses the opportunity to screw me over – a thing she’s always been happy and willing to do. “Who am I?” she says with mock-bitchiness to the beautiful girl in the tiny dress. “Who are you? I’m his wife of fifteen years. We have three children together. And he sold one of them to afford that suit he’s wearing.” “What?” Sophia sputters, jerking her hand away from my arm. “No. She’s not – I can explain,” I say, looking at Sophia pleadingly. Begging has never been a good look for me though. Before I can get anything else out, she shoots me a look of utter disgust before walking away far quicker than you’d expect in heels that high. “Wait, Sophia! She’s not my wife, she’s just—” But she’s gone, and I turn back

to Jessie. “Just my best friend’s annoying kid sister who hasn’t matured in the fifteen years I’ve known her.” Jessie grins, snatches my beer out of my hands and swigs from it. “What the hell are you doing here, Jessie? Besides ruining my night?” I snatch my beer back from her, and realize that it’s empty now. “I told you, I’m looking for Kyle. I’ve got a feeling that he’s avoiding me.” “He’s got the right idea. How did you even get in here dressed like that?” I nod at her outfit. Jean cut-offs and a plaid shirt tied in a knot over a torn-up old band t-shirt, just short enough to tease the line of her hips, just soft enough to fall over the gaze-stealing teardrops of her breasts. Her dark, wavy hair makes her look like she just rolled out of bed, and her wrists are stacked with the kind of bangles and bracelets that you’d get in the kid’s section of a dollar store. It’s the kind of edgy-sexy, rocker chick look I normally can’t resist, but Jessie is, after all, like a sister to me. Which is why I drag my eyes away from her body and focus on the party still raging all around us. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she says sarcastically, “I forgot to bring my Tiffany dress with the push-up bra. Am I not slutty enough for your Hollywood parties, Mr. Big-Shot Talent Agent?” “No. It’s just that unless nineties grunge music is going to make a comeback in the next ten minutes, you look ridiculous. And for future reference, Tiffany sells jewelry – not clothes.” “I look ridiculous? Look at you! That suit! Everything’s so…meticulous. Not a thread or a hair out of place. And so clean! It’s psychopathic. You look like a piece of furniture.” I look up at the night sky, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. “Well, thanks for scintillating conversation, Jessie. It’s always a pleasure. Take care of yourself.” I start walking. “Hey!” she calls out as she quickly catches up to me. “Where are you going?” “First, I’m going to get myself another drink. Then I’m going to select one of these astonishingly beautiful women to come back to my apartment. And then I’m going to drink a Red Bull or three because lord knows I’m gonna be up all night long having fantastic—” “Ew! Stop!” Jessie says, covering her ears dramatically for a second before grinning and punching my arm. “What about my brother? Where is he?” “I already told you I don’t know,” I say, as I pretend not to inspect whether she’s damaged the sleeve of my suit. “I’ve been waiting for him for nearly an hour.” “But I really need to talk to him. He said he’d be here.” The worry on her face is real, and I slow my pace and turn towards her. “Look, it’s Kyle. He probably had a load of work dumped on him at the last minute. I’m sure he’s fine. Let me know when you find him. You still have my number, right?” She nods. I move to go again. “Wait,” she says, tugging at my sleeve. I turn back

to look at her. “I came all the way downtown by myself.” Then she hits me with the full puppy dog eyes. I’ve seen that look a million times since we were kids. Usually it came when Kyle and I were going out and Jessie wanted to tag along. Sometimes it came when Jessie did something bad and needed me and Kyle to cover for her. Whatever it was, when Jessie made her eyes big and her lips pouty, as if she were about to cry, like she was the most vulnerable thing in the world – she always got her way. “Let me guess. You’re low on cash, right?” I say, defeated. She shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. “I spent what I had coming down here. I don’t get paid til next week.” “Okay,” I sigh. “One drink. Then, if your brother still hasn’t shown up, I’ll get you a cab home. After which I’m definitely going to—” “Go back to being a douchebag, I got it.” But her grin’s so wide now, I can’t even get mad that she’s teasing me again. We enter the glass enclosure that houses a few couches and the bar. It’s nearly empty, everybody preferring to stand out on the roof and have their drinks delivered. I pull out a stool for her like a gentleman – and yeah, I can act like one when the situation requires it. “Two beers please,” I call to the barman. “And a couple of shots,” Jessie adds, without even looking at me for approval. I stifle a grin. She’s still a little troublemaker. The drinks are in front of us within seconds. Jessie picks up her blue shot glass and raises it, waiting for me to do the same. She smiles, winks, clinks her glass against mine, and we down them. “So how’s the talent agent-ing going? Taken advantage of many actors this month?” I snort and take a long drink of my beer. “I don’t take advantage of actors.” “Sure you don’t,” Jessie grins behind her beer bottle. “You just let them do all the work and then take a nice slice of what they make.” “It’s not like that.” “Right.” She rolls her eyes as she wraps her lips around the opening of her beer bottle to take a swig, a sight I have to force myself to look away from. “You’re totally not a leech at all.” “Jesus,” I grin, taking her abuse with good humor. “You should know how it is, Jessie. You work in a costume department. You think actors can negotiate their own deals, set up meetings and networking opportunities, not to mention vet contracts and make career decisions? They can’t even dress themselves!” Jessie laughs. “Truth,” she says, pointing out our empty shot glasses to the barman. “Maybe you’re not so bad after all.” The bartender slams a couple more shots on the bar. We repeat the clink and drink again. “How about you?” I ask. “How’s the TV gig going?” “Honestly? It’s a shitty job,” she says, suddenly sounding a bit empty. “What do you mean? I thought you were living the dream.”

My tone is light, with no sarcasm in it, but still she pauses for a long time before answering. I don’t even notice the barman replace our empty shot glasses again. “Well, when I left UCLA,” she says, peeling at the label of her beer bottle, “I thought I’d be working on period dramas, interesting TV shows, sci-fi projects…I don’t know. Something creative. And now I’m just stuck doing detective dramas. I mean, they’re great shows, steady gigs, but a police uniform is a police uniform. I feel like my job right now is to be as least creative as possible. Like a robot could be doing my job.” I watch her take a slow swig of beer. It’s been a while since we really talked like this. “It’s a step,” I say sympathetically. “You’re starting out, making connections, paying your dues. You do this for now until something better comes along. It’s just a step.” “Is it?” Jessie asks, almost as if I can change it. “It feels more like a dead end.” This time it’s me who picks up the shot and waits for Jessie to do the same. We clink, smile, and drink. “Do you remember that time when we were in high school,” Jessie says, smiling from the drink hitting her, “and you and Kyle took me to see that shitty punk band I liked?” “The night he knocked me out?” Jessie laughs and slaps the bar. “Yeah I remember,” I say, laughing along. “But I still don’t know what the fuck set him off like that.” “I was hitting on the lead singer, and Kyle found out. He went for the other guy but then you tried to stop him—” “And paid the price. Yeah, I figured it was something like that. Most stories involving Kyle start with him getting pissed.” “And end with someone getting knocked out.” “How the fuck did he end up a lawyer and not an MMA fighter?” “Beats me,” Jessie says, giggling. “But he always had a strong sense of right and wrong.” “For sure,” I say, as we clink, smile, drink again. The barman slams a couple more shots in front of us. Then more beers. Then more shots. Soon I lose count. And in between the sound of glass slamming on woodgrain we tell more stories. The erotic story I submitted for eighth grade English homework that almost ended up getting me expelled. The time Jessie and Kyle got into a fight over who should beat up one of her ex-boyfriends. The night the three of us spent hours figuring out what to wear for a big costume party at Kyle’s college fraternity – Jessie agreed to help us if we promised to sneak her in – only to arrive and find out it wasn’t actually a costume party. It's only when we both get up to go to the bathroom that I realize how drunk I am. Just about able to walk and barely able to keep my head from lolling around my shoulders like I’m doing yoga. We wrap our arms around each other for support as

we stagger to the bathrooms, still laughing at everything and nothing. I’m done before her (of course) and I lean up against the wall outside the women’s bathroom, breathing deeply to try and regain as much sobriety as I’ll need to get home. The rooftop party’s already dead, and the only people out on the roof are sitting and talking quietly or passed out completely. I have no idea what time it is, or how long we’ve been here. Jessie opens the door, sees me, jumps in fright, then laughs hysterically – all in slow-motion. “Gotta go home,” I say, struggling to wrap my tongue around the consonants. “It’s…” I look down at my watch, but with my beer-goggles I can’t make out the time on the over-designed piece of crap. “Late.” “I can’t go home,” Jessie says, patting me on the chest as she staggers past. “Kyle’s obviously not coming,” I slur. “And I’m done drinking. Come on.” She turns around, her eyes half-lidded, her shoulders slumped. “No. I can’t.” “You have to,” I say, trying to sound authoritative, and failing miserably. “I can’t. That’s what I wanted to tell you. Kyle has the key to my apartment.” It takes a long time for me to process this information, but Jessie seems happy to sway on her feet and gaze at me like a zombie while I do. “Why does he have your key?” “No.” She grins. “I lost mine. Kyle has the spare one. No Kyle, no key. No key, no my apartment.” Jessie giggles like it’s the most hilarious thing in the world. I can’t help joining in. “Shit,” I finally say, recovering. She nods and almost falls over. I catch her just in time and she giggles again madly, a sliver of bare skin between her waistband and her shirt directly under my hand. I feel the heat of her skin through my fingertips, like a static shock of intimacy. Even this drunk, it’s the gratifying way it feels that makes me leave my hand there a second longer than I should. “Wait a second,” I say, managing to connect some thoughts in between the dizzy spells and complete blankness of the drink. “This is a hotel.” Jessie pushes me. “This is a bar!” “I mean the building. This building is a hotel. Come here.” She does. With my arm around her waist, I manage to guide us into the elevator, down to the main desk, and achieve the monumental task of booking a single room through a drunk fog so thick I can barely remember how to spell my name. With another huge effort I get us back into the elevator, and miraculously remember what floor our room is on. Jessie mumbles something about my furniture-suit, and I laugh along this time. When we step out of the elevator, I feel like my walk to the room is being directed by Stanley Kubrick, as the walls close in and then stretch out into space,

and the pattern on the carpet hypnotizes me to the point where I have to reach out and steady myself on the wall. I thank all the gods for whoever invented key cards as I rub it in the vicinity of the lock and we both go flying through the door, collapsing in a heap on the floor. Jessie laughs maniacally again. I scramble to my feet and step back into the doorway, putting my hand on the door handle. “Okay. Okay, Jessie. Good night. And for the love of God, don’t touch the minibar.” Jessie looks up confusedly at me. “Where are you going?” “Back. Back to my apartment,” I slur, gazing down the corridor as if I’ll see it at the end. “No. No no no no no.” Jessie pulls me by the arm into the room and kicks the door shut behind me. I try to protest, but I can’t think of the words. And anyway, the last thing I want to do is stagger down the streets of downtown L.A. at three in the morning looking for a cab. I stand in the middle of the room, waiting for it to stop spinning before I make a move. It takes a lot of effort to keep the world from going out of focus, and I can hear blood rushing in my ears. I see a pair of elegant legs, sexy curves leading up to an ass that I want to pull onto my face – then I realize it’s Jessie and look away. It’s fucking Jessie! My best friend’s little sister. Then I look back. She’s leaning over the bathroom sink, drinking water from the tap. I let my eyes go back to her ass. The jean shorts she’s wearing suddenly look like the hottest fucking thing I think I’ve ever seen a girl wear. Her shirt’s slipped up a little to the arch of her back, accentuating the curve from the feminine slightness of her waist down to her hips. I can’t help imagining what it would be like to take her from behind and— What the fuck am I thinking? But it’s like she’s someone else. Like she’s just another hot girl with an ass that’s begging for me. But it’s Jessie. I move over to the armchair in the corner opposite the bed and drop down into it. I take my shoes off, then my blazer, and lean back. She comes out of the bathroom and walks over to the bed. I can’t stop looking at her legs, then feeling ashamed, and then looking even harder. She unties her plaid shirt and throws it off, leaving just the t-shirt on. It tightly hugs her breasts, and I see she’s not wearing a bra. I go dizzy from watching her tits bounce when she slumps back onto the bed. “I’m so fucking wasted,” she says, laughing softly. She rolls her head to the side and looks at me, smiling. “What’s the matter? You look like you’re gonna hurl.” “This is my drunk face,” is all I can manage to say. It sounds better than, ‘I’m trying to not fuck you.’ She keeps looking at me, then suddenly sits up on the edge of the bed, a mischievous grin on her face.

“You’re fucking hard!” “What?” She points in the general direction of my crotch. “You’re fucking hard! I can see it!” “I’m not hard,” I say, standing up, which only makes the fact I’m about as hard as I can get even more obvious. “Yes you are!” Jessie says, moving toward me and reaching out clumsily for my cock. She fumbles her hand over it, and my reactions are way too slow to jump back, leaving us standing there, inches apart, her hand clutching my rock-hard erection through my pants. “Uh. Guess I am.” I put my hand over hers, but I don’t have the willpower to pull her away. Her smile drops, she bites her lower lip, and her eyes dilate as she looks up at me. Everything comes zooming into sharp focus. I can hear her breathing and my own, feel the heat that’s radiating off her. It’s as if time stops for a few seconds. We’re thinking the same thing. This is wrong for so many reasons. It’s wrong because we’ve grown up together as friends. It’s wrong because her overprotective brother (who also happens to be my short-tempered best friend) would go fucking crazy. It’s wrong because she’s a sassy-mouthed costume artist who doesn’t take any shit, and I’m a smart-talking talent agent who trades in bullshit. It’s wrong because this one single act could ruin so many of the best things in both of our lives. But the fact remains, we’re alone in a hotel, she’s wearing jean shorts that are driving me crazy, and I’ve got a hard-on that could drill granite – all the wrong in the world isn’t going to stop the inevitable from happening. I WAKE up feeling like my head’s been dried, roasted, and half-chewed by the neighborhood dog. My tongue feels like it’s growing its own beard, and there’s an uneasy feeling I might never know which way is up again. But at the same time, I feel pretty fucking awesome. The kind of beat-up, bruise-wearing triumph that I imagine boxers feel when they’ve taken a hell of a thrashing but still won. It lasts about four seconds. About the time it takes me to realize that the pressure on my bicep is Jessie’s head. About the time it takes to realize I’ve just fucked my best friend’s little sister. About the time it takes to realize I’m a dead man. If he finds out. Slow and tense, as if defusing a bomb, I pull my arm out from underneath Jessie’s head, and shift slowly away from her. Maybe it’s the way my ears are ringing, or the fear of what might happen if she wakes up, but everything seems as loud as if it’s amped up; the rustle of the bedsheets, the soft moans in her breathing, the brush of my stubble against the pillow. After pulling myself out of bed like the slowest ninja in the world, I start moving

around the room and picking up my discarded clothes from the night before. I find most of them, but either my left shoe decided to go for a walk on its own, or I’m going out of my mind. I decide to risk one last look under the bed before I put it down as a casualty of war, and get down on all fours on the same side as where Jessie’s sleeping. “Shit,” she says, and I realize she’s awake, looking at me. I swallow, and wonder if the bad taste in my mouth is the hangover, or the guilt. “Uh…yeah,” I say, slowly getting up. “Shit.” Jessie shifts up and back in the bed, sitting up against the headboard, the top half of her body out of the sheets – naked. Her tits are luscious and perfect, and suddenly a rush of memories from last night hit me with all the relentless power of a freight train. I look away and clear my throat loudly until she realizes she’s exposed, quickly pulling up the sheets to cover herself. I go to the end of the bed, as if unable to trust myself if I get any closer to her, and sit down, rubbing my forehead roughly. “This is bad,” I say, breaking the awkward silence between us. “Yep,” Jessie replies. “We shouldn’t have done that.” “Nope.” I get up and start pacing. “If Kyle finds out about this—” “He won’t find out,” Jessie interrupts quickly. “But if he does—” “Why would he?” “I’m a fucking dead man.” “Nate!” Jessie says, making as if to get out of bed before realizing she’s still naked. “Calm down. I thought you did this kind of thing all the time?” I turn around to glare at Jessie, pressing my hands together and pointing them at her. “I do. When I don’t know the girl. When I’m never going to see the girl again. When I haven’t been friends with the girl’s brother since I was out of diapers. This is not something I do all the time.” Jessie sighs and slumps back against the headboard as I continue to pace. “Do you even remember anything?” she says, after a while. I stop for a second. “No,” I lie, flashes of Jessie’s ass swaying in my hands immediately playing themselves out in my mind. “I don’t remember a thing.” “Okay,” Jessie says, tightening the sheet around her body as she gets up out of the bed, “then maybe we can just forget this ever happened.” I look at her as if she’s just solved the secret of life. “You think we can do that?” She shrugs, her bare shoulders making me immediately remember how she went down on me, my hands in her hair as she bobbed back and forth, sucking me

hard into the back of her throat, her moans reverberating against the head of my cock. Fuck, snap out of it. “Here’s what we do,” she says, with the determined slyness of someone explaining a robbery, “I get in the shower, you leave. We don’t see each other for a month – no, two months. Then when we do see each other again, and for as long as we live, we never bring this up again. It never happened. No excuses. No apologies. No explanations.” “What about—” “And no Kyle. I don’t want him finding out any more than you do. He’d kill me, too. Deal?” I blink at her with hungover eyes, processing what she’s just offered me. “You really think that plan will work?” “We need it to work.” I nod slowly. “Okay,” I say, starting to scan the room again. “I just need to find my shoe.” Jessie sighs, tightens the sheet around her again, and moves toward the bathroom. “Well hurry up, ’cause I’m gonna get in the shower now.” “What if I don’t find it?” Jessie shoots me a look of utter disbelief. “What are you, Cinderella? Fuck the shoe, Nate!” She goes into the bathroom and I watch her close the door, smiling to myself. For a split-second, I almost wonder if I should leave at all. Then I spot my shoe behind the trash can, and I take it as a sign to get the hell out of there and never look back.

2 NATE

K yle’s already there when I get to the bar, hunched over a table in a booth, staring

at his beer like he wants to fight it, his small, wheeled suitcase beside him. I grab the barman’s attention and order two more beers to be sent to the table, then make my way over. “Did the Lakers lose?” I say, patting him on the shoulder. He looks up and smiles weakly as we clasp hands. “Dude, the Lakers always lose now.” I settle myself down on the other side of the table. It’s kind of disturbing to see him when he’s down, partly because he looks like Captain America, and partly because, for him, there’s a thin line between the emotions of anger and sadness. In fact, there’s a thin line between anger and pretty much any emotion when it comes to Kyle. He’s got a pair of shoulders that make you wonder if he’s wearing football padding, and the kind of square jaw that would break any fist stupid enough to hit it. Under a certain light, his short blonde hair and crystal-blue eyes give him an allAmerican good-guy action-hero charm, but anyone who knows him will tell you that’s just for show. If his job as a lawyer didn’t require him to be so clean-cut, he’d grow a beard, cover his body with tattoos, and swap his suit for sweatpants quicker than you could say ‘fight night.’ “So what’s up?” I ask, as Kyle drains the last of his beer, and the barman puts the two more I ordered in front of us. “Jessie. Again.” “What happened?” “A whole load of shouting, arguing, and foot stomping, that’s what happened.” I shrug, taking a long swig of my beer. “And there was heavy traffic on the 101 this morning – the same old bad news isn’t worth worrying about all the time.” “No, it wasn’t like that. It was different this time.” I gaze around at the nearly-empty bar. Kyle chose it. Probably to make sure my attention wasn’t distracted. “How so?” Kyle tenses and sighs so heavily he sounds like a boiler breaking down. At this angle he looks like a bull about to charge.

“She’s just…all she does is complain about her life, but when I give her solutions, she never listens! She’s still working on that crappy TV show – sixteen hour days most of the time. They pay her next to nothing and they treat her like she’s still an intern. Get this, I met her for lunch a couple days ago and apart from the fact that she could only sit with me for twenty minutes, she had to go and order about forty lunches for the crew and take them back herself! Can you believe that shit? She’s gonna have a fucking meltdown.” I nod, but I’m having a hard time getting as riled up as my friend is about Jessie’s job. Maybe because I know the entertainment industry all too well. “So she works hard.” Kyle slams his beer down and shakes his head. “For what? So that she can say she’s ‘chasing her dream’ over and over again? Shit. The hardest working street cleaner doesn’t become CEO of the company – any fool knows that. She needs to get her head out of her ass and start acting like an adult.” “So what would you have her do? Give up on her dreams and…what?” “Get a real fucking job!” Kyle says, directing his frustration at me like I’m standing in for Jessie. “Do something that pays well and doesn’t ask you to play butler to a bunch of has-beens on a TV show made for people who lose their remotes and can’t change the channel.” “It’s not as easy as—” “You know where this is heading, right?” Kyle interrupts, too full of steam to listen now. “’Cause I can tell you. I’m the one who’s going to end up having to fix all this. If Jessie doesn’t grow up fast she’s going to find herself too old to change, with no other prospects, and nobody else to turn to. Then it’ll be time for the big brother to step in, like I always do. I don’t want her to give up on what she loves, but it’s leading her down the wrong path. And I know I’m gonna be the one who ends up paying her rent and picking up the pieces.” I pause before speaking, waiting for the dust to settle. “It’s shitty, I know. But come on, dude. She could say the same about you. What is this, the third time we’ve had a drink this month? And you’re going to leave early again, to go on yet another business trip. You even told me you work through your lunch breaks, and where has it all led so far? You guys are more similar than you think.” “The difference is,” Kyle growls, as soon as I finish, “that I’ve got something to show for my hard work. Big fucking difference. Me, I’ll probably end the year on six figures, and I’m this close to making partner. If I do well in London, I am going to be one step closer to being a made man. She doesn’t even get benefits, Nate. They could fire her tomorrow and she’d have fuck all to show for it. Nothing! She’s wasting her fucking life.” “Kyle, she’s—” “You don’t get it!” he interrupts, unable to stop himself now he’s built up momentum. “You’ve had your lucky breaks and now you don’t have to worry about any of this shit. But she’s never gonna get lucky like that. I’m not the bad guy here.

I’m just a realist.” Kyle glowers at me, his face red, his eyes narrowed. I stare back. “I’ve paid for my luck, Kyle.” Kyle hangs his head, breathing out his hot anger. “Shit. I know you have, Nate. I’m sorry.” “I don’t expect most people to see that, Kyle, but you’ve known me long enough to know better.” “That was out of line, I get it. I’m just pissed. I want better for her, and I worry.” I look over at the barman and gesture for him to bring a few whiskeys over. “Look, you’re probably right, Kyle. Jessie is way too good to still be doing what she’s doing. She’s probably stuck in a rut. But you can’t fight her over these things. She’s still your little sister, but she’s also a grown woman now who needs to figure shit out for herself. The best you can do is be a big brother, look out for her, give her some support. Not fight with her over it.” Kyle looks at his drink for a long time, then shakes his head. “You’re right.” “I mean, when did fighting ever work on her anyway? She loves one as much as you do. Maybe more.” “Would you talk to her?” I roll my head to the side in a gesture that says ‘not good idea.’ “I dunno…she’d probably figure out that you asked me to.” “But she’d still listen. You’ve always been the voice of reason between us. Come on, dude.” “Okay,” I sigh. “If it’s really as bad with her as you say, then I’m sure all she needs is a fresh perspective.” “Right,” Kyle says, nodding with enthusiasm at the idea. “Also, she’s got a new boyfriend.” He shakes his head in disgust and slams down his whiskey, waving the barman over and ordering us another round. “What’s he like?” I ask, although I already know Kyle hates him. He always hates Jessie’s boyfriends. No guy is good enough for his sister, as far as he’s concerned. “I don’t know,” Kyle shrugs. “I think she’s hiding him from me.” “That’s smart of her,” I grin. “Whoever he is, I’m sure he won’t meet with your approval.” He looks at me sharply. “Actually, I was gonna ask. Do you think you could—” “No. No I won’t find out everything I can about him and report back to you. Even if he’s an asshole, Jessie is big enough and tough enough to figure it out herself. Gotta let her make her own mistakes, dude. Same as you did.” Kyle mulls it over for a beat and then laughs, breaking the tension at the table. I feel myself relaxing as we down the rest of our whiskeys. “Speaking of assholes,” he says, with a big grin on his face now, “I saw your vlog the other day. It was about some one night stand you had a few years ago. Very nice, dude!”

I choke on my drink, the smoky whiskey getting stuck in my throat and nearly coming right back up. Even when it clears I take a second before speaking. I hadn’t mentioned names in the vlog, so Kyle doesn’t know that the chick I was talking about fucking in a hotel room was the little sister he defends like a knight of the realm. “Who was that chick?” he asks. “That was when I still came out with you, right?” “Yeah,” I say, nodding a little too much. “Um… Sarah? I think. You know I don’t remember names. A redhead.” “Ha! Sure,” Kyle smiles. “You should come out with me again, man. We used to make a good fucking team. Don’t tell me you’re not getting any action these days?” Kyle shrugs, his grin gone now. “My mind’s been so focused on work for so long that I don’t even know if I’ve got any game anymore.” “You’re not going to make any time for those British cuties on your trip? That sounds like a waste to me, dude.” “It’ll be the same as ever. All work and no play. I bet I won’t even have time to see the sights. The most action I’ll get is probably watching your videos in a hotel room, so you’d better post something good, dude!” Kyle’s smile is weak and sad, not just because it’s a feeble joke, but because every time we talk about my vlog we ignore the elephant in the room. That it was Kyle’s idea. That Kyle was just like me only a few years ago. And that it could very easily have been him who just hit over a million subscribers on his channel. I thought it was the dumbest thing I ever heard at first. Who would watch a guy in a mask, or whose face was completely out of frame, leaving just his naked abs in shot, talking about his own sex life? At best we’d come off as bragging douchebags, at worst we’d be called out as fakers or perverts. Kyle loved the idea though. It was just when he was about to start making the vlog that work began taking over his life. Soon I was hitting the clubs on my own, and the only thing Kyle would talk to me about was making those damned videos, as if it was up to me to keep living the dream for both of us by starting up the vlog he’d envisioned. So I did. Mostly it was a favor to Kyle. The only thing I expected to happen after I posted the first video was to be proven right, and for nobody to watch. But they did. And they kept coming back for more. The views counter flew up into the thousands, then the hundreds of thousands, and the comment sections raged with people loving it and hating it. Kyle cheerleadered and told-you-soed every time I saw him. So I made another. And another. Then I made a brief but athletic how-to video the morning after with a girl I’d picked up the night before, instructing viewers on some of the more exotic positions I knew of, in nothing but our underwear (and her hands over her breasts). Things really began flying after that. I was a guru. The first thing that surprised me was how many women were watching. You

make videos about picking up women and your first expectation is that only men are going to be interested, but there were more girls than guys watching at my last count. Maybe it was just having great abs, or maybe it was seeing things from the other side, but either way, I wasn’t complaining. Then there were the messages. Nude photos and propositions, of course, tons of questions, pleas for advice, and even hate mail, but there were also invitations to be interviewed, a publisher wanting to talk about a book deal, and even someone who wanted me to speak at their university. The whole thing seemed insane. But then again, sex sells – and even more so when people know it’s for real. I showed Kyle everything during every step. The messages, the responses, the figures, and he kept on supporting, but it was always tinged by a sense of disappointment that he’s too earnest to hide. We both knew it should have been him. The whole thing was wasted on me; I only did it because he urged me to, and then carried on because it seemed stupid to stop now. And though I hate to admit it, I’ve realized that some part of me needs it. When I started receiving the checks from sponsors and paid advertisements, I told Kyle it was only right he received half. He looked at me like I’d just bought him lingerie for Christmas, and I never mentioned it again – even when the checks started hitting six figures. “You still house-hunting?” Kyle says, after a big gulp of beer. “A little. Truth is, I’ve already got my eyes on one place. It’s kind of an inside secret that it’s going up for sale soon – nobody really knows. I’m biding my time – and my cash flow.” “Is it impressive?” “‘Impressive’ doesn’t even do the bathroom justice. The place is fucking amazing. Seriously, you’ve got to see it, it’ll blow your mind. Some hotshot architect - Jax something – designed it. So there’s gonna be a rush for it as soon as news that it’s up for sale goes out. I’ll probably lose out on it to some asshole actor who won’t even live in it, but I’ll pull every trick I can to make it mine if I have to.” “For a guy who hates the idea of settling down as much as you to talk like that, it must be nice,” Kyle laughs, draining his beer and reaching for his suitcase. “A place like that is too good to waste on only one woman. Are you leaving already?” “Yeah,” Kyle says, pulling out a bill and tossing it onto the table. “I’ll let you know when I get back.” We clasp hands. “Do that,” I say, “and make some free time while you’re at it. We gotta shoot some hoops or something.” “Right on.” Kyle nods. “And…er…” “Talk to Jessie. Yeah, don’t worry. I will.” Kyle winks, points at me, then drags his luggage out of the bar. I watch him go, a weird sensation of melancholy passing through me. The bar’s still virtually empty, except for a couple of old dudes grumbling at the sports highlights on the TV in the

corner. For a moment I remember the night Jessie and I hooked up. It’s a weird memory, one I’ve pushed to the back of my mind, one that needs a little effort to bring to the fore. I think about how much Kyle trusts me, and how much that trust would turn to pointed hatred if he knew what we’d done. “Another?” I look up and see the bartender picking up the empty bottles from the table. “No thanks. I just lost my buzz.”

3 NATE

I heard all the jokes about talent agents my first year of doing the job – after that, it was just variations on a theme. Everyone thinks it’s easy, and I lost my appetite for explaining why it isn’t a long time ago. One minute you’re the only buffer between the biggest egos this side of historical dictatorships, the next you’re in the position of crushing dreams. The talent expects you to be a leader, a parent, a confessional, and a teacher all at once. You’re the first guy people look for when they come to L.A. hoping to make it, the only guy blamed when they’re struggling, and the last guy to get any credit when they succeed. I’m not saying talent agents aren’t assholes – I’m saying there’s a good reason we are. Thankless as it is, though, I’m one of the best. I can spot talent from a mile away, can turn busboys into A-listers, and turkeys into blockbusters. I’m the guy directors call when they run out of casting ideas, the lifeline my actors tap when they’re thinking of writing a script or taking on a completely new role that could either make their career or tank it, and if I didn’t have a secretary I’d drown under resumes every morning. If I take you on as a client, you’ve either made it, or are about to go up a whole new level. If I ever write a book about how I made it to the top it’ll be a short one. I can sum it up in two things: I love what I do, and I keep the bullshit to a minimum. In an industry where half the people are being taken advantage of, and the other half are trying to take advantage, that counts for a lot. Or maybe I’m just good at being an asshole. My office computer pings and I look up from the stack of scripts I’m working through. It’s an instant message from Chloe, the receptionist. THE COUGAR HAS LANDED. Shit. It’s code, and not a very good one. The ‘Cougar’ is exactly that, fifty-three year old actress Dominique Ferreira. Five-feet-nine of ass, tits, and hair so shiny you can see your reflection in it. She looks like a cross between an Italian porn actress and an afghan hound, and I’m sure somebody has sampled her laugh for a kid’s cartoon villainess by now.

Of course, her real name is Jane Gerst, she’s from a podunk town in Ohio, and it took three divorce settlements for her to get a body like that. A couple of years ago she got a role as one of the lead detectives in a police procedural TV series. It wasn’t meant to last, but the show got renewed over and over again, not least because of her determination to squeeze into stiletto heels, low-cut blouses and short skirts that were two sizes too small for her, and which would have her arrested for indecent exposure in a real police precinct. But legions of men in their fifties who still hadn’t figured out how to use the internet tuned in, making her, and the show, a regular on TV – and a constant presence in my office. These days the only work I do for her is book her gigs doing magazine spreads and daytime TV interviews, things which are more about keeping her ego satisfied than any kind of self-promotion. My door opens – no knock, of course – and she bursts in, collagen-injected lips first. “My beautiful Nate! How are you, gorgeous?” I get up from behind my desk and meet her in the center of the office. She squeezes me against her body so tightly I can feel her nipples, and I hear her indecently-toned sigh as she wraps herself around me. “Hello Dominique,” I say, with the small amount of breath she’s not squeezed out of my lungs. She kisses me on the cheek – a little too close to my lips – and lets me slip out of her python-grip. “Always better for seeing you, sweetie,” she says, dropping her voice down into pillow-talk frequencies. “Take a seat,” I say, retreating behind the safety of my desk. When I sit down in my office chair, after discreetly wiping her lipstick from my cheek, she’s right there. Dominique’s interpretation of ‘taking a seat’ is sitting side-saddle on my desk, gazing coquettishly at me over her shoulder. She crosses her legs, an impressive feat considering the tightness of her skirt and the awkwardness of her position, and whips her hair behind her shoulder to reveal her cleavage. “You look great, as always,” I say. It’s only a half-lie. Dominique might be a sex-crazed cougar, but she’s nothing if not fuckable. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it. She’s famous for having a mouth like an industrial vacuum cleaner, and the sexual proclivity of a boy going through puberty. “I love it when you compliment me,” she purrs. She’s also got the viciousness of a cornered tiger and the mean streak of an angry Queen experiencing PMS. She puts about twice as much passion into seducing younger men as she does her work – and still consistently manages to act everybody off the set with her charisma and take-no-prisoners attitude. You can usually find Dominique by following the trail of shattered, broken, and worn-out men she leaves in her wake. As much as I might let my imagination run wild, I’d never be desperate enough to risk being chewed up by her.

“So what can I do for you?” I say, shuffling the scripts around on my desk to let her know I’m busy. “I just wanted to see my agent – is that too much to ask?” “Of course not. But it’s a bit of a bad time. I’ve got a lot going on right now.” “Aw,” she says, drawing the word out sensuously. “Don’t tell me one of L.A.’s sexiest young men is wasting all of his time on work. My heart would break.” I laugh lightly. “If you’re referring to me, then I’m afraid so.” I keep my eyes down on the scripts, scribbling things in the margins for show. I feel a cold finger under my chin, and Dominique lifts my gaze to meet hers. She’s smiling like she’s about to tell me a secret I don’t want to hear. “When are you going to do the inevitable, Nate, and take me out to dinner?” Before I can laugh I suddenly remember. Jessie. Dominique’s show is the one that Jessie has been working on. It’s been a few days since I spoke to Kyle, right before he went to London. I tried to call Jessie a couple of times after that, but there was no answer. “Do you know a girl named Jessie? Works in the costume department on your show?” A twinge of suspicion enters Dominique’s eyes. “Are you trying to change the subject?” “No,” I say, absently pulling her hand away from my chin, “it’s important. I’m supposed to talk to her.” “Pfft. Do you really think I sit down and talk with everyone who brings me my coffee?” “She’s not a PA. She does the costumes. She’s got black hair, hazel eyes, about —” “Nate!” Dominique sighs. She eases herself off the desk, and steps slowly around it towards me, trailing her long fingernails against the wood. “You’re smart enough to know that kind of girl can’t really do anything for a guy like you. They’re good to look at and all, sure, but they don’t know what they’re doing when it comes down to it.” I lean back in my chair as she steps in front of me. “It’s not like that. I just need to check up on her for a—” She presses a finger against my lip, and a hand on my thigh, leaning over me until all I can see is the Grand Canyon between her tits. A giant void that seems to have its own gravity. “You’ve done a lot for me, Nate. A lot for my career. Let me repay you a little bit.” “Dominique, seriously. I’ve got work to do.” “So have I,” she says, her spider-like fingers working the buckle on my belt. Just before I push her away the door to my office slams open, the mousey-haired head of Chloe poking itself through. “Sorry to interrupt,” she says, without a hint of surprise at the awkward scene

she just walked in on, “but your Porsche is being ticketed down at the curb, Ms. Ferreira.” Dominique pulls her attention away from my groin and marches towards the door. “For fuck’s sake! Every single time! When are you going to complain to the city about this?” She continues ranting all the way out of my office and into the elevator. I swing my chair back towards the desk. “Jesus, Chloe. I thought we said seven minutes? A second longer and she’d have stripped me.” “I’m sorry. I got held up. You really need another method for getting rid of her though – she’s gonna figure that parking thing out sooner or later.” “Short of keeping an ice bucket by my desk I can’t think of anything quicker.” “Anyway, the reason I was late was that there was a call for you. It sounds really urgent. Someone named ‘Jessie’?” “Shit. I’ll take it. Thanks.” Chloe closes the door behind her and I pick up the phone and punch the blinking button. “Hello?” “Hello? Nate?” Relief washes through me at the familiar sound of her voice. “It’s me. What’s up?” “You’re not with Kyle or anything, right?” I take a second to think. “No…he’s in London. Why?” I hear Jessie’s breathing on the other end of the line, short intakes, long exhales – she’s frustrated and anxious. “Okay. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m in jail.” “What?” “I’m in jail.” “What the hell did you do to get yourself in jail?” “Nate…” she says, her voice pleading, “I just need someone to bail me out. I didn’t have anyone else I could call. But if you’re going to sit there and lecture me, can you at least save it for later? My own conscience and the criminal justice system are doing a perfectly good job of making me feel like shit already. Please don’t make me beg.” Despite her tough-girl tone, I can hear the tremor in her voice beneath the bravado. And just like always, my heart goes a little soft knowing that Jessie’s in trouble. “Okay, okay. Just hang in there. I’m on my way.”

4 JESSIE

Spending seven hours in a police cell with a dreadlocked stoner and a valley girl

who got caught drunk driving ought to be a certain kind of hell. But once the anger runs a little dry, the alcohol wears off, and I know for sure that Nate is coming to bail me out, I end up appreciating the fact that I have a little time to myself. I guess it’s true what they say – it’s good to disconnect sometimes. A big shadow covers the stripes of light on the floor that I’ve been staring at for the past twenty minutes and I look up and squint between the bars at the beefy officer who put me in here in the wee hours of the morning, when I was still drunk and ranting at three AM. “Jessie Meyer,” he booms, before loudly unlocking the cell door and sliding it aside. “Bye girls. Good luck,” I say to my new friends. The stoner sprawled on the bench offers a hazy wave, and the crushed teen raises her mascara-streaked face to smile meekly at me. The police officer leads me down the corridors, stopping briefly at a desk to hand me my phone and purse, and then I follow him out into the reception area where Nate is waiting as casually as if we’re at a bar. “Are you sure she’s safe for me to be alone with?” Nate jokes to the officer, who rolls his eyes and turns back. We stand for a second, looking at each other. I’ve known Nate for as long as I can remember, but whenever I go a week or so without seeing him, it still takes me a few minutes to get used to how annoyingly beautiful he is. The sharp lines and rough stubble on his face made you wonder if someone had breathed life into a Greek statue, setting a couple of zircon gems in it for eyes. The sort of face you experience, rather than see. For pretty much all of my teenage years I’d get a static shock whenever Nate looked at me, and I was certain he had superpowers. But it’s Nate, my brother’s best friend. And I’m too old to have silly crushes anymore. “Let’s get out of here,” I say, refusing to meet his irritatingly gorgeous eyes for even one more second as I head for the exit. “I just want this night to be over.” “It’s technically daytime now. And while I appreciate having an excuse to leave

work, I’m almost tempted…” Nate begins, holding the door open for me. “Let me guess, you were tempted to leave me there and stew,” I interrupt. Nate laughs. “Something like that.” He keeps laughing as we go down the steps of the police station towards his car. “Thanks for coming so quickly,” I say across the roof of his car. “You gonna tell me why I had to drive across the city to bail you out of a cell?” “It’s a long story.” “I’m sure it’s a good one.” We get inside the car but Nate doesn’t start it up. Instead, he shifts in his seat and casts the spotlight of his eyes in my direction intently. Even if he hadn’t told me, I can tell he came straight from work— he’s in a soft button-down shirt that fits like it was made for him, sleeves rolled up to show the sinews of his forearms. I take a deep breath. “I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me. Is that stupid enough for you?” As the words tumble from my lips I feel all the anger and hurt once again, almost as if reminding myself how shitty it was. I quickly suppress the quiver in my throat and the heat in my eyes that could so easily turn into full-on, soap opera levels of crying. “Shit,” Nate says, his discomfort about discussing this kind of thing showing in the uncertainty of his voice. “Is he still alive?” I smile timidly. “Yeah. I don’t know about his car though.” I let out a weak laugh. “What happened?” If my morning in the cell felt like a brief vacation away from it all, sitting here in Nate’s car as the sun shines down on us outside the police station, and telling him exactly what happened, brings it all back again. I can feel the stress in my muscles, tensing them up and setting me on edge. The millions of problems and annoyances that seem to make up my life now reforming themselves in my mind. “My bad taste in men happened. Again. No…that’s not fair. It’s more complicated than that.” “Kyle mentioned that you had a new boyfriend.” “Ex-boyfriend. Hank. He seemed cool. I met him at a studio party. He was working in the sound department. We’d been dating for a month or so. It wasn’t perfect – I mean, he was always complaining that I kept putting work before him. I should have seen it coming, I guess. Last night he left his phone at my place. I took it to work with me, and it rang. I was so overwhelmed I just answered it, not even realizing it wasn’t mine.” “It was the other girl, right?” I nod grimly, and see a look of tight, restrained anger on Nate’s face. The same kind of protective aggression Kyle wears constantly, but which Nate understands when to keep in check. “After bitching at each other for a few minutes, we started talking. She was actually pretty cool. Turns out the asshole had been stringing both of us along. I got

so pissed, I couldn’t think. I felt like I was burning up. I managed to get through the work day, and after we wrapped around midnight, I got in my car and left. I stopped at a bar near his house, thinking I’d have a drink and then go tell him off. But the next thing I knew I was hiding outside his apartment, scrawling everything I wanted to call him on his car in lipstick.” A smile twitches at Nate’s lips. “They said you smashed in his headlights too. And pulled off the windshield wipers. And then you tried kicking in the bumper. At some point the car alarm went off, but you didn’t seem to notice.” I sink my head into my hands. “Fuck. See, I don’t even remember doing that. It was such a shit day. I’d just found out I didn’t get a job doing the costumes for this indie film about a single mom who’s a kingpin in the Russian mafia –I really wanted that gig. And then those bastards at Edison turned off the electricity at my apartment while I was at work because the bill’s past due and my roommate had to pay to get it turned back on and she’s ready to kill me over that. And then Hank. It’s like absolutely everything is fucked.” I feel myself getting worked up again, but then Nate’s hand press itself against my shoulder comfortingly and my breathing instantly slows. “Look, you’re obviously pushing yourself too hard. Stressing yourself out at work, where you’ve spent years steaming cop uniforms and they don’t pay you enough to even keep your lights on at home. And then your boyfriend – ex – cheating on you just tipped you over the edge. It sounds like you need a little time off, is all. Maybe evaluate where your life is at.” I smile and look up at Nate. “You’ve been talking to Kyle, right? You sound just like him.” Nate looks forward through the windshield, avoiding my eyes. “Is he wrong?” “Probably not. But it’s a little rich for my brother to be lecturing me about overworking. I don’t think he’s slept since last October. Besides, even though it drives me crazy sometimes, I love what I do.” It’s only half a lie – I do love what I do, I just don’t love the show where I’m doing it. If only I’d gotten that movie job. Nate shrugs, finally turning the key in the ignition and driving us out into the L.A. traffic. I let my eyes lose focus as Nate revs the car, the store fronts and parking lots flying by in a blur. Soon I’ll be back at work, grinding my hopes and dreams into dust as I try to squeeze out a living long enough to get that big break that only seems to get further away. “You wanna grab something to eat?” Nate asks. “It’s past lunch. And it sounds like you could use an Oreo milkshake.” I grin, pleased for some reason that Nate still remembers my favorite treat. “Sure.” In a few minutes we’re at a drive-thru, picking up our orders. Nate finds a spot, kills the engine, and we tear open the paper bags with child-like glee. “So how’s the glamorously sleazy world of ego-management these day?” I ask, after a couple of bites.

“Same as always,” Nate says, sipping loudly from his milkshake. “The egos get bigger, and then the money does, too. Your burger’s leaking.” I look down to see the extra mayo I ordered seeping out of the bottom of the bun, some of it already on my jeans. “Shit! Gimme more napkins!” Nate quickly fishes around in the bags while I slam open his glove compartment. Eventually he hands them to me and I manage to stop the flow before spattering my jeans so much they look like a nineties fashion statement. “Um…Nate?” I say slowly. “Mm?” he mumbles, his mouth full. “I think there’s a pair of women’s lingerie in your glovebox.” Nate swallows, smiles, and leans over. He picks them out and throws them in the paper bag with the dirty napkins. I raise an eyebrow, and look back at the glovebox. “What the fuck? Are you selling condoms as a side-business? Why are there so many in here?” “Because I’m too young to be paying multiple child support.” I laugh like it’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in awhile, which it is, but when I recover I just stare at him, open-mouthed, while he takes another gigantic bite of his quarter-pounder. “Are you really getting that much action?” I ask, equal parts awed and repulsed. Nate thinks as he chews, swallows slowly, and carries on thinking for a few more seconds. “I get enough.” “Wow. And you’re still nowhere near getting serious with anyone?” I’m suddenly more fascinated than disgusted. I can’t imagine playing the field forever like Nate does, but there’s something undeniably attractive about the idea of never having a broken heart again. “I’m not getting thrown into jail for any of them soon, no.” I punch him playfully. “That’s awful.” “Why is that awful?” “It just is. I thought you’d grown out of all that.” Nate looks at me with a furrowed brow, as if I just told him the most offensive joke he’s ever heard. “‘Grown out of it’? What do you mean?” “That whole ‘alpha-male, swinging-dick’ thing. Seducing all of those girls. ‘One-night stands.’” My voice trails off as I force myself to not-remember the one we had a few years ago. Never happened, Jessie. “Don’t you think it’s kind of…I dunno…asshole-ish?” “No,” Nate says, and I can see how much difficulty he has in even understanding me. “Asshole-ish is your ex-boyfriend making you think you were his only girl when he was seeing someone else. Asshole-ish is telling a girl you love her when all

you love is her body. Asshole-ish is lying to yourself about what you want from a woman because you haven’t got the balls to be true to your own instincts.” Nate caps off his rant by tearing another bite out of his burger. I get what he’s saying, but I still feel like his logic is faulty. Has he really never been in love? “Whoa. Calm down. I wasn’t trying to wind you up,” I soothe. “I’m just saying it’s weird that you won’t consider the possibility of ever having anything more meaningful.” Nate glares at me, and I can feel his disappointment almost telepathically. “How many ‘meaningful’ relationships have you had, Jessie? And how many of them ended up with someone – usually you – getting hurt? Is that what you mean when you say ‘meaningful’? Look, do you know how many women I’ve hurt in my life? Zero. Because I don’t promise them anything I don’t intend to give. I love women. I fucking worship them. Nothing on this planet is as beautiful, as mesmerizing, as capable of giving as much joy, as a woman. I want to celebrate every beautiful woman I meet. And the day I stop loving women, is the day I start looking for something ‘meaningful’ with them.” I stare at Nate for a few seconds. He turns his head and looks at me, his face completely serious. That’s when I burst out laughing again. “Ha! Are you fucking kidding me, dude?” “Alright, alright,” he says, sorely, turning the key in the ignition. “Are those the kinds of lines you use on them? Jesus Christ, Nate. I can’t believe that works.” I suck at my milkshake through the straw and suppress another giggle. He frowns. “Okay. I get it. You’re not down with my methods. End of conversation, then.” “You should write a book or something. ‘The Player’s Philosophy.’” “You done? Because I’m ready to go now.” Before I can answer, his phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket and answers it. “Will? What’s the news? You already met with him?” Nate listens and then does a fist-pump, banging his hand against the BMW’s headliner. At least someone’s getting good news today. “That’s awesome…okay. Leave it to me… Don’t worry. I’ll get him the reel right now…good…okay, we’ll talk tomorrow.” He hangs up and shoves the phone back into his pocket, then eases the car out of the drive-thru parking lot with a grin on his face. “I’ve got to run by the office real quick. Do you mind?” “I don’t have any plans for the immediate future except feeling sorry for myself,” I say. After about thirty more minutes of weaving between traffic as if we’re in a car chase, Nate pulls up outside the fancy glass-tower building of his office. “Stay here. I won’t be long,” he says, tossing me the keys. “Sure. I’ll be here with the radio on.” I watch Nate jog towards the entrance and slam through the doors, then start the car and turn my attention towards the stereo, flicking through stations as I

impatiently search for a decent song. After quickly realizing that either every radio station in L.A. sucks, or I’m just too on-edge to enjoy anything, I get out of the car to stretch my legs a little. I step up onto the sidewalk and lean up against Nate’s car. “Why hello there!” I look up to see who said that, and find a tall, handsome, old guy who looks like he should be farming cattle in the mid-west. “Hello?” I reply, caution and confusion mixed with a little politeness. “This is Nate’s car, isn’t it?” “Oh, yeah. He just went inside for a minute.” “I thought he left early to attend to a family emergency?” “Yeah,” I shrug, scrambling for an excuse that does not include explaining to this stranger that I needed Nate to bail me out of jail. “He, uh, had to come back and grab something though. We’re leaving soon. It wasn’t like a big emergency or anything. More of a medium-sized one,” I finish lamely. The man smiles at me as broadly as if he’d just heard I was having a baby. “That’s wonderful! It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you! I’m Dennis Robinson,” he says, offering me his big, flat hand to shake. “I’m Nate’s boss.” “Um…great to meet you. Nate’s said…so many good things about you. And, uh, about working here.” This is quickly turning into the most awkward conversation I’ve ever had. He nods, pleased. “You know, Nate talks a lot about you, too. I feel like we’ve already met.” “Really? He talks about me?” “All the time! But I must say, he still didn’t do you justice. You’re really very beautiful, I can see why he’s so enamored with you.” If anyone else complimented me that directly, I’d probably cringe, but coming from a guy like this, with his gentleman-of-Old-Hollywood style and old-west sincerity, it works. “Thanks?” “Hey!” Nate calls from the entrance, coming towards us. “Hello, Mr. Robinson.” “Hello, Nate. Working off the clock? Thought you took a personal day.” “You know me,” Nate says, putting his hands gently on my shoulders and guiding me to the passenger side of the car, “I can’t quit until the job’s done.” Mr. Robinson laughs. “Good, good. Well get on back home, then. Great to finally meet the little lady.” “Right. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Nate quickly jumps into the driver’s seat, flashes one more innocent smile at his boss, then revs the car away like a starting gun just went off. “Sorry about that. My boss always turns up when you least expect him.” “He seems nice.” I’m still a little baffled by the weird exchange. “He is. But give him a chance to start talking and you can forget about the rest of your day.”

I settle back in the car seat and we drive in silence for a little while. “Your boss,” I say, after a little while, “said that you talk about me a lot at work.” “What?” “I don’t know. He said you mentioned me a lot to him.” Nate’s face screws itself up with deep confusion. “No offense, Jessie, but why would I talk to my boss about—” He stops himself mid-sentence to smack a palm against his face. “Oh, fuck.” “What?” “What did he say to you exactly?” I shrug. “Nothing much. Just that you talked about me a lot. And that I was more beautiful than you’d told him.” “Fuck!” Nate slams his hands against the wheel, and I’m glad for the stop sign that causes him to slow down. “What’s going on?” “He thinks you’re Tessa!” “Who’s Tessa?” He sighs and shakes his head as he eases the car up to the curb outside my building. “My boss is old-fashioned.” “He looks it. And?” “And to him, a guy who isn’t married by twenty-five and a father by thirty has to be either a sexual deviant or a criminal.” “So of course he owns a talent agency in Hollywood,” I say, incredulously. Nate shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. He really loves this business, though.” “Wait a minute,” I say, laughing now that I realize what Nate’s saying. “I think I understand. So being the opportunistic bullshit-artist that you are, you figured you’d make yourself look good by telling him you have a loving wife at home named Tessa.” “Something like that. We’re not married. I haven’t proposed yet. She still has her own place.” I laugh so hard I nearly smack my head on the dash from doubling over. “Really, Nate? How long are you planning to keep that lie up?” Nate looks out of the windshield. “Well, me and Tessa have been a happy couple for a few years now. No reason why it can’t go on for many more.” He looks at me and chuckles. “Tessa’s a good woman. She’s stuck by me through all the late nights and hard times.” “Of course,” I smile. “Does she wear little plaid dresses and bake you apple pies too, this sexist archetype of yours?” “It’s not an archetype. She’s just…old fashioned. But she also likes her independence.” We both laugh a little more, until the good mood drains out of us and is replaced

by the quiet emptiness of the end of this little adventure. “Anyway, I should get going.” I hoist my purse onto my shoulder and reach for the door handle. “Thanks for the shake. And everything else.” Nate nods. “Give me a call. I always miss hanging out with you when we finally do.” “Yeah,” I smile. “Me too. Listen, don’t tell Kyle about…what happened. Please?” “You know I won’t.” “You’re the best. I really appreciate it, Nate.” “It’s nothing. Just…try not to drive yourself into the dust. Your brother’s at least right about that.” “Yeah. I know. As soon as I have another option, I’ll take it.” “I know you will. See you, Jessie.” “Bye, Nate.” I slam his door shut and he waves as he eases his car around in a U-turn and drives way too fast back down the street. I don’t move for a few seconds, staring blankly as his car disappears over the horizon. A soft sensation of yearning suddenly blossoms inside of me, as if I already kind of miss him, as if something was left unsaid. Then I remember that this is a man with a random woman’s underwear in his glovebox, and turn back home.

5 NATE

T hey say it’s the things you don’t do that you end up regretting. Now think about

all the things you never do because you settled down, or God forbid, got married. All the places you never went, the people you never met, the dreams you never fulfilled… For what? So that you can be sure that when you go home, somebody’s waiting there for you? So that you don’t have to worry about dying alone? I know what you’re all going to say. Don’t bother sending me the same comments. ‘It’s love, it’s companionship, it’s loyalty, you just don’t get it, Bad Boy.’ Right. So how’s that working out for you all, then? Have you seen the divorce rates lately? The truth is that I do get it. The alternative to settling down is actually living your life – and that’s fucking scary for a lot of people. That’s why most of you are watching this channel in the first place. It ain’t easy living like me, sleeping with beautiful women every night of the week, taking things one second at a time, searching for that one beautiful connection, then throwing it away the morning after – but I’ll tell you this: It’s pretty fucking awesome. But everyone’s different, right? Every situation specific. Some of the emails you guys send me are so hopeless, like you’ve given up. Well, that’s why I’m going to answer some of them right now, during my weekly advice vlog…

AS THE ELEVATOR doors open I check my watch – only half an hour late. Big improvement. At this rate I might even ask for a raise soon. I step beside Chloe’s desk and lean against it, picking up a magazine she laid aside. “You seem like you’re in a good mood this morning,” Chloe smirks. “Who was she?” “‘She’ was a glass of Scottish malt and a good night’s sleep.” It’s not technically a lie, but it leaves out the adrenaline rush I always get after uploading the latest Bad Boy vlog. Chloe eyes me over her thick-rimmed glasses. “Right,” she says, returning her gaze to her computer screen. “And I didn’t binge-watch trashy reality TV shows until three in the morning.”

“You should have told me, we could have shared the bottle.” Chloe shakes her head, but she smiles as she does so. “And then one of us would have to look for another job. No thanks.” “Do you really think all I do is sleep with women every night?” Chloe pulls her glasses down a little and looks at me. “No. Not always at night. Sometimes you sneak them in here during your lunchbreak.” My smile drops like a stone. “Don’t worry, Nate. Your secret’s safe with me. But you should be more careful. I think the cleaning lady is up to three lost earrings, a half-dozen fake nails, and a lace thong.” I sigh and look over towards the office. “I really should do something about these women leaving their underwear behind.” “Anyway,” Chloe says, pushing her glasses back up her nose and checking her pad, “Will left a message. He wants to speak to you. Good news, it sounded like.” “Great. Can you tell him to meet me at Blake’s, the bar near his place?” “Can do. Oh, and the boss wants to see you in his office.” I wince. “Now?” “He said as soon as you got in. So…” I drop the magazine back onto Chloe’s desk and make my way towards Robinson’s office, quickly reminding myself of all the excuses I’ve used recently – meetings with the boss usually end with me trying to back out of something. After knocking lightly, his always-enthusiastic voice beckons me in. “Come in! Nate! Good to see you!” “Morning.” If my office is impressive for its corner windows, Robinson’s is impressive because of its gigantic size. The walk from the entrance to his desk alone is bigger than any other office on the floor, and the second you step inside you can easily convince yourself you’re actually in some East Coast billionaire’s country house. Robinson gets up from behind his desk and meets me halfway, shaking my hand with typical thoroughness, like a mechanic wrenching a tough bolt. “I hope you’re ready for this weekend?” I look at him through bemused eyes. “This weekend?” “The Napa retreat, remember? I told you about it last week. The time has come.” “Ah,” I say, smiling with recognition. “Yes. I remember. About that…I don’t think—” “No!” he roars suddenly. “Not this time, Nate! I understand that you’re a very busy man, with an incredibly vibrant personal life, which is why I’ve overlooked your absence from many out-of-office activities,” he says, turning back to walk towards his desk, “but this is different. Not only are the very best clients that this

agency has ever worked with going to attend, but the partners, the New York office, and some very influential people will be there too.” He reaches his office chair, turns around, and eases himself back into it. “This is the inner circle, Nate. Only the most powerful players get invited to this sort of thing, and some of the most important decisions are made there. So you and Tessa are going, and that’s final.” I stand in front of his desk, one hand in my pocket, the other scratching my chin. I look casual on the outside, but on the inside I’m being torn apart by warring impulses. I’d heard about the retreat gatherings before, but always in the vague terms of an urban myth. The truth is, I didn’t think my career could get much bigger – not without a little nepotism. But this could change everything. And now that the opportunity is so close, and yet so far away… “I won’t take no for an answer,” Robinson says, his voice a balance between threatening and jovial that I’ve never heard anyone else achieve. “This is the next step for you, Nate. You’ve achieved everything you’re ever going to achieve at this level. You’ve represented some of the most difficult, and brilliant, clients we have. You’ve solved many problems nobody at this agency could – including myself – and you’ve done it without making too many enemies, which is mightily impressive. Now it’s time you took on a new level of challenge. You’ve outgrown the business as you know it. It’s time for you to start making powerful decisions, instead of just following them. Eventually, it could be you behind this desk.” I didn’t get where I am by being content, by thinking that I had enough. I never got anywhere by passing up chances that were risky, dangerous, or just couldn’t work. Right now I’m one of the most talented agents in my field, which for a lot of people would be a good time to hold steady, but for me only means that I’ve outgrown my field. I don’t want the corner office and the perks anymore – I want to be the guy who can give them out. The retreat could be the first step into something bigger than I ever imagined, where talent and hard work don’t even matter anymore, the aristocracy of Hollywood. Once you’re in, you’re a made man. Suddenly I feel like everything I’ve done up to this point has been kindergarten, and I’m finally ready for the real deal. “Well, how can I refuse when you make a case like that? I’ll move some things around and see about making it happen. Thank you very much for the offer.” I start backing away, hoping he won’t notice I’ve made no mention of Tessa, who I imagine will be coming down with a severe but temporary illness of some kind this weekend. “Good to hear,” Robinson growls cheerily. “I’ll have Chloe send you the details.” “Thanks,” I say, exhaling with relief and turning around. “Oh,” Robinson calls out after I take a few steps towards the door, “and don’t even think about coming without your wife – oop, sorry – fiancée.” I freeze mid-step, then turn around with the slow, impending fear of a teller during a bank robbery. Time to think fast. “Um…that’s going to be a bit of a problem. You see, she’s—”

“She’ll be fine,” Robinson interrupted. “The Napa retreat is always a family affair. There will be lots of spouses there for her to spend time with. The surroundings are beautiful, good food, good wine. So don’t worry about it.” I scramble for an ironclad excuse as panic rises in my chest, but I’m coming up blank. “It’s not that…it’s just that I think she—” “And the retreat is very much a chance for clients and peers to see your informal side. An opportunity to see the people behind the negotiations and business side of things. Without all the competitiveness and back-biting we unfortunately put up with in this—” Robinson’s phone rings loudly on his desk. He glances at it for half a second, holds his hand up as if I was the one talking, and answers it. “Hello? Yes…of course!” He gives me an emphatic thumbs-up, a polite nonverbal translation of ‘we’re done here, so please leave now – and don’t dare ‘forget’ what you just agreed to.’ “…AND THEN HE asked what I would do to give the character a sense of integrity during the scene – you know, because it comes so shortly after the comedic exchange – and I didn’t even think about it, I was just ‘in the zone’ as you Yanks say, so I just stood up, and I started acting out exactly how I saw it going. You should have seen his face – Nate? Are you even listening to me?” I look up from the bar as if waking from a dream. “Yeah, shit. Sorry, Will. I’m just a little out of it today.” He shifts a little in his stool to properly face me, takes a long draw of beer, and laughs a little to himself. “I should have known something was wrong when you didn’t even look at that rather lovely trio in the corner there.” I raise my eyes and look over to the other end of the empty bar. I catch the three young girls in business clothes looking in my direction, and when I return their gaze they quickly giggle and turn back to themselves shyly. “Would you believe me if I told you I’m not interested today?” “Not particularly,” Will responds, keeping his eyes fixed upon the women. “What’s the problem? Wait. Let me guess. You’ve suddenly seen the error of your ways and are experiencing the guilt of a thousand morning-afters at once.” I sigh into my beer bottle. “I’m supposed to go to a high-end retreat this weekend and schmooze with the company’s biggest players.” “Great!” “No ‘great,’ fucking amazing. Imagine prom, graduation, your first blow job, and your first paycheck – combine them, and that’s the kind of breakthrough this weekend could be. If it goes well, I could be one of the biggest forces in Hollywood within a year.” Will looks at me with awe in his eyes. “Again…great!”

“The thing is, I’m supposed to be bringing my girlfriend along.” Will knits his eyebrows together and looks at me suspiciously. “But you don’t have a girlfriend.” “That’s the problem. My boss is a family man, so I’ve been pretending to be a good little boy all this time – that meant inventing a fictional girl that I love deeply and am incredibly loyal to.” After laughing for what feels like an eternity, Will drains his beer and slaps a palm on my back. “Sorry, Nate,” he says, with typically British politeness. “I don’t mean to laugh. It’s just…well…again, what’s the problem?” I shoot him a confused look. “If I may,” Will says, putting his beer bottle down on the bar and directing his full attention towards me. “You are good at precisely two things. One: Meeting women, and seducing them into doing all manner of things they never thought they’d be doing. And two: Managing the egos and whims of people in the film industry – not least actors and actresses. Put those two elements together, and I believe you’ll find there’s quite an obvious solution to this predicament.” “It’s not a matter of finding some random girl to stand-in, Will. My boss met ‘Tessa’ a few days ago, only it wasn’t Tessa, it was…an old friend. That’s who Robinson’s expecting.” Will shrugs. “So take her.” I shake my head miserably. “She’s not exactly supportive of my…extracurricular activities. Trust me, there’s no way I can get her to agree to fake being my girlfriend for two days. Likely all I’d get for asking is a kick in the balls.” Will nods. “I see your problem now.” I groan slowly. We order a couple more beers and I start flicking through my phone contacts, looking for the number of a girl I’d met a week before – I’m going to need a hell of a stress-reliever tonight. “Hands off, Nate. This one’s all mine,” Will says, nudging me in the ribs. I look up. “Jessie?” She hears me call her name and flashes me a smile before making her way over from the entrance. In her tight yoga pants, hugging the sweet curve of her hips and thighs, and her bright-blue sports bra revealing the toned flatness of her midriff she looks out of place in the night-ambience of the bar. Still, even with a thin layer of sweat on her, dorky headphones around her neck, and her hair tied back, she’s the hottest girl there. Because she’s real. Will sighs and rolls his eyes at me. “I should have known. Is there a hot girl you haven’t already slept with?” I glower at him quickly. “She’s my best friend’s little sister. And we haven’t slept together. I mean, we did, but it was a one-off, and we said we’d never talk about so don’t start saying anything to her—”

“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.”

6 JESSIE

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 ‘dowhatever-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.”

7 NATE

I spend the rest of the week leading up to the big trip arranging for someone to fill

in for Jessie at work, and double, triple, and quadruple confirming that Jessie is still coming. I barely get any work done, the big mental countdown in my head distracting my attention like a bikini-wearing rollerblader on Venice Beach. In case it wasn’t obvious, I hate depending on other people – no matter who they are. The truth is, not many people in my life have been dependable to begin with. On my own I feel like I can move mountains, that there isn’t a goal in this world I can’t achieve. No deal too tough, no woman too unattainable, no obstacle too big. Control. Focus. That’s my philosophy, and I’m proud of it. Things start to get messy pretty quickly when you depend on others. Even when they’re doing their best, even when people are capable – shit can happen. I trust Jessie more than anyone – probably even more than her brother – but my entire career is in her hands right now, and it’s enough to make my stomach do barrel rolls every time I think of it. I turn the car onto Jessie’s street and see her standing on the sidewalk, her backpack and an overstuffed duffel sitting on the ground beside her. She’s in short jean cut-offs and a tank top, and my eyes immediately scan her legs with all the tender patience of foreplay. Fuck, does she know she wore those same shorts the night we…? No, probably not, she wears those a lot. Still, maybe she’s trying to send me a message…shit, of course she isn’t, and the last thing I need right now is to start thinking with my dick. I park the car in front of her and she pulls open the passenger door and ducks her head down. “Just the BMW?” she says, tossing her backpack in the footwell and her duffel in the backseat before climbing in. I keep my eyes on her face. “I thought you’d be bringing your Lamborghini this time.” “When everyone at the party can afford to be flashy, it’s tacky to actually do so.” “Right,” Jessie says, nodding sarcastically. “And besides, I don’t have a Lamborghini – well, not anymore. That’s the kind of detail we still need to iron out before we arrive,” I say, putting the car in gear and pulling away. “You know, I could swear I saw a French movie once with a plot like this.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask. “What happened?” “Nothing. It was a French movie.” She looks at me with a smile and I laugh. “Well I’m sure they’re going to love you at the retreat – even if they don’t believe you’re actually my fiancée.” “Fiancée?” “My boss keeps pressuring me to get married, seeing as we’ve been together for…” I point at Jessie. “Three years – I know,” she says, rolling her eyes. I relax in the seat a little as I stop the car in traffic. “We really should go over some things. Just to be extra sure.” Jessie sighs, then turns to face me. “Okay, tell me something you’ve never told anyone before.” “I don’t think that’s the kind of thing that’s going to help us.” “But it might. Come on! Weren’t you saying we need to have good ‘rapport’ and seem like we’re really into each other? I’ll go first if you want.” I glance at her and see the determined look on her face, then shrug. “Okay. Go first.” Jessie puts a finger against her lips, a gesture that she’s thinking but which some part of my brain interprets as incredibly fucking sexy. Maybe it’s the fact this at this point on a Friday evening I’m only thinking about one thing, or maybe it’s the way the sunlight catches the curves of her body in a way that draws me in like a moth to a flame. “How about this,” she says, smiling softly with genuine embarrassment. “I’ve started writing a diary.” “A diary?” “Uh huh.” “Like, ‘Dear Diary, today I got a zit’ – type of thing?” “Not exactly like that. But yeah, a typical diary. Totally lame.” “Why do it, then?” “I dunno. I just went into a card shop the other day, saw they had these really pretty notepads, and bought one. Then I started writing in it. That’s all. It’s kinda therapeutic. I spend every waking moment so busy, it’s really nice to just sit down before bed and think and write. Helps me order my thoughts.” I nod in appreciation. “Well I think that’s pretty awesome. Not lame at all.” “Thanks,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear in a shy gesture that seems totally out of character for her. Even after all these years, I guess she can still surprise me sometimes. “Okay. Now you.” I look at her, quirking a brow. “Tell me a secret you’ve never told anyone. Come on.” The only thing that comes to my mind are the Confessions video blogs. I try to push them away and think of something else, but they just cut through all my

thoughts like a giant neon sign. I wince and breathe in through my teeth to try and make something up. “I’m waiting,” Jessie coos in my ear. “Um…okay…I keep sort of a diary too.” “Be serious, Nate!” Jessie punches me in the arm. “I told you mine. Come on.” “I am serious. I mean, it’s not exactly a ‘flashlight under the bedsheets’ sort of thing, but it’s a diary – more or less.” “Are you fucking with me?” “Absolutely not. It’s the truth. I’ve been doing it for a couple of years now. Like you said, it’s a cool way to organize your thinking a bit. Figure things out for yourself. Kind of like…” “Like making your thoughts count for something. So you know where you stand.” I look at Jessie, who’s gazing at me so sincerely I can’t look back at the road. A second later I do, somehow feeling like she’s just pulled at a part of me I didn’t know existed. “Yeah, something like that.” We settle into an easy rhythm for the long drive to Napa. Jessie hooks her iPhone up to the car stereo and plays a bunch of bands I’ve never heard of while we enjoy the scenery. The open road winding between the lush coastal mountains and the serene blue ocean makes me feel like we’re a million miles from the hustle and bustle of LA. I try to focus on a game plan for my networking weekend, but Jessie is such a bundle of energy to the right of me – drumming on the dash, singing choruses out loud, and basically making me feel more like we’re heading to the beach than an isolated resort full of stuffy corporate types – that I soon give up and relax into the simple joy of the road trip. As I look over at her, taking in the goofy grin and the gigantic coffee table book of Renaissance costumes that she brought along for a little light reading, I start believing that we might just be able to pull this off.

WE CAN TELL we’re getting close to the retreat long before we actually do. The hills start to curve and roll like Picasso painted them, and the endless fields of grapevines seem to almost glow with greens and browns under the California sunshine. Everywhere you look, the valley appears to have had the most flattering Instagram filter applied to it, almost surreal in its perfection and vibrancy. I glance at Jessie, who’s doing her best ‘Alice in Wonderland’ eyes out the car window. I guide the car down a narrow path through the vineyards, and when we round a corner, Jessie gasps as the retreat we’ll be staying at comes into view. “Pretty nice,” I say, slowing the car down as the path widens into the forecourt. “Pretty nice?” Jessie exclaims, almost like she’s offended. “This place is gorgeous.” I don’t say anything – she’s right. Even I’m a little taken aback as I bring the car

to a stop in front of it. The building’s three floors are set against the gentle curve of the hill, all red-tiled roofs, sun-faded terracotta, and vines of bougainvillea that coil themselves around columns and dangle from arbors. It looks perfectly cohesive with the nature around it, as if its multiple terraces, balconies, and aged colors sprouted out from the ground as organically as the dense fauna around it. We step out of the car and grab our bags, a valet running over towards us. I hand him my keys, and he drives my car away like he’s just committed a robbery, leaving us standing there in the awesome presence of the place. “Shall we, Tessa?” Jessie turns to look at me in confusion, then quickly smiles when she realizes. “Sure, booboo.” “What?” “Booboo, it’s a pet name. Nothing screams authentic couple like a saccharine and infantile pet name.” “Sure,” I say, seeing the point but not really liking it. “But ‘booboo’?” “I’m sure you’d prefer something like ‘big boy’ or ‘studmuffin,’ but I’m not giving you that.” “Okay, then I should get to call you something.” “Sure, take your pick,” Jessie says, nonchalantly. I try to think of all the pet names I could call Jessie, and make the stupid decision to look at her for inspiration. My eyes go straight to the soft curves hiding beneath the thin fabric of her tank top, and suddenly all the things I can think of to call her wouldn’t be suitable outside a sound-proofed bedroom. “Um…‘cutie’?” “Aww!” Jessie says, smiling broadly as she presses the warmth of her taut body against me and puts her arm through mine. I feel the sudden, throbbing power in my groin of a man who hasn’t had sex in years, and realize it’s going to take a lot of cold showers to get through this weekend without doing something stupid. Again. Arm-in-arm, we walk up the steps to the giant porch of the retreat, waving breezy hellos to the people sipping wine on the tables off to the side as if we’re an actual couple here on vacation. Maybe this won’t be so difficult after all. The second we step through the large, open entrance, the hot aromas of the vineyards give way to the cool atmosphere of luxury. The large hallway feels more like a hippie mansion than a lobby, full of wicker chairs, aged wood furniture, and overgrown potted plants. We step past a few other couples and look for some kind of check-in desk. “What are we supposed to do?” Jessie leans in and whispers in my ear, the heat of her breath sending a little shiver down my back. “I don’t really know. This is my first time here, and I guess they’re used to regulars.” We take a few more steps into the middle of the lobby before I feel a smack on my back like a boulder just dropped on me. “Nate!” comes the threateningly friendly voice of Robinson. I turn around to

face him. “I’ve been waiting for you all morning!” It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Robinson not dressed like he’s attending a Viennese opera in the eighteenth century, but it’s still one hell of an outfit. As if his loose, cream, linen trousers and his untucked, half-buttoned cotton shirt didn’t complete his ‘turn-of-the-century colonialist’ look, he went and added a safari hat. It works. He looks like Hemingway shaved his beard and lost a few pounds. “Ah, well it’s my first time finding the place,” I say, as we shake hands with out-of-office vigor. “Won’t be your last, though,” Robinson winks, before turning his attention to Jessie. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Tessa,” he says, taking her hand so gently for a second I almost feel like he’s about to kiss it. “Yes,” Jessie replies, with so much composure in her voice it feels like she’s doing an impression. “I’m sorry if I came across a bit curt last time, I was just a little anxious about Nate doing so much running around that day. You know how he’s always trying to do it all.” She punches me fake-affectionately on the bicep and I grit my teeth and smile. Robinson furrows his brow like a strict schoolmaster. “That’s no good, Nate. I like a hard worker, but a family emergency is a family emergency, and your loved ones should always come first. Speaking of which.” Robinson turns around to get somebody’s attention and I use the opportunity to look at Jessie, casting a quick expression at her that says what are you doing? She quickly replies with a shrug that I interpret as you wanted me to schmooze, didn’t you? “This is my wife, Alexandra,” Robinson says, puffing his chest out with pride as he steps aside to reveal the woman approaching. Suddenly Robinson’s obsession with ‘loved ones’ makes a whole new level of sense. To call Alexandra a woman in her fifties would be deceitful fact – she has the kind of ageless, graceful beauty that’s far too remarkable to let a few wrinkles stand in its way. Her outfit stands out just as much as Robinson’s – but for entirely different reasons. With her grey, knee-length dress, tightened around her hourglass figure by a white belt, she’s straight out of the Jackie Onassis look-book circa sixty-one. Hepburn shades below Bardot hair. On any other woman you would call it a ‘look;’ on her it’s like meeting a Truffaut femme fatale in the flesh. “A pleasure to meet you,” I say, gently taking her extended hand. “Likewise,” she replies, in a silk-wrapped voice, before turning to Jessie. “Welcome.” “Well,” Robinson says, clapping his hands and waking me out of Alexandra’s spell, “I’m sure you’re tired, and want to get acquainted with the place.” He gestures to a nearby porter. “We’ll be having dinner by the pool tonight – should be a rather interesting affair, I’ve got quite a few people to introduce you to.” “Thank you very much for having us,” Jessie says through a home-baked, wholegrain smile. She pushes herself up against me, arm around my waist, head

pressed against my shoulder. I know it’s meant to show us off as the clean-cut happy couple, but the fact I can feel the softness of her breast against my chest makes my thoughts anything but clean. Robinson grins widely at her, impressed and delighted. “The pleasure’s mine. See you this evening.” After the four of us nod gracious farewells, Robinson and Alexandra walk away. Jessie and I exchange a quick sigh and allow the porter to take our bags and lead us between the paintings and pottery that adorn every corner of the retreat. “That was pretty good, Jess- Tessa. I think Robinson liked you. Keep it up.” Jessie frowns at me. “What did you expect me to do? Tell him a dirty joke or something?” “No! You weren’t going to, were you?” “Jesus! How clueless do you think I am, Nate? Just because I goof around with you doesn’t mean I’m a complete clown.” “You’re right, I’m sorry.” Jessie smiles her forgiveness. “Besides, if you want to worry about coming across maturely, you might want to stop giving your boss’s wife the ‘eyes.’” “I wasn’t giving her the eyes.” “Ha! You definitely were. You were smoldering at her.” “Smoldering? I wasn’t smoldering.” “You do it every time you find someone attractive. You can’t help it.” I stop dead in my tracks, and run a hand across my eyes in bemusement, before starting to walk again. “What the hell does that even mean? I wouldn’t even know how to ‘smolder’!” “Sure you do,” Jessie says, enjoying my confusion. “You lower your head a bit… narrow your eyes…press your lips together to get all those lines in your jaw working. Like this,” she says, casting her version of it in my direction. “Whoa! I do not do that.” Jessie’s laughing so much now she can barely get words out. “You do, Nate. It’s like you’re auditioning for a cologne ad. You’ve done that look for as long as I’ve known you.” “Your room,” the porter says, interrupting politely as he gestures to the door. After staring doubtingly at Jessie’s broad smile for another second I wave the conversation away and step through the door. “Oh my God,” Jessie gasps. The place is even nicer than our expectations. Light, wood-paneled walls and flooring, accented with the big white puffiness of the couch cushions and bed, all of it accented by the soft, pale gold sunlight that pours in from the large balcony alongside the room. All of it looks almost too perfect, too clean and wonderful to actually use. “I guess this is what the hotel rooms in heaven look like.” “I know, right?” Jessie says through an awe-struck smile. “Will that be all?” the porter asks behind us.

“Oh, yes. Thank you very much,” Jessie replies. “Wait. What’s your name?” A flash of surprise appears on the porter’s face. “Me? Um…Jason.” “I’m Tessa. This is Nate.” The porter glances at me, then back at Jessie, before nodding awkwardly. I turn to look at Jessie, a weird sense of jealousy tightening my glare at the slightly lingering look between the two of them. “Nice to meet you,” Jason says, forcing a feeble smile. “You too,” Jessie says, as he turns away. She looks at me and notices my everso-slightly jealous gaze. “What?” she says, shrugging. “The guy wheeled our bags here, the least you can do is know his name.” “I’m not complaining. I think it’s very cool.” She moves across the room, and I completely forget about the interior decorating – no room in the world could distract me from a body like hers. The athleticism and sexiness of her movements, the pleasing way the fabric of her top stretches over her breasts. Somewhere inside of me a beast roars, a volcano rumbles. I feel a hunger that goes way deeper than the desire to bite and suck on her lips. My hands itch at the prospect of tracing the lines of her lower back, my body edgy with the need to press her tight against me. “There’s only one bed,” I say, pretending that I’m not keenly focused on Jessie’s reaction. “That’s cool,” she says, still gazing around the room like it’s a museum. “I can sleep on the couch.” Before I can tell her I don’t mind sharing she walks out onto the balcony, the open air seeming to highlight every cock-pulling curve, every blood-warming movement of her body. She leans over the railing, her ass rolling backward, and I almost start panting. My imagination runs wild as I visualize myself moving towards her, towards it. Cupping her ass in my hands, pressing the unbearable sweetness of her rear against me, taking my time as I run my hands up her top and lean in to— “Oh my God, Nate! You have to check out this view! Nate? Are you okay?” “Uh…yeah,” I mumble, as she reenters the room. “Just feeling a little hot.” I slide off my jacket and toss it to the side as I go to my bag, forcing myself not to look at her. “Really? I think it’s really nice and cool in here. Should I turn on the a/c?” “Maybe I just need a drink.” “I’m sure they have a well-stocked bar downstairs. Ooh! And fancy cocktails!” Her excitement is contagious in a way that makes me wanna take her in my arms and give her something else to squeal about, so I force myself to look away. “I would think so.” “Awesome. Let’s go before dinner. I’ll go take a shower now.” Does she realize what she’s doing to me? “Sure. I’ll take one after you.”

I carry on pretending to unpack my bag as she grabs a change of clothes and goes into the bathroom, oohing and ahhing from inside, until she eventually closes the door. I let out a long, slow breath, suddenly realizing how tense my muscles are. This is going to be harder than I imagined. What the hell is happening to me? It’s Jessie, for fuck’s sake. I grew up with her, she’s one of the few people I can actually call a friend, and yet here I am feeling full of a fire that only she can put out. Without realizing, I start pacing around the room, shaking my arms and rolling my neck to get rid of the tense desire I’m feeling. It’s just time, that’s all. That has to be it. It’s been four days since I slept with a woman – it’s not a record, but it’s bordering on one. Being here, having to go through the façade of pretending she’s my girlfriend – I just need to relieve some stress. Suddenly I hear the shower turn on, and amid the rush of water hear the shower door slide closed, slightly muffling the hiss. Now all I’m thinking about is the hot streams running down Jessie’s body. How she might be rolling her fingers down her neck, around her breasts. My own hand finds its way down to the waistband of my jeans, the excruciating hardness inside. I think of how she’ll arch her back and raise her head like she’s moaning, her fingers following the flow of water down her front to the suppleness of her inner thighs— Fuck! I move away from the bathroom door, far enough that she won’t be able to hear me if I keep my voice low enough, tearing apart my shirt so quickly a button pops, then pulling my phone from my pocket. I angle the camera towards my abs, and press record. This is gonna be a weird one - one I bet you never thought I’d make. Tonight I wanna talk about not fucking, about holding back, about restraint. Keeping all of your urges in check even when there’s someone so absurdly hot, so extremely, unbelievably, exceptionally fucking beautiful that you feel like exploding just knowing they’re nearby…

8 NATE

A fter a long, cold shower (and a little self-relief) I’m just about able to control

myself around Jessie again. Helped a little by the fact that she’s wearing a loosefitting, light-blue knee-length skirt that’s just a little short of devastating if I look at her head-on…though her thin-strapped yellow top still outlines enough of her teardrop breasts to magnetize my line of sight. “You ready?” she says, stepping out of the bathroom. I look up from my phone. “Very nice. You hiding a hairdresser in there?” “Shut up.” “I mean it,” I say sincerely. Her hair falls about her face in thick, black waves, lending her looks a little of the exotic. “Well…thank you.” I stand up and offer Jessie my arm. “Shall we?” “Sure, booboo,” she smiles, linking her arm with mine. After wandering around the retreat for a while, we finally find the bar by moving towards the noisiest, busiest part – it turns out we’re not the only ones seeking a pre-dinner cocktail. There are around thirty people, though the area is so spacious it doesn’t seem as much. Most of them are casually milling around the bar, or moving between those sitting cross-legged on lounge chairs, glasses held loosely in hand. “Do you recognize anyone here?” Jessie asks, leaning towards me. “A couple of faces. Clients…competitors.” “Wait, is that Michael Stross?” I turn to cast a surprised look at Jessie. “How do you know him?” Now it’s Jessie who’s registering surprise. “Don’t you remember that summer the three of us went to all the midnight showings of his cheesy sci-fi flicks? They had a marathon. We saw all of them twice.” The memory comes to me quickly. “Oh yeah. Good times.” We stroll towards the bar, exchanging a few nods to the strangers who notice us – possibly more than most due to the fact that we seem to be the youngest people

there. After ordering our drinks – a single malt for me and a colorful concoction for Jessie after she asks the barman to ‘surprise’ her – we raise them towards each other, and take a sip. Before I can even ask how Jessie’s drink tastes, the sound of laughter and chatter enters the room, followed by a group of about a dozen men and women, with Robinson at the forefront. Like a squadron of birds they quickly form around us at the bar, to the sound of alpha-male jokes and sassy female ripostes rapidly firing. We find ourselves next to Robinson and Alexandra, and adjust our position to face them. “Nate! Just the guy I want to see!” Robinson booms even more loudly than usual. “Here, let me give you a quick guide to these rascals.” “Arthur,” Alexandra says in a voice so droll and slinky it’s like her lips are next to my ear, “isn’t it a little early to start talking business?” “It’s Nate’s first time! The quicker he starts learning some names, the quicker he can start pulling those moves he’s gained a reputation for.” Alexandra rolls her eyes and smiles wryly, and I already know the gesture’s going to be planted in my memory for a long time. “Well, if you insist, then I’m going to take my drink to the pool.” She shifts her feet as if to go, then smiles at Jessie. “Unless you enjoy watching men perform rituals only a little less primal than apes, I suggest you join me.” Jessie laughs and picks up her drink. “Sure. Anthropology was never my best subject.” Before she follows the swaying frame of Alexandra, she places a gentle hand on my shoulder, and plants a kiss on my cheek. For the next two minutes, well after she’s left, the feeling of her lips against my cheek, a lock of her hair brushing against my brow, lingers like a sweet bruise. Robinson carries on talking, pulling a couple of the men beside him into the conversation, and I somehow go through the motions of shaking their hands, smiling, replying. But all I can think about is Jessie’s lips, so close to mine. I suck down the rest of my whiskey, come hurtling back into the present moment like a shot, and forget about it as I start making the impression that I came here to make. Over the next hour, I meet, greet, and exchange ideas with people I’d have struggled to get a phone call with before. I catch up with some contacts, exchange cards with possible new ones, and even start the ball rolling on some potentially career-defining moves with industry players. The bar starts filling up, and the laid-back, retirement-home-by-the-lake vibe that was there when I entered quickly morphs into the loud jousting of powerful people making powerful friends. Somewhere, a bell rings, and the producer I’m speaking to informs me that the sound means dinner will be served once everybody’s at the table. I look around for Jessie’s distinctly attractive head, but when I don’t see her I make my excuses and leave to go search for her. After skirting the pool, checking out the lobby, and finding myself walking briskly down random corridors in search of my ‘girlfriend,’ I eventually realize that

I’m lost. And with everyone having already made their way towards the outside dining area, there’s nobody to ask. I start walking a little quicker when I think I recognize a potted plant, and jog forward, turning a corner I hope will lead me back into the lobby. It doesn’t. Instead, it leads me right into something warm, soft, and more than a little inviting. “Nate…slow down. I’d hate to rush things.” Lo and behold, it’s my favorite professional cougar, in the flesh and on the prowl. “Dominique?!” I exclaim, too quick to hold back my surprise. “What are you doing here?” She raises an eyebrow curiously. “Didn’t expect me, Nate? You know you can always find me hanging with the big boys.” Her eyes rake me from top to bottom, and I cringe back. “Sorry,” I say, trying to shuffle aside. “I’m just trying to get back in time for dinner.” Dominique puts a hand on her hip and angles herself toward me. “Do you have a big appetite?” I laugh a little as I inch away, almost admiring her ability to flirt in a way that leaves you little choice but to flirt back. “It’s this way, right?” “Oh no, Nate,” she drawls, putting her hands against my chest and rolling them down my torso. I step back until there’s nothing behind me but hard wall. “The buffet’s right here.” Pressing me up against the wall, I feel her knee push against the inside of my leg. She pulls gently down on the bottom of her tight shirt, revealing a couple more inches of cleavage to the few she’s already showing. “Dominique,” I say, wiping the smile from my face to show I’m serious, “this really isn’t a good time.” “It’s the perfect time. Everybody busy with their appetizers, I bet we’ll have a whole hour to ourselves. All the way in the corner of this mansion. Nobody to hear me scream.” Nobody to hear me scream, either. “You do realize I’m here with my girlfriend, right?” She barely acknowledges me as she begins to unbutton my shirt. I grab her hand, and she twists it away, then smacks it against her ass. “No you’re not. You’re here with me, Nate.” With my hand held firmly against her ass, and her knee working the tip of my cock more expertly than most women can manage with their fingers, it’s getting pretty hard to hold myself back. If I don’t do something to get rid of Dominique soon, I might end up doing something regretful with her instead. “Ms. Ferreira!” We both flick our heads in the direction of the voice, and I breathe a huge sigh of relief to see Jessie walking towards us. Dominique pulls away slightly and I slide out

from between her and the wall. “Yes?” Dominique intones, making no effort to hide her displeasure. “It’s me! Jess—” “Tessa!” I call out, loudly. Smiling like a goofball. “Right!” Jessie quickly agrees, smiling at Dominique as if catching her fauxfiancé getting sexually mauled in the hallway is just about the most entertaining thing she’s ever seen. “We work together on the show.” Dominique gazes at Jessie like she’s speaking another language. “The costume department,” Jessie continues. “I do most of your outfits.” “Oh,” Dominique says, with only a vague inclination that she remembers. “I see.” I walk towards Jessie, put my hand on her side, then flash her a quick wink before kissing her on the lips – too concerned with how this is going to play out to worry about feeling anything. I turn back to Dominique. “Dominique, meet my girlfriend. Tessa, Dominique.” Dominique nods and slowly smiles as she pieces it together. “Yes. The girl you asked me about, I presume.” “Right,” I say, pulling Jessie close like we’re posing for a family photo. “It’s so nice to see you outside of the studio, Ms. Ferreira. I feel like I can actually tell you what a great actress I think you are.” “Well, thank you for the compliment…ah…” “Tessa.” “Yes. Tessa. I’m sure you’re very good at…” “I’m your costumer.” “Yes, that’s it. And a fantastic one at that. Say, Tessa, you wouldn’t happen to know where the porter is, would you? Tall man, strong shoulders, stubble?” “Jason? I think I saw him going towards the kitchen. Why?” “No reason,” Dominique says, casting a mischievous glance at me as she begins to walk past. “I just need him to take care of something for me. Lovely seeing you.” We watch the actress walk away, and when she turns a corner both sigh deeply. “Where the hell were you?” I ask. “I was with Alexandra. She was showing me some of her wardrobe. You wouldn’t believe how beautiful the room she’s staying in is. What happened?” “Oh, nothing. I almost became the latest victim of L.A.’s wildest predator, but that’s about it.” “Yeah. I could tell you weren’t having fun ’cause of that look you had,” Jessie chuckles as we start walking back. “What look?” “The look you always get when you want to get the hell out of something, but you don’t want to offend anyone. You do this thing with your eyebrows, and this big, little-boy smile. It’s cute. It’s bashful.” I snort a little laugh. “First I ‘smolder’ now I’m ‘bashful.’ Is there anything else in my repertoire you

wanna tell me about?” “Relax. Of course I see these things, I’ve known you since you were twelve.” “Right, so why do I feel like I’m still learning things about you?” “Maybe I’m just more complicated.” “Yeah. Maybe,” I say, smiling at her as we move back towards the lobby, barely even registering the fact that we’ve still got our arms wrapped around each other even though nobody’s watching.

DINNER GOES BETTER than I ever could have imagined. Suddenly I realize why Robinson was so intent on dragging me here. Anywhere else and the people around the long table would be at each other’s throats, fighting tooth and nail over every inch of a deal. For most of the year, they usually are; side-swiping, backstabbing, and generally pulling every trick they can to get one over on each other. Since we’ve been at the retreat, however, everyone is acting like their working days are far in the past, and that the stakes don’t count anymore. Inside stories and secrets spill as easily as the wine that was made nearby. Hated enemies laugh at jokes about themselves, directors give the scoop on their last shoots, actors discuss top secret new scripts, and even Robinson self-deprecates about his outfits. It’s almost surreal. A genuine insider’s circle that I would call conspiracy on if someone told me about it before I saw it with my own eyes. Most impressive of all, though, is Jessie. Sitting across from me, at a table filled with actors and agents who have built their careers on looks, charisma, and wit, she’s the most radiant person there. She’s confident and cool, funny and sharp; by the end of the night, almost everybody at the table is under her spell. Me, I just try my best to hide the fact that I’m watching every smile and laugh from those sweeping lips, every movement of her breasts in that tight tank top. After a few more glasses of wine, I don’t even bother. “Where did you two meet?” asks Marianne, the Oscar-winner seated a couple of seats away from Jessie, who seems to have grown fascinated by her at some point between the main course and dessert. The question immediately pulls my attention away from the story someone’s telling at the other end of the table. Instantly, I regret goofing around in the car on the way here, rather than clearing up some details. I hurt my teeth trying to chew down a mouthful of ice cream, but before I can speak Jessie’s already doing the talking. “Oh, Nate and I have known each other since we were kids.” I feel my heart drop, and waves of nausea ripple throughout my stomach. “Really?” Robinson says, frowning severely. “That’s not what Nate told me. He said you’d met on a flight from Paris.” Time seems to freeze for a moment, as if it wants to punish me by letting me truly feel the moment it all comes crashing down. Suddenly, I notice how quiet the table seems, how many pairs of eyes are trained upon Jessie, waiting for her

answer, as if all of them already know. Vultures waiting for the kill. I pray it’ll be painless. But then Jessie just smiles, like it’s all a game. She turns to me, hazel eyes sparkling like the fine cutlery, and winks. “That’s because Nate is incredibly embarrassed to be so sweet,” she says, so convincingly I almost believe it myself. “He thinks it’s super cheesy that we’re childhood sweethearts who used to sneak kisses in my treehouse and ride our bikes to the corner store for popsicles—” she pauses as coos of ‘aww’ and ‘how sweet’ echo around the table from the other women. “And that it makes him look less ‘manly.’ Of course, he will hate me saying that out loud. But he’s actually a total softie.” I feel my face heat as Robinson slaps me on the back, chuckling loudly at my expense, but I also notice that the tense pressure hanging over the table has faded into a wine-fueled glow of amusement that wasn’t there before. I flash Jessie a grin and raise my glass to her. She lifts her drink too and winks, this time just for my benefit, this time with a little pout in her lips that’s more than friendly. Or maybe I’m just too drunk. Deep into the night, people start filtering away from the table. Some go to their rooms, some go back to the bar to carry on drinking, the rest are too busy engaged in intense, private conversations to even notice. Then I get a text from Kyle giving me shit for the new Bad Boy video I just uploaded- “Restraint, dude? Never thought I’d see the day! Who is she?” Panic hits me. Instead of writing back, I turn my phone on silent mode so the guilt won’t take over every time my phone buzzes. I’ll have to come up with a good explanation for Kyle later, maybe blame my blue balls on being at a ‘professional’ work event all weekend. “You tired?” I say to Jessie, after we’ve been staring at each other and smiling in the buzz of the alcohol. “I dunno,” she shrugs, before taking another sip. “Wanna take a walk? Get some fresh air?” “Sure.” We get up and move away from the lights under the canopy, into the dark night and the citrus trees and grapevines surrounding the retreat. Where even the air seems intoxicatingly filled with aromas. We take a small path that gives us a view of the mountains, silhouetted against the deep indigo sky, and soon we can’t even see the lights of the retreat anymore. We step slowly, not really caring about getting anywhere, just enjoying the moment, the crunch under our feet, the sound of insects making music in the dark. “You were pretty fantastic back there,” I say after a while. Jessie laughs suddenly with surprise. “What? What do you mean?” “Everybody loved you. I mean, I was a little worried. You’re younger than them, new here, and these aren’t the easiest people to impress. But you did. What was that Tom was saying?”

Jessie laughs again. “He was talking about how I’d be perfect for a supporting part in a film he’s making. I don’t think he was being serious.” “I think he was. Tom’s not the kind of guy to say stuff like that and not mean it – even when he’s drunk he’ll hold you to a deal.” “I don’t know…I’m no actress.” “You could have fooled me back in there.” “That wasn’t acting,” she says, going serious. “It was just…me.” We carry on walking a while as the path curls around, savoring the smells, the silence, the slight edginess of being in the dark. “It’s weird,” I say suddenly, my thoughts spilling out of my mouth. “What is?” “You. Them. All of it.” “How is that weird? I don’t understand.” “I used to think of you as a little girl. The one who hangs around. The one who’s always a few years away from knowing the things that I know. But today…today it’s like we’re on an equal footing.” “You mean you can’t look down on me anymore?” Jessie teases through a smile. I take a deep breath, wondering if it’s the wine, the night air, or…something else. “It’s just weird that…sitting at that table, it’s so obvious how smart and talented you are. How dedicated you are. How much you belong at the top of your field. And yet, you’re the only one at that table who isn’t…what does that say about this industry?” Jessie snorts a laugh, but I can hear the note of sadness buried under the dismissal. “It says what people like me have known for a long time; that Hollywood – the world, even – isn’t fair.” Her voice trails off, and I can sense I’ve hit a nerve. “Maybe so. But you’re great at what you do, and you deserve better than where you’re at, and someday it’s all gonna work out, Jessie. I know it. It’s my job to know these things.” She hides behind her hair a little, suddenly shy. “That’s just the drink talking.” “No. No it isn’t. If I was sober I might not be saying it – but I’d still be thinking it.” We follow the path a little longer as it brings us back towards the pool, tucked around the corner from the dining table, which is now empty. The last waiters are wiping down the wine stains and heading inside. Jessie stops and looks up at the stars, smiling. I gaze at the softness of her throat, the feminine arc of her shoulders, suddenly experiencing the wooziness of the alcohol once again. “It’s such a pretty night,” she says wistfully. “You want to stay out a little longer?” Jessie looks at me. “I want to go for a swim.”

“Are you serious?” I ask. “Yeah.” It’s the kind of spontaneous suggestion Jessie used to make all the time when we were kids. I immediately feel like I’m a teenager again, being dragging into trouble by Jessie’s sense of adventure. But just like I used to back then, I’m only pretending that I don’t think it’s a good idea to get into a little mischief. I look around casually. “So go ahead. I’ll watch.” “No. You get in first,” Jessie says, already tugging her skirt down, and the only thing stopping me from studying her body is the fact that she’s looking at me just as intensely. “No. I’m not swimming. The water’s probably freezing.” Jessie grins mischievously as she pulls off her top and I fail to keep my eyes away from her breasts. “Don’t be a baby, Nate. Are you still a terrible swimmer?” “What? I’ve never been a terrible swimmer.” “Sure you were. You have four and a half years on me, Nate, and I could still always outswim you. Even when we were kids.” “Ha! I’ve heard of alcohol making you forget things – but I didn’t think it caused you to make shit up.” “Come on, Nate! You remember. I’d challenge you to catch me before I reached the other side of the pool. And you never did.” I snort. “You challenged me once, and I definitely did catch you.” Jessie backs away towards the edge of the pool, looking undeniably luscious in her matching lace bra and panties. “Prove it. I dare you.” It’s the magic word. The word that got me into a lot of bad situations – and just as many great ones. A word that, for whatever reason, stokes a kind of pride in me that makes me puff out my chest. Maybe it was never actually the word, but just the way she said it. Either way, she knows she’s got me. She turns gracefully and dives so elegantly into the water she barely makes a splash. In the split-second that she’s in the air, all the reasons I shouldn’t dive in after her flash through my mind: The fact that I’m half drunk. The fact that I’d ruin thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes. The fact that we’re at a retreat filled with professionals who could make or break my career. And mostly, the fact that I’ve been dangerously attracted to this woman since we got here. But all those reasons disappear the second I think them. Jessie knows I can’t resist a dare – I never could. Off go my shoes, socks, shirt and finally pants until I’m standing in my boxer-briefs with my pulse pounding in my ears. When I look across the pool, I see Jessie watching me, her nearly naked body silhouetted by the underwater lights, and our eyes lock for a single electric moment. Kyle’s text earlier flashes through my mind like a warning sign, and I feel myself wavering. “Do it,” Jessie coaxes, her voice a mixture of challenging and enticing. That decides it. I take a run-up of a couple of strides and fly into the water. It’s warm and soft,

and I lash through it, hearing Jessie’s laughter mix with the splashing of water. I glance up and see how far ahead she is, before submerging my head and swimming powerfully to catch up. I grab her waist just before she reaches the other end, spinning her around and pressing her back against the side of the pool. My arms cling to the edge of it around her head, our faces inches from each as we smile and pant. “Got you,” I say. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to ignore the primal call of your own male pride.” I look into her eyes as we bob in the water, the dim light of the retreat refracting over her wet skin, outlining the femininity of her face, the wetness of her lips. It might be the most beautiful I’ve ever seen a woman. Something tightens in me like a screw, pulls at my lust like a magnet. Her chest rises with every hard breath, her gaze softening innocently. It seems to happen in slow-motion, as inevitable and as powerful as things falling to the ground when you let them go. Every voice inside of me telling me that this is wrong, that this is a bad idea, that I shouldn’t let my instincts take over, it all becomes a distant echo in the presence of those lips. They’re too perfect. Too close. Our lips touch, soft and wet. I close my eyes and the moment becomes nothing but sensations. The slow wrap of her arms around me, her hands in my hair. The tremble of her torso as my hands tighten around her waist. The slow exploration of our tongues touching, then the increasing pressure of my hardening bulge against the invitation between her legs. “Excuse me?” The voice feels like an alarm clock in a dream. Something that doesn’t belong. As if we were the last people on earth. We break apart recklessly. Jessie lets out an awkward laugh, hurriedly moving as far away from me as possible. “Sorry,” the porter says, looking sheepish. “We’re turning the lights off outside, so maybe…” “Sure, sure,” I say quickly. “We’re coming.” The porter leaves, and as Jessie and I leave the pool in chilly silence, the nighttime air feels a lot colder.

9 JESSIE

T here’s a weird vibe as we make our way back to the room, dripping on the

hallway carpeting all the way. At first it feels like if we stay silent then what just happened might be forgotten, but after a while, the fact that we’re not talking about it becomes even more awkward. “It must be pretty late,” I say, as casually as possible. “Yeah,” Nate replies, doing just as poor a job of being nonchalant. “Yeah, it is.” We get into our room and suddenly I wince, realizing once again that there’s only the king-size bed. “Do you want to use the shower?” Nate asks. “Um, you go first.” “I’ll be quick.” While he disappears I start looking for a few sheets and pillows to make a bed on the floor. After a few minutes, Nate comes out wearing a pair of boxers and a white tee that clings to his perfectly sculpted chest. I can feel my face heating, so I nod politely, grab my nightclothes, and step past him as if we’re two strangers in an office hallway. It’s only when I’m standing in the shower, hot water making my body come alive, that I stop to think about what just happened. A weird mixture of guilt and lust swirl inside me, each one making the other stronger. I cringe a little when I think about putting my hand on the back of his head, biting his lower lip, letting him put his hands on my bare skin…but at the same time I feel a warmth between my thighs that isn’t coming from the water. Suddenly becoming incredibly self-conscious about spending so much time in the shower, I get out and dry myself off in a hurry. After I get dressed in the bathroom, I take a deep breath and step back into the room. Nate’s already lying on the makeshift bed I made on the floor, playing with his phone. “I don’t mind taking the floor,” I say to him. “It’s cool,” Nate says, putting his phone to the side. “It’s good for my back, anyway.” Ordinarily I’d force the issue. Ordinarily the preconception that the ‘guy’ should

always take the floor would bug me. Shit, ordinarily I’d just invite Nate to share the bed with me. Maybe I should invite Nate to share the bed with me. Fuck. Isn’t there supposed to be an angel to go along with the devil on your shoulder? I step past him towards the bed, pretending to pick something from my baggy tshirt so I don’t have to look at him. Bringing only an old band tee and some underwear to wear at night suddenly seems like a bad idea, but the thought flickers across my mind that he might be checking out my bare legs, and it’s not entirely unwanted… “Night, Nate,” I say, pulling up the covers and reaching for the wall-mounted room light. “Night,” he says, and I spend the next ten minutes thinking about the way he said it, wondering if it can reveal anything about his mood. Rather than bury the room in black, turning off the light leaves faint-blue traces of moonlight around the room, making everything look dreamlike and not-quitereal. The fabric of the curtains seems to shimmer as they move in the quiet breeze. Every sound is amplified now, every rustling of the bedsheets, every turn of the head; even my breathing sounds like it’s way too loud. More than that, my body starts feeling like nuclear material; hot and active. I’m tired, still a little drunk, and glad to be out of my wet clothes – but at the same time I don’t think I’ve ever felt more awake. As I shift in the bed, trying to get comfortable, every limb suddenly feels prickly. I rub my thighs together but stop myself when I realize I’m just making myself hornier. All I can think about is Nate. The fact that he’s so close, that he’s already kissed me, that my body’s still shaking all over from the way his torso pressed me against the side of the pool. Lying at the foot of the bed, his hard muscles and gorgeous face so close to me, and yet there’s nothing I can do about it. My body’s throbbing with unresolved energy, tension and stress that needs to be released, and the one thing that can offer me that relief is lying on his back in the same room, completely untouchable. It feels like hours pass. Hours in which I go from trying to deny the deep yearning for him, to wondering what I’d do if he stood up and got in bed alongside me. After a while I’m visualizing it, fantasizing about it, willing it like a prayer. A little later and I’m already making my excuses – I’ll say I was drunk, I’ll tell him not to mention it again, we’ll agree to forget it just like last time. I wait a few more seconds, as if giving my body one last chance to calm down, to stop burning for him, then slide the covers aside, and get up. I step slowly around the bed until I’m standing at his feet. He’s awake. I can see the sparkle of his eyes in the moonlight. He’s awake, and he’s watching me. He pushes away his sheets and I see he’s just wearing his boxers, the hard hump in them admitting everything. He sits up a little and gazes as I take my shirt off and stand there for a second, allowing him to see me before I kneel

down and straddle him. “Jessie…” I grab his head with my hands and pull his face towards me, our foreheads together. “Shh…” “This is wrong.” I nip at his lips, taking them between my teeth and pulling at them, edgy and hot from the lust that’s built up inside of me. “So fucking wrong,” I reply, as he nuzzles roughly into my neck. “We shouldn’t…” “I know.” His hands grip my sides roughly. We lash at each other’s tongues as he takes my breast and kneads it, pinching my nipple and sending sweet tickles of pain reverberating throughout my body. I roll my hips over his bulge, every swing making him harder, turning his breath hard and quick. I put my hands on his chest and press him down onto the floor, until he’s lying flat on his back, the perfection of his torso obvious even in the dim light. A sea of ridges and muscles unfurled in front of me like a beautiful landscape, an adventure I take with my tongue, rolling up from his navel, kissing at his chest. His hand grips my head, but I’m the one in control. I feel the quakes of his body under my searching tongue, feel the tensing of his muscles under my hands as he loses control, feel his cock struggle against his boxers. “Jessie…fuck… We should stop. We should stop…” I answer him with a moan, my fingers teasing his waistband, tugging impatiently at it. “There’s a condom in my jeans,” he pants. I sit up and reach over to his jeans, scratching around until I find it in his back pocket. He stares at me with hunger in his eyes, his hands going to my breasts again to pull and pinch as I tear open the packet. Grabbing the sides of his boxers, I pull them down slowly, his hard dick springing out of them, already rock-hard, as big as the desire he’s feeling. I pull his boxers completely off, grab him, and give the shaft a long, slow lick, sucking softly at the tip, his gasps and moans rising and fading like smoke in the moonlight. Once I get the condom on him, I slide my panties down and move up his body, rolling my breasts along his torso. Big muscly arms grab at me, pulling me closer, until our lips finally meet, and our hot tongues connect like two points of fire. Merging and thrashing until we can’t tell where one of us ends and the other begins. “Jessie…” he whispers in between our hungry kisses, deliciously messy in the dark. His hands grab and smack at my ass cheeks, reminding me of his strength. I roll myself over his groin and I can feel I’m already wet, my body aching, struggling with itself. The itch inside of me almost unbearable now. We struggle and move together, no longer separate, but a single animal trying to pull itself together. I can’t wait any longer. I reach down, grab his cock, and guide it into me with a gasp,

the sensation of being filled arousing my desires and satisfying them at the same time. “Give it to me, Nate. Give it to me,” I pant, feeling my body fall out of my control. Nate pushes me up until I’m sitting on his cock, where he can play with my breasts, pull on my ass. He’s stiff and long inside of me, stroking at places I never knew existed. Deep enough to relieve the guilt, deep enough to make me forget any reason we shouldn’t be doing this. “Take it, Jessie. Ride my cock. I wanna watch you move.” I glance down at him and see his blue eyes studying me like I’m a goddess, worshipping my curves, adoring my movements, hypnotized and ravenous. The feeling spurs me on, and I roll over him, pussy squeezing and pulling at his cock. One hand against the solidness of his chest, the other in my hair, as if to stop me from getting too high. “That’s good, Jessie,” Nate says, dropping his head back onto the pillow. “Real fucking good.” My animal instincts take over, until I can’t think anymore, can’t even feel his hands on my breasts. My entire being collapses inwards, to where his big, burning cock is pounding into me with sensations that roll through my entire body in a series of tremors. I arch backwards, hands grasping at his muscled thighs for support, and something clicks, a button pushed, and I’m over the edge. “Fuck, Nate! Oh my God, yes!” Everything leaves my body at once, heat, lust, weight, the aching need that I’ve felt since we kissed in the pool. It torrents out of me, relieving me of everything that makes me who I am, turning me into nothing but a soft ball of bliss. I don’t realize I’m screaming until Nate’s hand closes softly over my mouth to muffle it, and I jerk forward onto his chest in a cold sweat as if from a dream, out-of-breath and empty. I rest my head on Nate’s shoulder, still moaning and trying to catch my breath as he hushes me, shh-ing softly into my ear. Then he wraps his arms around me, clinging to me, pulling me tight against him as he comes with a desperate groan. I feel the shudders of his body, the stutters of his breath, the coolness that follows it. He sighs deeply, our chests rising and falling against each other, an understanding expressed more meaningfully than words. No need to move, no need to spoil this. The only thing left is to melt into each other.

10 NATE

“A re you awake?”

The voice breaks through the groggy mist of the morning and pulls me to reality with a thump. “Um…yeah,” I say, rubbing at my eyes before opening them. Jessie and I are wrapped together, our legs entwined, the satisfying weight of her on my chest. I look down and feel the softness of her hair under my chin, see the beautiful smoothness of her breast pressed up against my front. She looks up at me, her face perfect in the morning light, and I suddenly realize I’ve got a huge hard-on pressing against her thigh. “Is it possible that we could, I don’t know, forget that last night happened?” she says in a soft morning voice. “Uh…sure. I mean, we did it before, right?” “Right. And the alcohol.” “Yeah. Definitely the alcohol,” I say, swiping hair from her forehead and continuing down to stroke the back of her neck. “And the whole situation, being here at the retreat.” She practically purrs as my hand moves lower, to squeeze at a knot in the taut muscle of her upper back. “That played a big part. For sure. It’s definitely a weird situation.” “And unpredictable things happen in weird situations,” she says, drawing her fingernails softly down my chest. “Absolutely,” I agree. “And you’ve been so stressed at work lately.” “I am. I’m really stressed. And you’re trying to impress your boss and stuff.” “Yeah, that definitely plays a part...” We look at each other innocently, begging for confirmation from the other. “It’s perfectly understandable we’d do something like that,” she says, shrugging a little. “Of course!” I say loudly, as if the alternative would be stupid. “Who wouldn’t understand, given the circumstances?” “And…I mean…it would even be understandable if it happened again…” Jessie trails off. “I mean, one would think.” I gulp deeply, my cock feeling like it’s grown a full inch.

“One would,” I say, moving my hand further down her back to the line of her ass. “I think…while we’re at the retreat…anything would be forgivable…” I feel her fingers wrap themselves tightly around my cock. “Just while we’re here…in these circumstances…” she says, sliding down my body, tilting her head and quirking a brow at me for confirmation. “Right,” I say, combing my hand through her hair as her breasts move down either side of my cock. “Anywhere else and this would be—” I stop to groan a little as her lips close tightly over the head of my dick. “Bad.” She moans, her mouth filled with the end of my dick, and the vibrations send a burst of pleasure through me that makes me pull her hair. She sucks and pulls her head back, hard and slow, until my cock pops out of her mouth. “So bad,” she pants, eyeing my dick like it’s gonna save her life. With her hand gently jerking me off, she bends down and takes my balls in her mouth. I watch her arched back, ass up in the air like some magnificent landscape, as she starts to suck. “Shit. That’s good,” I growl, as she works me. “Very fucking good.” Incredible sensations pass over me as she works from a gentle rhythm up to a pounding thump. She rolls her tongue a few more times around my shaft and then pulls away, and for a few seconds I’m in agony, teetering on the edge of rapture, at the gates of paradise. “Are you close?” she says, her sultry voice filling my ears like a command from God. I look up and see the glint in her eyes, relishing the power she has over me right now, enjoying the fact that she’s created a storm inside of me that only she can calm now. Her hot, wet lips so close. “Yes. Fuck…” She presses her closed lips to the end of my cock, making them real tight, and sucking it through her lips like an ice pop. I throw my head back uncontrollably, giving every essence of my being up to her. Suddenly she’s working my cock so brilliantly it’s difficult to believe she’s doing it with just her mouth. It feels like there are multiple mouths there, numerous lashing tongues, each one connected to all my nerve centers, sending me through loops of sweet anticipation and hardhitting satisfaction. I hold on like a man falling to earth as I begin to thrust into her mouth, groaning uncontrollably and struggling to savor each beautiful, passing moment of ecstasy as it whips past me. Soon it becomes harder to hold back than to let go. When I come, I come hard. Like a punch in the gut that knocks me out, so drained that I feel like my body might float away. Jessie urges it out of me, sucking my juice ravenously, wrapping her tongue around my cock and swallowing it with lidded eyes and soft moans. I lie back for a few moments, completely spent, remembering what it feels like to be human, somehow out of breath. Jessie rolls off to the side, and when I sit up I immediately notice the relaxed look on her face, the satisfied rise and fall of her breasts.

The urge to kiss her tenderly, to take her in my arms, passes as quickly as it comes. All the feelings of guilt, of Kyle, of what this might do to all of our relationships, start creeping back into my mind like dark clouds. “Just while we’re here, at the retreat, right?” I say. She opens her eyes and looks at me, a note of seriousness suddenly in the repose of her face. “Right. Just while we’re here.”

AFTER A BIG BREAKFAST with some of the other couples, though I note that Dominique is conspicuously absent, I leave Jessie behind and agree to play a round of golf with a few of the ‘old boys.’ Normally I find golf about as boring as hitting tiny balls with a giant stick, but after spending so much time with Jessie, I’ll take any opportunity for both of us to get a break from each other. Maybe it’ll do us some good, because sticking together seems to be turning into a very bad idea. The only problem is that as soon I get away from Jessie, I think about her even more. Five of us drive out to the course, enough to keep the inside-jokes, backroom dealings, and masculine atmosphere going the whole time, but I’m on automatic throughout. My mouth makes sounds, my body plays the game, but inside I’m wrestling with questions and problems like a hormonal teenager with nosy parents. The biggest problem, besides that it’s fundamentally wrong to fuck someone you grew up making mudpies with, is that Kyle would tear me apart like a chicken wing if he found out. He already hates Jessie’s boyfriends enough to the point that if he had any actual say, he’d sign her up for a nunnery until she was forty-five. But me? I’m supposed to be the guy he can trust, pretty much part of the family. I’m supposed to be the guy he comes to when Jessie stops listening to him. It doesn’t help that Kyle knows exactly who I am: The ‘Bad Boy.’ The serial womanizer for whom a third date is a long-term relationship. The Romeo whose mother tongue is body language, and who’s worked through the Kama Sutra twice over. The guy who hates reliability, sticking around, and building a genuine emotional connection that lasts – precisely the things that Kyle wants for Jessie. I get so terrified thinking of Kyle’s reaction that I over hit every drive well past the green. It’s not just the fact that Kyle would leave me scattered in several pieces all over L.A. if he found out, it’s the betrayal. Kyle’s been my best friend for as long as I can remember. And now that I’m an adult, he and Jessie are the only friends I’ve kept for that long. He was there when I needed a friend – which was pretty much my entire childhood… If Kyle wasn’t so protective, so damned judgmental, things would be fine. Things will be fine. Jessie and I are on the same page now. What happens at the retreat, stays at the retreat. Once we leave Napa, we’ll just forget all of this happened – last night, this morning, whatever happens next… Around the sixteenth hole I start thinking about what will happen next. Just

thinking about how Jessie looked this morning, naked and hungry between my thighs, makes me shudder and tighten up with the prospect of a round two. Her ass in those jean-shorts, her lips in the pool, the sounds of her losing control when she comes. Then another thought strikes me like a blow to the head. If anything goes this weekend, then why the fuck am I out here playing golf? I clear my throat. “Gentlemen, I’m very sorry to, uh, leave this so close to the end, but I’ve got to get back to the retreat,” I say suddenly, already walking backwards. The others look at each other and then back at me. “Something wrong?” “Yeah. Nothing serious…actually, yeah it’s serious. An emergency.” I wave my cell phone, as if I’ve just received an urgent message. “I’ve really got to get back. It’s urgent.” “It must be,” David laughs. “If you’re going to try and get back on foot. Here, take my car. We’ll all try to squeeze into Jim’s car – God knows it’s big enough.” David tosses me his keys and I offer a quick salute of gratitude before turning and jogging back through the course, the sound of their laughter behind me.

SEVERAL BROKEN SPEED limits and a bad parking job later I’m running through the grounds of the retreat asking people where ‘Tessa’ is like I’m looking for a criminal on the run. Eventually I find her stretched out on a lounge chair by the pool, deep in conversation with a vaguely familiar Australian woman in big sunglasses who looks like she’s just as enamored with Jessie as I am. She’s wearing nothing but a bikini under a thin, see-through sarong and she grins at me when she sees me jogging toward her. As if I needed any more convincing. “Hey, Tessa!” I say, stepping in front of them. “Oh, hey. You’re back early. This is Caroline. Where’s everyone else?” “Um…they’re on their way. I had to come back before them. Something…I need you for a moment.” Jessie looks at Caroline then back at me. “Can we do it later?” Jessie asks, ever-so-slightly pleading. “Not really. But it won’t take long…I mean, not if…” “Oh, it’s fine, darling,” Caroline says in her Australian drawl. “I’m not planning to move from here until they stop serving drinks – which they’d better not.” Jessie beams at the woman as she gets up. “Great! Enjoy the daiquiris. I’ll be right back.” “Bye Nate,” Caroline says with a grin before turning back to her cocktail. I grab Jessie gently by the arm and urge her forward alongside me. “Do you know who that was?” she asks in a shocked whisper as soon as we’re out of earshot. “Caroline, right?” “Yes! Caroline Tiernan. She’s, like, the most amazing costume designer around

right now! She just arrived this morning!” “Great.” “We’ve been talking for hours. She is so awesome.” “I told you this trip would be worth it,” I say, as I bring her inside the retreat and guide her through the corridors. “She’s been going through some of my ideas with me. I think I’ve learned more today than I did in my three years of costuming classes in college.” “That’s really fucking awesome!” “That’s not even the most awesome thing – she wants me to show her my designs!” “And thus, a star is born.” “I’m just on such a high right now, I don’t think I’ve ever – wait, what’s going on? Why did you drag me back to the room?” I shove open the door, drag her inside, slam it shut, then slam her up against it. “Oh,” she says, her surprised eyes narrowing into a look of suggestive mischief. “I see.” Pressing my body up against hers, I take a moment to appreciate having her to myself again. The smell of her sun-baked skin filling my nose, our faces so close I can see the flecks of yellow in her hazel eyes, lips so close I feel every fragile breath on my face. I rake my fingers gently up her side, enjoying the way her skin trembles under my touch, until I find the string of her bikini top, and reach around to her back. “Since nothing counts while we’re here,” I whisper, bringing my lips close to her ear, “I wanna make the most of it.” She giggles a little, throaty and deep. It’s a green light, a red flag, a starting pistol. Her way of saying ‘go for it, I’m all yours.’ I put my hand around her throat and guide her mouth to mine, pressing swollen and wet lips together, tongues flickering against each other like stoked flames. Bolts of strength surge through my body as I press up against her, my nerves overloaded with desire for her. My hands work automatically, untying her bikini top and tearing it off her as she moans and gasps at the aggression of my tongue-fucking, giving herself entirely to the power of my body forced against her. Dirty, nasty, beastly feelings I never knew I had start to take over. I’ve never felt this guilty, this wrong, and I’m starting to see why it’s so popular – it’s a hell of an aphrodisiac. Turning me wild, untamable, an animal whose only purpose is to fuck. I grab her arm and pull her away from the wall, tossing her face first onto the bed and then stalking up behind her, undoing my fly, like I’m picking my moment to pounce. She looks back at me, over her shoulder, a sly grin on her lips. A challenge. I grab her sarong, tied in a loose knot, and pull it away like a showman, unveiling the irresistible line of her waist, the statuesque arch of her back. On the bed, on all fours, she lowers her head like a cat stretching, pushing her ass up and back towards me, a ripe peach ready for plucking, a sweeping landscape begging to be explored.

“Give it to me,” she moans. I smack my hand against her ass and she squeals with delight. I run my hand roughly down the slope of her back, up to her hair, the grab a fistful and pull it, causing her to gasp with thrilled surprise. My cock nestles between her ass cheeks, and she rolls a little back and forth, gently stroking it between those enticing humps. “So you like it rough?” I snarl, plucking a condom from my pocket and tearing it open with my teeth. Her husky laugh tells me she does, and I smack her ass once again, this time drawing a long moan from her. I pull her hips back toward me and grab her ponytail in a firm tug, forcing her to press herself up against me. The condom now on my cock, I move it down between her ass, down to her pussy, pushing it between her thighs, enjoying the way she squeezes it between them, the way the smooth fabric of her bikini bottoms feels against its head. “Take off that suit right now,” I growl, low and mean, as I grip her roughly, teasing her clit through her suit bottoms. “And put me inside you.” Anxious and tense, her every breath trailing off into a high-pitched moan, Jessie unties her bottoms and throws them onto the floor, reaching between her legs to grab my cock, guiding it towards her. As I press against her slick entrance, she cries out in a frenzy, grinding her hips back to meet me as my hard length finally pushes between her pussy lips. “Oh my God,” she gasps, as I slam myself inside her tight warmth. “Oh my God.” “You like that?” I whisper, pushing and pulling inside her slowly as I stroke her ass, letting our rhythms sync, letting her pussy feel every ridge and curve of my cock. “Yes,” Jessie wails, drawing out the word out to three times its length. “Beg me for it,” I command, as the slow explorations become powerful thumps. “Please, Nate,” Jessie squeals, her voice wobbling with every thrust. “Please.” I reach forward and grab her ponytail again, holding her hair tight, forcing her to bring her head back, coaxing her to lose control. Then I bring my palm down again on her ass cheeks, enjoying how her firm body feels under my hands. “More,” she sighs between her desperate breaths, “harder.” Our hips smash together over and over again, crashing together like tidal waves, my cock venturing inside her like a bolt of thunder striking and rumbling, sending ripples across her flesh. Her pussy squeezing and pulsating around the stiffness of my cock. I pull her hair harder, my other hand going to her breast now, pinching her hard nipple between my knuckles until she cries out with the combination of lust and pain. I fuck Jessie as if I’m angry with her, as if punishing her with pleasure, as if I blame her for making me so damned horny. I take the ball of tense desire that her tight little body makes me feel and direct it back at her in those crashing drives, those bombs of sensory overload.

“Fuck, your pussy’s good,” I snarl, panting furiously. Jessie loses control, her face pressed into the bed, her hand to her mouth as she lets out a cacophony of stuttered breaths, broken moans, and long shrieks. I focus on her, my eyes gorging on the sight of her perfect shape. I run my hands around her ass, allow myself to rake my fingers across the artistic indents of her back, leaning over to pull on the delicate arc of her shoulder. It’s too much to take in, too much beauty, too much feminine allure, and it pushes me over the edge, saps the last bit of self-control from me. She lets out a louder, longer, higher moan, and it’s music to my ears, the final trigger. I come like a dropped bomb, explosive and destructive, all my strength gathered into the point of our connection. Her pussy tightens as she does the same, and for a few magnificent seconds we’re lost at sea, clutching onto each other as the waves roll and rumble around us, clinging onto one another as we ride out the storm and see where we wash up. Shattered but content, Jessie stretches out her arms and then curls up on the bed, while I roll over and lie on my back beside her. For a few minutes we just lie there next to each other as our breathing slows and goes silent. I turn my head to look at her, and see that she’s already looking at me, the slightest hint of a smile on her lips. “I haven’t been fucked like that for a very long time,” she says, her voice quiet and husky. I chuckle a little and look back at up at the ceiling. “I haven’t needed it that bad for a very long time, either.” After a little pause, Jessie says, “It’s still just sex, right? Just while we’re here?” “Yeah,” I say, hoping that Jessie is convinced, though barely convincing myself. “It’s still just sex.”

11 NATE

T he tension between me and Jessie as we begin our long drive back down to L.A. is

so thick you could swim in it. Since I started my video blog the one question I got more than any other was about how to deal with the morning after. The sense of embarrassment between two people that makes you talk to each other like bad actors with a half-written script. The memories of what you did the night before looking a whole lot worse in the unforgiving light of day. Avoiding conversation not because you both regret something, but because you’re not sure if you regret it for exactly the same reasons. I’ve got a whole new appreciation for those questions right now, and a load of new material for my blog. Once the polite goodbyes to the rest of the people at the retreat were said, and the bags shoved quickly into the back of my car, we got inside and haven’t said a word in the hour since. To be honest, we hadn’t talked much for the entire Sunday. Not unless commanding each other to do various things ‘harder’ and ‘faster’ counts as ‘talking.’ Rushing back from the golf course on Saturday turned out to be the tip of the iceberg. After that we were late for dinner because we fucked in the shower, left the table early to go for a walk and fucked up against a tree at the far edge of the vineyard, then had a few drinks with the others before finally doing it in the pool. I’d never met a woman whose stamina could match mine the way Jessie’s did, and it turned out that learning Jason the porter’s first name was a smart move when we ended up needing him to discreetly get us more condoms, having exhausted my supply…although judging by the satisfied look on Dominique’s face over dinner, it seemed possible that the porter had needed some for himself anyway. After another morning-call blowjob, we had a long serious talk about how all of this was a bad idea, and how we needed to stop doing it. We both promised vehemently that was it, then broke the promise around forty-five seconds later when we passed each other a little too close on the way to the bathroom. During a quick lunch where a few others commented on how much time we were spending in our room, and how low-energy both of us seemed, I thought on my feet

and told everyone Jessie was feeling a little ill. I think they bought it, though I don’t know for sure, because Jessie and I finished eating quickly and took advantage of the excuse to spend the rest of the day working through more positions than an Olympic gymnastics routine. We were right about one thing, though, which was that things would change as soon as we left the retreat. The second I pulled out of the long driveway and hit the main roads, the cold realization of what had just happened descended upon us like a blanket made of guilt and embarrassment. As if the retreat itself was a dream in which anything goes, and the long drive south was the journey back to reality. “Nate…” Jessie says quietly, after about twenty miles of the most focused driving I’ve ever done in my life. “Yeah?” I say, sounding perky. “Are we…just not gonna talk about this weekend?” I wrap my fingers tightly around the wheel as anxiety bubbles up from deep in my soul. “What’s to talk about? It was an arrangement. It was just sex—” “Right. Just while we were at the retreat. It doesn’t count,” Jessie interrupts wearily. “I know the lines by now, Nate. We’ve been saying them all weekend.” “Right.” She takes a breath. “But…was it?” “Was it what?” “You know what.” “I don’t.” Jessie throws her head back and sighs. “Come on, Nate. Don’t be unfair.” I curb myself before spitting out another dismissive, instinctual response. Normally I’d shrug it off, but this particular situation – because it’s Jessie – is anything but normal for me and for once I have no idea how to react. She must notice my change in expression, because instead of pushing me again, she waits for me to talk. “I don’t know, Jessie,” I say, and it comes out sounding like an admittance of defeat. “I’ve got a million questions I’ve got to answer myself before we can talk about it.” I glance over and she nods with empathy. “Okay,” she says, more strength in her voice now. “How about we get back to L.A., leave each alone for a few days, and then we can talk about it.” “Sounds good to me.” “I mean, we’re cool, right?” “Of course,” I say, looking at her to show I mean it. “We’re always cool. It’s us.” “Good,” Jessie says, smiling a little.

WE DON’T TALK MUCH for the rest of the journey, both of us comfortable enough with

Jessie’s idea of giving each other some time to just relax and enjoy the drive, and the rambling tunes on the radio filling the quiet space. For a while, I can almost believe that things really are cool, that we can really just go back to the way things were. But then I look over at her, and realize that rationally, reasonably, and objectively, my mind might understand, but my body’s going to take much longer to forget. Eventually I pull up outside her apartment, and I get out to help her with her heavy bags up the elevator and to her apartment. She opens the door, takes the bags from me, and walks a little way into the apartment before turning back towards me. “Guess my roommate’s out on another gossip assignment.” I nod, not sure of what to say, because the only thought going through my head is the fact that we could fuck right here in her apartment and nobody needs to know. Jessie smiles awkwardly at me, and the whole vibe of weirdness between us seems to make one last flourish before we can leave each other. “So…” Jessie says, lifting her arms and dropping them to her sides in a shrug. “So…I guess I’ll see you?” “Yeah. Um…call me?” “Okay.” We shuffle our feet and continue smiling bashfully. I wait for her to make a gesture, like closing the door, or stepping back, or for my body to turn around and walk away in the manner that any normal situation would dictate, but it doesn’t happen. “Well, bye Nate,” Jessie says, opening her arms wide for a goodbye hug. “See you, Jessie,” I say, taking her in my arms. We bring ourselves together in an embrace. It’s natural and sweet, innocent and harmless – for about three seconds. Then Jessie nuzzles my neck and takes my earlobe between her teeth, while my hands descend down her back and slide into the back pockets of her jeans. I push her forward into the apartment and she kicks the door closed behind me. My lips are on her neck, devouring the soft smoothness of her skin there, while her hands grab my sides, pulling me onto her. I let the whirlwind of smells and sensations that make up the playground of her body take me over once again, turning me wild and rampant. “Ooh, Nate.” “You like that, huh?” “No! Your…your…thing!” Jessie pushes me away from her and points at my pocket. For a second I’m weirded out, until I realize what she means – my phone’s vibrating. I pull it out and groan when I see the name: Mom. I look at Jessie and shake my head, setting the phone on a side table, already moving in to recapture the momentum.

And that’s when the universe decides to start being stingy with the luck. “Come here,” I growl at Jessie. “Hello? Nathan?” The voice coming out of the speaker jolts both of us apart. I stare at the phone like it’s just turned into an iguana, then back at Jessie. She mouths the words ‘what the fuck’ and I shrug desperately at her, trying to gesture that I had no intention of answering this call when I was seconds away from tearing her clothes off, and that this is just the sort of terrible price humanity has to pay for smartphones. “Hello? Nate! Are you there? I hear something! Can you hear me?” I sigh with defeat and bring the phone to my ear, taking the call off speaker. “Hello, Mom.” I feel my shoulders slump and out of the corner of my eye I see Jessie covering a giggle. “Nate! Where are you? You haven’t called me in a month! I thought you were dead!” “Mom, don’t be melodramatic. I—” “And that’s the first thing you say to me? That I’m being ‘melodramatic’? Fine thing to say to a parent, that is. And I always told people you were the ‘good one.’” “I’m the only one, Mom. And I’m sorry, I’ve just been really busy. I had to—” “Of course you’re busy! Too busy to call, too busy to check if I’m alive, too busy to treat your parents with any kind of respect.” Yep, that’s Mom. Once an actress, always an actress. I think she likes working herself up into a tizzy over not hearing from me way more than she likes actually hearing from me. “I’ll visit you soon, I pro—” “No need to visit me, Nate. I just called to tell you that it’s your father’s birthday the day after tomorrow. You know how seriously he takes his birthday celebrations. I expect you to be there. If I can soldier through the agony of attending my exhusband’s soiree, you can certainly make the effort and show up, too. Besides, I’ll need you there for moral support.” I mouth the word ‘shit’ to nobody in particular. “Okay. I’ll be there.” “You always were my favorite son,” she coos. “Only son,” I say. “I’ll call you later, Mom. Thanks for reminding me.” The phone clicks as my mother hangs up. I pull it away from my ear and stare at it for a few seconds before putting it into my pocket. I look up at Jessie, who offers me an expression of deep sympathy. “My dad’s birthday is in a couple of days.” “I kinda overheard that.” Jessie nods. “I guess he’s having one of those big mansion-parties again?” “Yep. Although calling them ‘parties’ is a little generous. Though I guess they don’t have an official term for ‘annual family in-fighting and score-settling as scantily-clad wannabe actresses splash around in the pool’ day.” Jessie laughs softly. “That sounds about right. Do you have to go?”

I sigh a little. “He’s still my dad. And my mom wants moral support. I think the reason she still goes to these is to be reminded of why she left in the first place.” Jessie smiles sympathetically. “Sounds about right. I guess everyone will be there?” “Yeah. All three of his ex-wives. All seven of his step-children. All his current gold-digging girlfriends that he’ll parade around like it’s something to be proud of. Probably a few ‘surprise’ guests to add some spice to the mix.” I can sense Jessie’s awkwardness, her conflicting emotions fixing her in place, unsure of what to say, however much she’d like to console me. “Anyway,” I go on, putting a little freshness into my voice and opening the door, “I guess I’ll see you soon.” I step out of her apartment. “Wait,” Jessie says, striding quickly up to me. I turn around in the hallway to face her. She looks at her feet for a second, curling her tongue around her lip like she’s stoking up courage. “Why don’t I come with you?” “What do you mean?” I ask, wondering if I heard right. “I could come with you, to the birthday party.” I let out a quick laugh. “Why would you do that? I always go alone. Every year.” “Right. And you always come back and talk about how amazingly horrible it was.” “That’s the tradition.” “Well, what if you had some moral support? What if I came with you, helped deflect some of that horrible-ness? It’s not like I haven’t seen your family at its worst. No offense.” I cross my arms and shake my head. “No way. You’ve already bailed me out of one gathering of old folks, I can’t ask you to bail me out of this ten times more insane version.” Jessie smiles softly. “Maybe it’s turning into a habit.” “Jessie, come on. You don’t want to do this. I wouldn’t wish my dad’s parties on anyone.” “Will it be embarrassing?” “Definitely.” “Funny?” “If you like black humor.” “Then I’m there. It’ll be quite entertaining to see your family go all bacchanalian.” I smile at Jessie while I roll the idea over in my head. “I don’t know. You already came to the retreat with me – as far as I’m concerned, we’re even now. I couldn’t ask you to suffer through this party as well. I’d feel so guilty.” “The retreat was fine. Hell, I ended up meeting one of my heroines, making

some amazing contacts, and I got the weekend off work. I should be thanking you for that.” “You don’t have to.” “I want to. Look, you hate those birthday parties, don’t you?” “Absolutely.” “And part of it is because you’re on your own there, right?” “Kind of.” “So having someone there who has your back, someone who you can talk to like a normal human being, should make it easier. Plus I can always get ‘sick’ and need you to drive me home in a hurry.” I look around as if wondering where on earth all this blindsiding is coming from, then turn my eyes back to Jessie and shrug. “I guess that could work.” “Okay then!” Jessie says, as if the decision has been made. “Let me know when you’re going to pick me up.” I watch Jessie’s smile broaden and start laughing a little. “When did you get kinda awesome?” I ask, flippantly. “I’ve always been awesome, Nate. It just took you a while to notice.”

12 NATE

W hen people ask me about my past, my childhood, my upbringing, I smile and

tell them it was alright. I tell them my father was a producer, my mother was an actress, and I grew up in a really big mansion. That’s when they usually smile in admiration and tell me it sounds great, that I’m really lucky, and I bow my head humbly say I really do know I’m lucky, I really do. How could I tell them the truth? How would they even understand? My father was a producer, that much is true, but he was also the sleaziest guy nobody in Hollywood knew. He made low-grade action films, straight-to-video thrillers, budget clones of whatever was big at the time. Every person on set from the director down to the runner was a friend of a friend, a connection only there because they knew someone – or something. Some of the movies ended up being cult hits, ‘so bad they were good’ – most of them were just bad, though. It’s no lie that my mother was an actress, either, though only for a couple of movies, until she met my father. Only until she got married, had me, then divorced him a few years later, taking half of what he had. After that she was basically done playing house, and decided to leave me with him for the majority of every year while she’d travel the world, spending what she’d won in the divorce settlement across Europe and the Caribbean islands. As for the mansion, that might have been the worst part. It’s big and beautiful from the outside, the brick and mortar version of the American dream. From the road it looks like the kind of place a wholesome family might exist; all natural smiles and mealtimes together, ‘how was your day’ and ‘eat up your greens.’ It’s only when you make it through the big gates and start getting up the driveway that you start to see it isn’t. When you get close enough to see the trashed grounds, bimbos and bros lying around stoned and unconscious from the night before. Empty wine bottles floating in the pool and items of clothing hanging off the bushes. The only movement being the maids and cleaners tasked with removing any trace of the fallout from the night before. I really do know I’m lucky. My father was a narcissistic asshole, and the mansion was nothing but a monument to his ego. He ruled it like a tyrant, compelling people to party there

every night as if he thought they were worshipping him somehow. The people who came were on the fringes of Hollywood themselves, not good enough to make it to the proper A-list events. They were desperate, sketchy, opportunistic. Hopeless men with personality deficiencies who came to be fawned over by young, wannabe actresses too talentless to even pretend to like them. The only thing left for all of them to do was to indulge all their inane desires. Drugs, drink, sex. Growing more pathetic as the parties continued while my father, the mansion, and his guests grew older. My mom got a pass – not because I thought her disappearing act was right, but because I understood it. And she always remembered to call on Sundays and send a card for my birthday, which was more than I could say for my father and the parade of wives, girlfriends, and step-siblings who’d come and go every year as if our front entry was a revolving door. So that’s how I spent my childhood, right in the middle of it all. A young kid witnessing adults act so stupidly and irresponsibly that even I could tell something was wrong. Raised by nannies that loved me much more than the pithy salaries my father doled out required. When I got home from my private school, I’d beg the help to let me assist with the chores, gardening, cleaning, whatever. And at night I’d lock my bedroom door and put on a pair of headphones, pretend I was somewhere else. Really lucky. I should have grown up a mess. A fuck-up. Seeing all of that before I was even old enough to understand, a permanent sense of unjust anger in my soul, I could have done a million shitty things and forgiven myself. I didn’t, and the only reason I didn’t were my neighbors, who moved into the old, fixer-upper ranch house next door when I was about eleven or twelve. The house was a hand-built bungalow that looked even more humble and smaller than it was for being next to my father’s French Normandy-style mansion. A tiny but meticulously-kept place that became a safe haven for me, that I’d sneak away to at every opportunity to experience a little love and comfort. A home I wished I could live in permanently every second of my childhood. Kyle and Jessie’s place. I’m thinking about all this as we drive to the party, but my weighty memories are interrupted by Jessie’s sudden gasp. “Hey!” she screams from the passenger side. “Stop the car! Pull over.” “What?” “Our old house. Look,” Jessie says, nodding towards it and opening the car door, even before I’ve had time to come to a full stop. “Jessie, wait, we’re already kinda late and I wanna get in and out fa—” She slams the door shut and I take a deep breath. I’m already struggling to keep it all together, I don’t need Jessie piling on more stress before the birthday party. I get out of the car and walk around it, stepping towards her with my arms open in a gesture that politely translates as ‘why the fuck are we stopping?’ Jessie’s too

busy leaning in to inspect the signpost hammered into the front lawn to notice. “Look at this, they’re selling my old house!” “Oh. Yeah, that sign’s been there for months now.” She stares at me like I just asked her to solve a math problem. “What? Months?” “Yeah.” Jessie continues to stare at me. I shrug in reply. The truth is that I drive past this place all the time. The house definitely holds some memories, but it’s hard to be sentimental about something when you’ve worked so hard to bury your past. “Well why is it still for sale? Doesn’t anybody want it?” Jessie spins around to look at it, as if reminding herself. It’s still a nice place, with a welcoming front porch, but the blue paint is peeling, the windows are boarded up, and the white flower boxes at the windows are overgrown with dead plants. It was one of those homes built for families who eat around the dinner table together and spend most of their time out in the yard, tossing a football or planting things in the mulch. Now, amid this built-up neighborhood of cookie-cutter McMansions, it’s just an eyesore. “Look at it, Jessie. The place is falling apart. If anything, someone’s going to buy the property and then tear the house down so they can build a new one.” Once upon a time the house seemed like it would stand forever, as much of a guardian as Jessie’s parents, but to look at it now, it’s hard to believe this is the same place the three of us would go on scavenger hunts or hang out in the treehouse, or just hole up and play board games on rainy days, gazing out the window at passing cars as we waited to make our move. “How can you say that?!” Jessie shouts indignantly. “This place was my home! I thought you loved it as much as I did!” “I did. But it’s only me and you – and probably Kyle – who feel that way. About all it’s good enough to play home to now is memories. Even your parents moved out the second they could.” I shrug and start walking back to the car as Jessie casts one last, longing look at the weather-beaten wood siding. Once she joins me in the car, I start to feel the tightening in my chest again. I rev the engine and drive down the road, and a few blocks away I reach the driveway of my father’s house, and slowly guide the car between the tall iron gates. As if sensing my increasing anxiety Jessie asks, “How are you feeling?” “Like I’d prefer this to be a funeral rather than a birthday party.” “Nate! Don’t say things like that! That’s awful!” The mansion creeps slowly into full view, already surrounded by various oversized and overpriced cars, guests already shouting and talking loudly around it. “Awful or not, it’s the truth.” The foreground of the mansion is about as big as a parking lot – and just as full of vehicles. I ease my car into the nearest available space, a full forty yards from the front door. I kill the engine, grip the wheel tightly, and focus my vision on the

horn, psyching myself up. “So what’s the plan?” Jessie asks gently. I nod a little at the question. “We go in, and we look for either my father or my mother, whoever we find first,” I say, with the severity of someone planning a bank heist. “We don’t have to worry about my cousins or step-siblings – I’m sure they’ll notice me. I’ll have a conversation with both of them, which will probably end in an argument, and then we’ll get as far the fuck away from here as possible.” My mind whirls with ugly memories, old hurts – triggering what feels like PTSD. I don’t know whether to laugh at it all, start breaking shit, or just run. “Okay…Nate, why are you breathing so heavily?” “I’m not…what? I’m fine…” “Seriously, are you alright?” “Yeah.” Jessie puts a hand on my shoulder and I jump a little. “Shit, Nate. You don’t look alright. You’re about as tense as someone on trial.” “My family is the worst kind of trial.” “You’re going to be fine, alright? Come on.” Jessie opens the car door and stops the second she notices I don’t do the same, shutting it again and turning to me. I look over at her, trying not to look so anxious, but the sympathetic expression she pulls tells me I’ve failed. “Actually, you know what? You really don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We can just leave if you want,” she says softly, pressing a hand gently on my forearm. “That would make things even worse,” I mumble at the dashboard. “Nate, look at me.” Her cool fingers go to my chin and turn my face slowly towards hers. She’s close, leaning in, her eyes wide and round and hypnotic, somehow giving me something to focus on, to steady myself. She brushes her fingers across my jaw, and her soft touch seems to loosen the pressure inside of me a little. Her lips part slowly, and then she kisses me. I keep my eyes closed for a few seconds after she pulls away, savoring the soft touch of her lips on mine. A touch that feels like her fingers on my soul, caressing it and protecting it from the darkness and bitterness that’s built up inside. When I open my eyes again she’s still there, still leaning towards me, and it’s like I’m in a different place – and I realize I am. I’m no longer on the grounds of my dad’s mansion. I’m with her. She kisses me again, this time with more passion, her tongue fucking my throat, but this isn’t the guilty pleasure we embraced at the retreat anymore. This isn’t two people realizing how wrong something is and getting turned on by it, this is something that feels right. I press my seat back and Jessie straddles me swiftly, her hands fumbling at my fly as her tongue continues to press into me ravenously. I let my hands explore her curves, pulling her toward me so the thrill of her soft

body makes all the blood rush to my cock. She feels the hardness stirring against her and grasps it between her fingers, releasing it from my pants and pressing her pussy against it through her jeans. She grinds back and forth, panting softly in my ear, her breath warm against my neck. Within minutes she’s got me worked up to the point where I feel like I’m about to explode. She knows by now that I love her tongue in my mouth, she knows by now just the way to work my cock, she knows by now I can’t resist her when she makes those eyes at me. She slides back until she’s perched on her knees beside me, and bends her face down over my cock, eyes fixed on mine, flashing a devilish smile before she takes me in her mouth. Her tongue-fucking was passionate enough, but when she works that tongue against the end of my cock, it’s almost feverish. I slam my head back onto the seat like I just went from zero to sixty in less than a second, her ripe lips coaxing and controlling me with a skill and talent that seems almost unfair. When I feel the start of a different kind of rush I raise my head and look at her, those hazel eyes burning through me like a poker, like they’re just begging me to get off. I come hard and fast inside her mouth, and then melt back into my seat as if I was dropped there from thirty thousand feet. Jessie shuffles back onto the passenger side and I roll my head to the side to look at her. “Feel better?” she smiles. “Yeah,” I drawl in a voice dowsed in satisfaction. “But it’s getting kinda scary how good you are at that.” “Just my luck to have a talent I can’t put on my resume.” “Just put down that you’re full of ideas.” She laughs softly. “Only when the job’s satisfying.” We step out of the car and start walking up toward the mansion’s large doors. When we get to the door, a tired-looking guy does his best to smile and then opens it for us. A wall of sound emerges the second he does, a million screeching voices, cackled laughter, obnoxious shouts. It sounds like hell itself. I feel it in my gut, and I’m drained before I even step across the threshold. That was another thing about my father’s parties: everyone wanted to be heard, and the result sounded like a thousand maniacs on a sinking boat. I swap a quick glance with Jessie, her ever-calm face showing the first cracks of anxiety, and then I take her hand and we go inside. The sound is one thing, the visual assault is a whole other level. Anywhere else and my extended family – along with the people who associate with them – would be the flashiest people in the room. Here, they meld into a giant mass of oversized jewelry, zebra prints, gravity-defying bouffants, and botox. It’s like a theme party for the worst fashion excesses of the twentieth century. In my simple, tailored suit and Jessie’s jeans and shirt we may as well be camouflaged. “Sequins, sequins, everywhere,” Jessie mumbles in awe as I grip her hand tighter and pull her through the crowd, ducking and weaving like we’re making our

way through a war zone. “Nate? Nate! Is that you?” I hear a second before one of my step-brothers appears in front of me and puts a hand on my chest to stop me from leaving. I shoot Jessie a look as if to say ‘first obstacle of the evening.’ “Hey, Kenny.” “It’s really you!” the young guy in the tank top and big chain says. “Hey, Sam! Isaac!” he calls out across the room, like a mating call. I raise a hand to stop him. “No need for that. I’m just here to say happy birthday to my dad.” “Nate! Do you remember when we used to go to those Raiders games together?” Sam and Isaac – two clones of Kenny - join us and give me vigorous bro-hugs. “Dude! Nate!” “Do you remember?” Kenny repeats. “I don’t think that was me,” I reply. “Sure it was! We used to go all the time!” “Nope,” I say, shaking my head and squeezing Jessie’s hand. “Pretty sure that wasn’t me.” “Hey,” Kenny says, leaning in. “Is it true that you’re the man in Hollywood now? People are saying you made that Megan Wolf movie and all kinds of shit.” “I didn’t make it. I just represent her.” “Oh shit!” Sam says, patting Kenny on the back. “Bro! You represent Megan Wolf? Hook me up, bro!” “I told you, dog! Nate is the fucking man!” The three of them start backslapping and talking among each other until I lose track of which is which. I debate introducing them to Jessie, but judging by the way she’s cowering behind me, I have a feeling she wouldn’t thank me. Plus, I’d hate to put her in their hands like that – she’d never make it out of here unscathed by their crude jokes and bad come-ons. “Anyway, I’ve got to go find my dad, I’ll see you—” “Yo, hold up hold up! We got a proposition for you, Nate dog!” “Yeah! A proposition, dog. You’re gonna love it.” “How about we go out back smoke a little green and we can fill you in, huh? Just like old times, right Nate?” “Um…you know what? Sounds fucking good. Let me just say hello to my dad and then I’ll head out back and find you guys. How does that sound?” “Awesome!” “You’re the man, Nate! You’re gonna love what we got. I swear.” I give them a nod and step away into the crowd, pulling Jessie along behind me. “What was that about?” Jessie asks once we’re moving again. “They have a rap group. They give me their mixtape every time I see them.” “Wow, really?” “It’s about as listenable as fingers on a chalkboard. They give hip hop a bad name.”

“They seem pretty into you, though.” I stop and look right at her, then pull her away into a corner. “Everyone’s into me here, Jessie. The one thing that’s worse than being an ignored kid is being a successful talent agent at a party full of relatives trying to get into the business. The three amigos are only the start of it, because as soon as people start realizing I’m here it’ll be like the world’s most embarrassing talent show. Last year my cousin Alexa seized the PA and forced everyone to listen to her sing the complete works of Celine Dion acapella ’cause she thought I could hook her up with someone in the music biz. And the year before that I had to sit through a private performance of my Uncle Johnny’s stand-up comedy slash drag show before I could leave.” Jessie starts sniggering, sees the look of devastating seriousness on my face, then stifles it quickly. “Okay. Calm down. Just stay here and lay low. I’ll go find out where your dad is, and then I’ll come back to get you, okay? That way you won’t bump into anyone else.” I think about it for a few seconds, then nod. “You’ll come back, right?” “No,” Jessie says teasingly as she pulls away, “I’m gonna leave you here. Of course I’ll come back. Stay put and…I dunno, hide behind a potted plant or something.” After a few minutes, Jessie comes back with a look of triumph and sheer determination on her face. She grabs my hand and pulls me back into the crowd. “I found him.” “How?” “I just followed the trail of young peroxide blondes.” She leads me to the lounge area, where the eighty inch TV screen is blasting out music videos, drowned out by the brittle laughter of young women that sit around the couches, all angular bodies and bored expressions. In the middle sits my dad, arms wide around the shoulders of two girls even I’d consider too young. I step through the bodies and wait for him to notice me standing between him and the TV, though it takes a few seconds. The girls are hanging on his every word, way too scantily-clad for a birthday party, probably angling for a role in one of my dad’s movies. Nonetheless, my dad takes their attention willingly, as he spins them one of his old tales. Eventually he looks up. “Nate!” “Hi, Dad.” “It’s good to see you,” he says, patting away the arm of a girl offering a drink and standing up. “Happy birthday.” “Thank you,” he smiles formally, before turning his gaze toward Jessie for a second and raising an eyebrow. “I see you’ve brought company.”

“So I have.” I force my voice to sound polite. “This is Jessie.” She holds out her hand with a genuine smile. “Hi.” My father takes her hand, almost kisses it, but then seems to think better. He squeezes gently and then releases her. “Hello, young lady. A pleasure to meet you. And how do you know my son?” I sigh. “No, Dad. This is Jessie. You already know her.” He looks at me with a frown, then back at Jessie before shaking his head. “Remember?” I prompt. “From that small house next door.” “Oh!” Recognition finally flashes in my father’s eyes. “Did you come about the noise? Look, it’s barely even eleven right now and I’ve already spoken with the police—” “No,” I interrupt with a groan. “She used to live next door. We used to hang out together as kids, remember?” He winces now, as if it’ll help him see into the murk of the past. “I’m sorry…the only friend I remember of yours was that little brute who looked like a boxer. You know, the troublemaker. Bad influence. Brought the whole neighborhood down.” I grimace as I see Jessie’s stance stiffen, as if she’s holding back a left hook of her own. Kyle might be protective of her, but she’s just as protective – if not more so – if people start talking trash about her family. “That was Kyle, Dad,” I say, angling my body between them. “Jessie’s brother.” “Oh,” he says, almost on the verge of embarrassment, but instead deciding to laugh maniacally as he drops back down onto the sofa between the two blondes. “Well, at least someone got the good genes!” he says to one of the girls beside him, causing them to erupt in sycophantic laughter. I stand for a moment in front of him, feeling the rumblings of anger and frustration that always accompany meeting him face to face, and then the inevitable emptiness that comes when I realize he wouldn’t care even if I did let him have it. I turn to Jessie, grab her arm, and guide us away. “Let’s get out of here,” I say through gritted teeth. “Is that it? Don’t you want to talk with him a bit more? I know he can be a bit of a jerk, but if you—” “I don’t want anything from him. Not anymore.”

WE TAKE the fastest route away from my dad, which leads us across the back yard and out past the pool and guest cabin. We walk in silence as we skirt around the side of the property, circling back to the front yard and my parked car, my mood so heavy even Jessie can feel it. “Hey,” she says suddenly, stopping. I look up to see her gazing off toward the edge of the grounds. She looks back at me, smiles, and nods her head backwards at the path. “Come on.”

“Jessie…” “Come on!” Before I can reply again she’s off, jogging down the path that leads away from the mansion – and away from my car. I start following. The pathway cuts through dense, overgrown trees and bushes that cordon off the grounds of the mansion, curling around until it opens up again at the back yard of Jessie’s old house. Her gentle jog turns into a full-blown run as she swipes and ducks around the overhanging branches. I try my best to keep up, catching small glimpses of her as she starts laughing. Suddenly I’m a kid again, smiling at the thrill of the chase. When I stumble out from the foliage and into Jessie’s old back yard, she’s not there. My smile drops like an anvil, and I take a few steps in complete confusion. Then I see her. “Jessie!” I call out, rushing over to the tree with the hammered-in steps as she clambers up toward the treehouse. “That thing’s gonna break!” She’s already up by the time I say it though, up on the small platform with a few uneven planks nailed together as walls and an equally lopsided roof. “It’s fine! Come on up!” “I…but…” “Don’t make me dare you!” Jessie beams me a smile and then disappears into the treehouse. I take a second to realize just how crazy this is, then start climbing. When I get to the top, I duck inside and we both spend a minute laughing goofily. I sit up against the side, the same spot where I’d always sit when the three of us spent time in the treehouse, only now I have to keep my legs a little bent, and the plank behind me doesn’t seem quite so stable. “You know, this whole thing is probably going to come crashing down with us inside it,” I say. “What is it, fifteen or twenty years old now?” “Yeah, something like that. Fuck. That’s a long time. I didn’t think this would still be here.” I gaze down at the wood, dense and strong as if fortified by memories. “It’s not the things that change, it’s the things that stay the same which you notice as you get older.” “Oh, very profound,” Jessie says sarcastically. I shrug, and something in her eyes softens. We sit in the gentle peace of the treetop for a while, gazing out the windows at the horizons we knew so well, at each other, at the stillness of everything. Allowing the weird sensation of feeling out of time take over. “I’m sorry, Nate.” Jessie’s voice emerges from the quiet like wave lapping the beach, almost catching me off-guard. “What? Why?” She takes a moment before speaking. “I used to judge you while we were growing up. For being the way you were.”

“What do you mean?” “For the way you acted around girls, especially when you and Kyle got to high school and left me behind. I dunno. I thought you were being an asshole, the way you talked about it, and then when you guys left me behind again for college it was even worse. Especially since you seemed to have everything already – money, a big house, success.” She grips her knees and pulls them under her chin. “It’s only a lot later that I realized how tough it was for you just to get away from that house, everything you had to go through when you were little. It’s no wonder you turned out kinda fucked up.” She grins to make the words sound less harsh, but I’d be lying if I said she hadn’t struck a nerve. “I don’t need anyone’s sympathy.” “I know. I’m just saying I understand.” The words hang in the air for a while, seeming to get louder as they remain unaddressed. I wonder how much she’d understand if she knew the whole truth – that me being ‘kinda fucked up’ included making video blogs about my sex life every week, posting them on the internet for the world to see, self-perpetuating my own gratifying debauchery with every entry. But suddenly all of that seems a million miles away, like it’s not even really me who’s been posting those vlogs, and I find myself talking from somewhere deep inside, without any of the usual ego or thoughtfulness. “You asked me once why I said I’d never have kids. I’ll tell you. I don’t ever want there to be the slightest chance that I’ll cause as much pain as my father caused me.” Jessie just nods, like she really does understand, and we let the calm seep into our souls once again. “Hey,” she says eventually, “do you remember that time Kyle and I found you sleeping up here? You never told me what that was about.” I smile bitterly. “That was the night of my thirteenth birthday.” “Oh.” “Yeah,” I nod slowly. “That was a bad one. I mean, I knew my dad would make it all about him. But still…” I drop my head into my hand and rub my forehead roughly, as if I could somehow massage the memory away. “All I wanted that year was a new bike. Not anything flashy, either, just one that I hadn’t outgrown. I asked my dad about it every chance I got, left hints everywhere, drew pictures of bikes and put them up on my wall, on the fridge. “And he actually listened. He actually bought me a bike! It was the first time I felt like he gave a shit, like I was more than just some annoying kid he wanted out of the house.” “That’s good. Right?” I look up at her and smile, then shake my head. “The guests ended up playing with it, and at some point some drunk asshole rode it off the stairs into the foyer. The thing broke into three pieces. Absolutely

fucking ruined. Everyone laughed, of course. Except for me. And then they laughed at me for not getting the joke, for being so serious about a stupid bike. I got out of there, so upset and pissed off I wanted to hit someone. I wanted to run away for good, just get out of that place and never go back.” I look up at Jessie, her eyes glistening wetly. “But the only place I could think of coming to was here.” “That’s awful, Nate.” “The worst thing was that my dad told that story for years afterwards – he probably still does. He tells it to me even, as if I’m supposed to find it funny that one of the most meaningful things he ever did for me was destroyed before I even got it.” Jessie looks down at her lap solemnly, before quickly raising her eyes again, confused. “But you had a bike. I remember.” I feel a slow smile spread involuntarily across my lips. “Because of Kyle. The next day, when he found me here, I ended up ranting at him with tears streaming down my face. Telling him what happened, promising him I’d never go back home, that I’d kill my dad if I ever saw him again. He just ordered me to pick up the bike pieces, and then he went to the dump and – God knows how – but he found a frame. Then we built it again from scratch. And after that he never said a word about it to me again.” Jessie laughs a little. “That definitely sounds like something Kyle would do.” We sit for a while again, comfortable in the warm glow of Kyle’s good deed, until it suddenly turns into a dark shadow. “What the fuck are we doing, Jessie?” She looks up, startled, but aware of what I’m saying. She opens her mouth, but only manages to shake her head. “This is bad,” I say. “What’s happening between us…at the retreat and just now… It could ruin everything. For all three of us.” Jessie’s pained expression tells me she gets it, that she feels just as worried as I do. “I don’t know, Nate. I mean, we’re two adults who’ve known each other for a long time, both going through some shit, both getting some comfort from each other. It doesn’t have to get complicated so long as we’re honest with each other.” “And Kyle?” “Kyle…” Jessie trails off. “Will kill me if he finds out.” “And then probably kill me also,” she says. “So what, then?” For a moment, I sit in silence and ask myself what the Bad Boy would do – but I don’t like the answer. He’d break this off, walk away, find some new tail to chase. But for some reason, that’s not what I want right now. What I want is…Jessie. So I take a deep breath and say what I’m really thinking. “I guess we could just try and keep this a secret? Let it run its course?”

She shrugs. “It’s a plan. A stupid, naïve, and crazy one – but it’s a plan.” Jessie looks at me, unconvinced. “Or you know…we could…just stop. Nip this in the bud before it gets even more out of hand.” “We probably should,” I say, suddenly finding the way Jessie’s hair falls over her eyes incredibly sexy. Leaning in so slowly I barely notice myself. “It would be the smart thing to do,” Jessie says, her hand on my thigh moving higher. “Definitely,” I say, a second before our lips come together. As I roll her onto her back and nip at her ear, then her neck, drawing soft moans out of her as I move my lips down to her collarbone, I wonder just how strong this treehouse really is…because I think it’s time to make a new memory in here. Being a bad boy never felt so good.

13 JESSIE

T hursdays at Cassie’s has been a tradition forever. It’s gone through a number of

iterations, from a TV show night, to a book club, to a short-lived crocheting circle to a support group for whoever needs it. The ingredients are simple: Me, Lorelei, Stephanie, Cassie, raw cookie dough (or some other treat), a few margaritas, a board game (sometimes), and no-holds barred conversation. What happens on Thursdays at Cassie’s, stays there. And even with my long hours working on TV shows, they still welcome me with open arms regardless of the fact I’m always late. Tonight I get there later than usual, and in a bad mood to boot. After joining them in the living room – Stephanie standing on the balcony smoking her ecigarette – I slump onto the couch and immediately grab the tub of cookie dough from Lorelei beside me and start stuffing my face. There’s a Scrabble board on the table, half-filled, and I realize how well I know each of them when I can almost tell which word was placed by who. “Bad day?” Stephanie says from beyond the sliding glass door. She’s a fashion designer, though a quick glance could tell you that. She’s incredibly tall, incredibly slim, incredibly androgynous, and is fueled by e-cigarettes, sparkling water, and impeccable taste. “Uh-huh,” I nod, as I swallow down the far-too-large mouthful. “What happened?” Cassie says, sitting cross-legged on the other side of the coffee table, Scrabble rack in one hand, margarita glass in the other. She’s blonde, wears thick-rimmed glasses in a varying range of colors, and quit her job last year to create a start-up that’s about to go global. She’s probably the smartest person I know – smart enough to make most people envious if she wasn’t also one of the kindest. “I went to the bank,” I say through a mouth sticky with sweet stuff. “That’ll make anyone’s day bad,” Lorelei says, putting down some tiles. “No. I went there to ask for a loan.” “Money problems?” Stephanie asks, tucking her e-cig into her purse and coming inside. “I could help you some.” “No,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s to buy a house.” I shovel another spoonful

into my mouth and pass the tub back to Lorelei, though her face is blank with shock. I look around at my friends, all of them silent and gape-mouthed. “A house?” “What?!” “When did you decide to do that?” I shrug, feeling defeated. “I saw my old home, the one I grew up in, for sale. It’s such a beautiful place, and I always thought I’d be there forever. It even has a treehouse. It needs a little work but…I don’t know.” “So…” Lorelei says, still confused, “you went to the bank for a mortgage?” “Yeah,” I nod, taking the margarita that Stephanie hands me, “and was rejected quicker than it took me to drive there.” “Why?” Cassie asks. “Yeah: why? You work really hard, you have a savings account, a pretty steady gig, so what’s the problem?” Lorelei adds. I sigh deeply before speaking. “They said my employment was ‘too unstable.’ Since my contracts only last as long as the seasons, and the show could be cancelled at any moment, I’m too much of a ‘liability.’” “What bullshit,” Stephanie drawls. “You always find another show!” “It was probably a stupid idea, anyway,” I say. “It’s just…that house is so perfect. I’d hate to see it bought by someone that didn’t love it.” I think about what Nate said and shudder. “Or even worse, destroyed it and put up another ugly, soulless mansion instead.” “Of course.” “I mean, I know I’m young, but I just got this feeling that this is a chance I shouldn’t let go, you know? It’s priced well for the area, although it is the smallest house on the block, but property values are only gonna go up over time. It has to be now, or never. Only it’s looking like never.” I slump back into the couch, the weight of my failure heavy in my heart. Lorelei puts a hand on my shoulder and I force a smile. “Maybe we can help.” I grab the tub of cookie dough off the table and scrape the dregs from the bottom. “More cookie dough?” Cassie laughs and gets up to fetch it from the kitchen. “Well,” Lorelei says over the rim of her drink, “I, for one, have no sympathy for you whatsoever.” “Lorelei!” Stephanie says, shocked. “What!?” Lorelei laughs. “Jessie’s been having sex with a guy hot enough to get you pregnant just by looking at you. Every night this week.” I feel my face flush. “It has not been every night.” “No, sometimes you do it in the morning. And let me tell you guys, Jessie is loud.” I cast a stunned look in Lorelei’s direction.

“I am not!” I call out above the laughs of the others. “It’s just…” Everyone stops, waiting for me response. “He’s very good.” Stephanie screams, Cassie gasps, and Lorelei just nods her head to say ‘I told you so.’ “Do you have a picture?” Stephanie asks. “Yes,” Cassie adds. “I have to see this guy.” “No, I don’t have a picture. I mean, it’s kind of a secret.” They swap a few roguish glances. “Like Hank was a secret?” Stephanie teases. “Not at all like Hank,” I say. “Thank God.” “So not another coworker?” Cassie muses. I shrug, trying not to reveal anything further. “Come on then! Tell us more.” “There’s not much to say really,” I reply, causing them all to groan and nod sarcastically. “Okay, okay! He’s a guy I’ve known forever. We pretty much grew up together, me, him, and Kyle. Last week he needed someone to go to a retreat with – a work thing. So I went. I don’t know…I was still kinda upset about the Hank thing and the jail thing…and I guess Nate was stressed about some stuff too. One thing led to another and…” “Oooh!” “Wait, you’ve known him since you were young?” Stephanie asks, getting up to go out on the balcony once more. “Pretty much.” “That’s like ‘the dream,’” Lorelai says in a tone of agreement. “A super-hot guy who’s been a great friend for a long time, add in some sex and you’ve got the perfect boyfriend!” “No,” I say sharply. “It’s not like that.” “Seriously, Jessie? I’ve seen him. You can’t tell me you didn’t have a crush on that guy when he was younger. Even if he was half as good-looking as he is now, he’d still beat out all the guys I knew in high school. And he makes Hank look like a lame-ass hipster.” “Hank is a lame-ass hipster,” I say, hoping someone will change the subject fast. Cassie lifts a brow. “So what exactly is going on? Are you guys just casual, or…?” I shake my head slowly as I feel everyone’s eyes focus on me, even Stephanie, who pulls out her e-cig, takes a long drag, and holds her breath as she waits for my response. “I did have a crush on him growing up, you’re right. But he’s not boyfriend material. No way. He’s never even had a girlfriend.” “Bullshit!” “I’m serious! It’s not that he can’t get a girl – it’s that he gets them too easily. All he’s done since I’ve known him is sleep around. He’s probably been with a third of the women in L.A. – I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d had a one night stand with

one of you guys! He hates commitment, hates marriage, and if you even say the word kids around him he starts looking for the nearest exit. I don’t know what this is, exactly, but it’s not what you guys think.” There’s a silence that seems to pass through the girls after I stop speaking. Lorelei rolls her eyes in disappointment, Cassie shifts some of her Scrabble tiles on their rack, and Stephanie half-shrugs and turns away to blow water vapor at the skyline. “And then there’s Kyle,” I carry on. “He’s Kyle’s best friend, and you know what Kyle thinks of anyone I try to date.” “I don’t get it. What’s your brother’s problem?” Cassie says. “Kyle thinks I only know how to make bad choices when it comes to men. He thinks I should stop dating guys who are gonna hurt me, that I should find someone nice – though I’m not exactly sure he thinks any guy is ‘nice.’ Meanwhile, nobody knows more about how much of a player Nate is than my brother. Mix the two, and you’ve got a recipe for disaster. Or at least a few broken limbs.” “She’s right,” Lorelei adds, adding force to my point. “Her brother called me up once and shouted at me for a full minute before realizing he’d got my number mixed up with her ex-boyfriend’s. He’s an animal. Pretty cute, but an animal.” I purse my lips at Lorelei. “What?” Cassie shrugs. “So it’s okay for your brother to be best friends with him, but not for you to date him?” I nod. “Pftt,” Stephanie grunts, “men and double-standards go together like me and margaritas.” I giggle along with the others. “But you feel something for him, don’t you?” Cassie says seriously. I take a long sip of margarita and reach for one of the tortilla chips on the table, holding it up and studying it as if the answer might be scorched into it. “I…uh…” The idea feels like a solid block in my mind, impenetrable and heavy. Trying to articulate it feels like trying to speak a language I never learned. I look at each of them, three pairs of eyes trained on me keenly, waiting for an answer that’s not even necessary anymore. Then my phone buzzes. I go for it, immediately breaking the spell as the others continue to talk about something completely different. It’s a text from Nate. I’m coming to eat your pussy right now. Get ready. I shift slightly on the couch and try to hide my smile from the others as I reply. I’m not at my apartment. I pause before I press send, looking up at my friends. They wouldn’t really mind. Plus I’ll see them next week. And I do need a pick-me-up after that bad loan news… I delete what I wrote and replace it with: I’ll be home in twenty minutes.

In a few seconds he replies. I’m gonna make you come harder than you ever have before. I believe him. “Girls,” I say reluctantly as I stand up, “I’m gonna have to go.” “Aww, why?” Cassie says. “Something’s just come up.” Lorelei’s face breaks out in a smile. “I’ll bet it has.” Cassie and Steph look at her, then look at me with equally suspicious smiles. “Seriously?” “No, it’s not like that.” “Yes it is,” Lorelei says. “Look at her! She’s blushing – she always does that when Nate’s coming over.” “I do not!” “Go,” Stephanie says. “I forgive you.” “I don’t,” Lorelei pouts. “It’s not fair. Doesn’t he have a friend for me? Or a clone?” “Ha-ha. I promise I’ll call you. Each of you. Bye ladies,” I say, shifting my bag onto my shoulder and hurrying out the door as they fall about laughing behind me.

I DRIVE HOME LIKE A MANIAC, my body already tingling, my panties already wet, my blood already thumping. When I get inside the apartment I take off my jacket, brush my teeth, and use every ounce of mental energy trying not to think about Nate’s hard body pinning me down and fucking me. Every second the agony of waiting for him builds up, filling my body with a sensation of anticipation that’s ready to burst the second I hear the doorbell. After a couple of long, slow breaths, I go to the hallway, put my hand on the doorknob, and swing it open. Nate looks up at me, a small smile rising on the corner of his lips – in that moment, he’s fucking perfect. But it’s only a moment, because within seconds he’s slammed the door shut behind him, carried me down the hall, and thrown me down onto the bed in my room. We tear at each other’s clothes like animals in heat, mad with lust. I tear his shirt. He tosses my skirt. His tongue on my breast. My teeth on his bicep. I claw and clasp at his broad back like I’m slipping into an abyss, while he gorges on my neck like a beast. I’m already moaning by the time I feel his stubble move down my abdomen, already enraptured by the prospect of his tongue going lower, lower. Tracing its slow, thrilling route across my navel, below my waist…I moan and cry out, so loud that I almost miss the doorbell. Nate pulls upright like an alert wildcat, and I open my eyes to see the surprise on his face. “Lorelei?” he asks in a low whisper.

After a few seconds to stop the dizzying feelings in my mind, I shake my head. “No. She’ll be with the girls for at least a few more hours.” The doorbell goes again. Nate’s eyes widen. “Hold on,” I say, grasping at a sheet and wrapping it around me as I head for the door. The bell rings a third time just as I peer through the peephole. Fuck. It’s Kyle.

14 NATE

I sit on the edge of the bed, naked, out-of-breath, and with an erection you could

hang a full luggage bag on. Whoever is at the door, I hope they don’t intend to stay. Jessie comes quickly back into the room like she’s just seen a ghost, and it asked her to give it a kiss. “Who is it?” I ask, as she immediately starts grabbing at the tossed clothes and getting dressed in a hurry. “It’s fucking Kyle!” she hisses quietly. I don’t need to hear anything else. I leap into action as we both scramble around the room for our clothes. The doorbell rings again, making both of us search even more frantically. “What the fuck?!” I cry-whisper as I strain to pull a sock out from under her bed. “He wasn’t supposed to be here for another two days!” “You think I don’t know that?!” Jessie says, before realizing she put her skirt on backwards and taking it off again. “You think I’d invite you here if I wasn’t absolutely fucking certain that Kyle wouldn’t be within a fifty-mile radius?! Where’s my bra?” I scan the floor for it as I stick my arm in the wrong shirt-hole three times in a row. The doorbell rings again. “Maybe I should hide in the closet? Or under the bed?” Jessie tightens her lips and scowls at me. “Sure, because we live in a teen comedy and that would actually fucking work.” Jessie goes to the mirror and quickly fusses her clothes and hair out of its ‘midfuck’ messiness while I button up my shirt and try to tuck the part she tore into my pants. Kyle calls her name from out in the hallway, and Jessie darts towards the door. “Jessie, wait!” She stops and turns to me, the whites of her eyes big and round. I reach behind her and tug out a bit of her skirt that got tucked up into her panties, and she sets back off into the hall. “Kyle! What are you doing here?” I hear her say as I take my turn fixing myself up in front of the mirror.

“God damnit Jessie, I’ve been ringing for five minutes. It’s good to see you.” “At least you’re in a good mood.” “Ah,” Kyle replies, as I hear him dragging something into the apartment. “I’m sorry. It was just a really shitty trip, and my place is still tented for termites even though they were supposed to be done days ago. Is it okay if I crash here for the night?” I take Kyle’s desperate question as a good cue to step out into the hallway. “Hey, buddy!” I say, already holding out my hand for a shake. “Nate? What are you here for?” His eyes narrow, and I struggle for composure. “Um, Nate came to…” Jessie says slowly, her voice going up a few octaves. “He came to…uh…help me. Move…furniture?” Kyle looks from Jessie to me and back to Jessie again, the lines in his face spelling out ‘unconvinced.’ “Why are you moving furniture? It looks the same in here as last time I saw it.” “I just…” Jessie continues, her voice so nasal and high-pitched now she sounds like she might take off. “It’s okay, Jessie,” I say, my tone serious and heavy. “We should tell him the truth.” “Nate,” Jessie snaps quickly, before making a threatening face at me. “What truth?” Kyle asks, his voice booming with indignant power. “The truth about why I’m here.” “Nate! For fuck’s sake! Shut up!” “It’s alright,” I say, holding my hand up. “He’ll find out eventually anyway.” “Oh God,” Jessie says, covering her face with her hands. “Find out what?” Kyle growls, on the verge of anger now as his eyes dart back and forth between us. “I’m not here to help Jessie move furniture,” I say, regaining my calm. Jessie lets out a mumbled ‘no’ through her hands. “I’m here to protect her from her exboyfriend.” “What?!” Kyle shouts, turning to Jessie, who drops her hands away in order to stare daggers at me. “Is that true?” “Uh…yeah,” Jessie says through gritted teeth, her eyes conveying the revenge she wishes to take out on me later. “Turns out you were right, Kyle,” I say, puffing up my chest a little. “That guy she was seeing turned out to be another loser. Another no-good jerk. I spoke with Jessie – like you asked me to – and she decided to take your advice and break up with him.” Jessie tightens every muscle in her face, her eyes shooting full-on laser beams at me. “He didn’t take it too well, and Jessie got a little scared, so I’ve been coming over to make sure he doesn’t show up. And if he is stupid enough to show up,” I end the sentence by punching a fist into my palm and nodding. “Good looking out, dude,” Kyle says, smacking my shoulder as he walks past me, dragging his luggage into the living room. Taking advantage of the brief second we’re alone, Jessie casts me one more

devastating look that says, ‘did you have to make me take the fall?’ I shrug back a gesture that says, ‘it got us out of it, right?’ and turn back to join Kyle in the living room. “So what happened on the trip?” I ask, as Kyle drops back onto the couch. “Ah,” he replies, waving the question away, “it was a shitshow. The client fired me. I’m not in a mood to talk about it.” “Fair enough,” I say, “I should get going anyway, now that you’re here. Hoops on Sunday?” Kyle shrugs and smiles. “Nothing better to do, now. See you then.” I step back into the hallway, where Jessie is standing around gathering her senses. “Bye Nate,” she says, her voice high and pretty for Kyle to hear, but her face taut and anxious at the weirdness of it all. I want to take her in my arms, make that expression disappear and replace it with the smile that’s driven me crazy for the past few weeks, but now’s not the time. Now reality’s just burst in through the door in the form of a two-hundred pound best friend and brother. We knew it would end, but not like this, cut short and somewhat unresolved. I try to look at Jessie with my old eyes. The eyes that saw her as a young girl, an annoying tagalong, and eventually a real friend, but it’s hard. She’s become something else now, and I’m not sure I can ever look at her like I used to. “See you around, Jessie,” I say, somehow managing to turn away from her and close the door behind me.

15 NATE

“A nd that—” Kyle shouts, as he shoots, both of us watching the ball spin in the

air and catch nothing but net, “is twenty-one!” I scoop up the ball and follow Kyle as he walks backwards off the court, grinning smugly and shooting imaginary pistols at me. It’s evening, that hour where the sun casts an ember glow through the L.A. smog, when time stops for a little while, the work day far in the past, the adventures of the night way in the future. Here at the courts, kids shout and teenagers flirt as Kyle and I go back to our bags at the benches to the side and allow our bodies to cool off. “You’re not on your game, dude,” Kyle says, handing me a water bottle, “I mean, you’d lose anyway, but not by that much.” I snort a laugh and suck down the cool liquid. “Something’s up,” Kyle says, after eyeing me for a few seconds, “I can tell. Your mind’s somewhere else, dude.” I shoot him a confused look. “Nothing’s up.” “Sure it is. Something happened while I was in London. You didn’t even make any videos.” “I put one up last night!” “Right, but you went over a week without one, too.” “I don’t know. Slipped my mind, I guess.” “Bullshit!” I shrug and laugh. “What is it?” Kyle says, his eyes shining with curiosity. “You got a girlfriend?” Suddenly I choke on the water, spurting it out and bending over double as I wheeze and splutter. Kyle laughs and smacks a broad palm on my back. “Jesus, Nate!” “You think I got a girlfriend?” “Come on! I’m not that stupid,” Kyle says, opening his thick arms wide. “Neither am I.” He laughs and slaps me once more on the back, this time for support.

“It was just work,” I say. “I had this weekend business trip, and then a bunch of stuff to do when I got back, everything all piled up. Didn’t have the energy to talk to anyone when I was home – least of all a webcam.” I also hadn’t checked my Bad Boy email in days, not to mention ignoring all the pleas for help and advice that were probably stacking up in my video comments, and which I normally tried to respond to. “I haven’t had much time to myself.” “I get it.” Kyle nods sympathetically. “Plus you were keeping an eye on Jessie for me, and I know she’s a handful,” he adds, his tone deeply appreciative. “Yeah,” I mumble, trying not to think about just how much I’d been keeping eyes on her. “I got to thank you for that, dude.” “It was nothing. It was…uh…cool hanging out with her. Been a while.” “Did you notice anything wrong with her?” I turn quickly to glare at Kyle, then try not to look as anxious as I feel. “No…should I have?” Kyle looks out over the courts where a couple of teenagers have started a game, and even from the side you can see the tension in his muscles, the piercing aggression in his eye. “Something’s going on with her,” he growls slowly, his voice filled with suppressed frustration. “And I’d bet money that it involves one of her fucking loser exes.” “What makes you say that?” I ask, sounding a lot more nonchalant than I feel. “I just know. It’s the way she acts. I just wanna know what asshole it is.” I watch the game for a minute, waiting for Kyle’s mood to change, but when I look back at him the ferocity is still there in his face. “You know…people could easily say we’re assholes, too,” I say, gently probing. Kyle laughs loudly then looks at me. “We are assholes!” “Then what’s the problem?” Kyle looks at me like I just said something both incomprehensible and disgusting. “Dude, Jessie’s better than us. She deserves better than us. Someone who’ll take care of her.” “Right,” I shrug, “but that doesn’t mean she can’t make mistakes in the meantime.” “Nate,” Kyle says, like a father explaining life, “you don’t get it. You’re so far on the other end of the spectrum you’re, like, from a whole different planet than Jessie. You hate marriage, hate anything long-term – shit, you’ve never even had a committed relationship. All you want to do is fuck around, and I’m the same. No bullshit, no lies, no pretending to be anything more. But Jessie needs something real. Do you know how many times she’s had her heart broken by guys like us? Guys who just wanna fuck around? Guys who tell her they want more when all they care about is getting what they want from her?”

I shake my head. “Every time. Every single time. And I can’t let it keep happening. She deserves more than another asshole who just wants to get his dick wet. Dude, what we do is easy; banging hotties on a weekend, hooking up with chicks who just want a good time and no worries. Any idiot with a gym card and a few lines can get that, but Jessie’s not like us – she should have something proper, someone who’ll care about her, support her, help her achieve her dreams.” I nod along as Kyle speaks, in full agreement even as I realize that this dream guy Kyle’s talking about, the one he wants his sister to end up with – I’ll never be that guy. He goes on, “She’ll never get what she needs with assholes like us. All she’ll get is another fucking war-wound and the idea that she doesn’t deserve better.” Kyle’s eyes meet mine, big and raw, like two open windows revealing the hope and faith he has for his little sister. I try to meet his gaze, try to offer the sense of brotherly solace and support that would have been easy a few weeks ago. But I can’t. I look away, back at the courts, back at the laughing teenagers. Ashamed.

I DRIVE home with a sense of guilt so big you could start a religion with it. Almost twenty years of friendship, so strong you could build a house on it, and I’m risking it all for…for what? For the thrill of forbidden sex? For something I can get as easily as a candy bar? Jessie’s amazing, there’s no doubt about that. She’s got something no other woman I’ve ever met has, and though I don’t know what it is, it drives me wild. Just hearing her name thrills me like a boom of thunder, and knowing I’m about to see her makes my body hot and restless in anticipation. But it’s wrong. It can’t go on forever, and I know she deserves better. And if we don’t end it properly, it’ll end messily, and then all three of us will end up getting hurt – in more ways than one in my case. Engrossed in the darkness of my own thoughts, I barely bother to check the constant pings that come from my phone. I get out of my car and walk up to my apartment feeling like I might not even have enough mental energy for the shower and sleep I desperately need. When I see Jessie waiting by my front door, however, my fatigue disappears and I suddenly feel like I could go the whole night. “Hey,” she says, timidly. “What are you doing here?” “I know it’s weird, me, standing here, waiting at your door like this.” “It kinda is. Just the slightest bit psycho.” She smiles a little and hangs her head, hair falling over her face in a way that makes me want to pull her close. “You didn’t answer my messages.” I sigh a little and step forward, unlocking the door and going inside. Once I’ve

dropped my sports bag in the hall I turn around and look at her. She’s dressed in a thick hoodie and boyfriend jeans, as if trying to hide how hot her body is, but even the baggy clothes can’t hold back her intense allure. “Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’ve been kinda busy today.” Jessie steps past me confidently, scanning my apartment with the curiosity of someone planning to buy one. “Ooh, so this is the infamous cave,” she says, poking her head into the rooms and glancing back quickly to make a funny face. I follow her somberly to the front room, where she walks around the edge, studying the photos on the wall and trailing her finger over the furniture. I use the few moments she’s engrossed in her inspection to consider what I’m going to say to her. Suddenly she stops and turns to me, a look of semi-serious disappointment on her face. “You know, this place is kinda weird.” “Weird?” I say, momentarily distracted from the obligation I feel to steer the conversation. “Yeah,” she says, looking around once again as if to make sure, “it’s like…the same feeling you get when you go inside a model home.” I frown at her. “I like to keep the place clean.” “So do I,” she says, frowning too, only with a little more humor. “But not like this. It just feels like the kind of place nobody actually lives in.” I toss my keys onto the table. “I’m thinking of moving anyway. I work too much to care about how this place feels. As far as I’m concerned this is just where I sleep, shower, and occasionally eat.” Jessie smiles and sways her shoulders a little. “And fuck, right?” She takes a step forward and I step back. “Right,” I say, as Jessie detects my reticence, the playfulness disappearing in an instant. “But not to have a relationship.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” she says, wary and defensive now. I take a few deep breaths and let the tension leave my face enough that I can look at Jessie in the eyes. “I saw Kyle today. He can tell something is going on with you.” Jessie shakes her head like I’ve misunderstood something. “It’s Kyle. Something is always ‘going on’ when you’re as paranoid as he is.” “He’s suspicious,” I insist. “And anyway, I can’t even look him in the eye anymore. This feels too wrong. Maybe we should just…take a break from each other. Until we’re just friends again.” Jessie’s lips stiffen as she directs a tough, almost possessive glare at me. “And what if I don’t want to be ‘just friends’ again?”

“Then we’ll be strangers. But we can’t be…whatever we are right now. Not anymore.” She snorts derisively before folding her arms and walking away a few steps, as if unable to face me. I watch her in a silence so complete I can almost hear her breathing five feet away. My stomach twists, but I convince myself it’s the feeling of indignation, and a little anger. What was she expecting to happen? She knew going in that this wasn’t serious. Eventually she turns her head and looks at me over her shoulder to say, “Are you really that scared of Kyle?” “I’m not scared of Kyle.” “Yes you are,” Jessie says, stepping up to me again, “you’re scared he’s going to beat you up. That’s really what it is, isn’t it?” “No, Jessie—” “Of course it is.” “But it’s not. If Kyle wanted to beat me up I’d let him, ‘cause I deserve it,” I snarl, before looking away in order to calm myself a little. “I am scared, though, in a sense. Not of that. But of losing him – both of you – as friends. That’s more important than anything we’ve been playing at the past few weeks.” Jessie smiles condescendingly, as if I’ve let her down, as if I’m half the man she thought I was. “Look,” I say, pushing forward, unable to resist the urge to prove I’m more man than she’ll ever have, “I really need to take a shower and get to bed. I’ve got work in the morning. Please, Jessie, just go. We’re done.” I take a step towards the bedroom. “Wait,” she says, the fire in her eyes replaced by soft wetness now, “just… wait.” “What? There’s nothing more to say, Jessie.” “There is. I want to know something.” I look at her and try to keep it together. “Okay.” “Forget Kyle,” she says, her voice trembling. “Imagine he didn’t matter. That it was just you and me. What then? What would happen between us?” I let out a deep breath, put a hand in my hair, and rub my scalp. For what feels like hours I think about it, trying to untangle the knot of my thoughts. It’s a question I never even asked myself, let alone had to answer for someone else, and now that I am, it feels like very dangerous territory. “We’d probably fuck a few times and then get bored of each other,” I say, finally. Jessie’s smile is dark, conflicted, and tinged with a taut anger. “You don’t really think that.” “It’s the truth.” “The fuck it is.” Her tone is low and cold now, dangerous, somehow more alarming than her hot anger and raised voice ever was.

“What the hell do you think would happen, Jessie?” I shout, exploding with frustration. “Do you think if it wasn’t for Kyle I’d be down on my knees right now proposing? Jesus Christ! You act like you don’t know me!” “Oh I fucking know you, Nate,” Jessie responds, rising to my anger and stepping closer to stand defiantly in front of me. “Better than you know yourself, I think. You’re all about one-night stands,” she continues, voice heavy with sarcasm, “all about fucking random girls and having fun and never committing to anything. It’s all so fucking easy for you, isn’t it, Mr. Big Dick Alpha Male. No strings attached, no second dates, no fucking problem, right?” “Yes!” I shout, my fury and self-righteousness stoked by the way she’s making me feel. “That’s pretty much it!” “Well if it is,” Jessie replies, lowering her voice as if lulling me in for the suckerpunch, “then why have you spent the past few weeks all over me? It wasn’t a onenight-stand with me, was it? It was every night. You knew being with me would be a problem, you knew we’d have to face up to it eventually, and you still did it, over and over again. You could have picked up one of your bimbos at any point if it was just sex, but you didn’t. You kept coming back to me. Hell, last Wednesday you left your after work drinks to drive all the way across L.A. through rush hour traffic just to be with me for a few hours. So think about that and tell me again, Nate, do you really believe yourself when you say it’s just sex? Or are you just too much of a coward to admit how you really feel?” Her face is in mine, a mask of calm despite the brutal truth of what she’s saying. We’re close enough to feel the heat of each other’s scowls, the bluntness of our points. I say nothing. I can’t think of anything to answer her. She’s right, too right, and she knows it. She’s too honest and passionate and beautiful and overwhelming, and having that much woman in front of me feels like walking into a tornado. I’m angry enough with her to hate her, frustrated by her enough to shout at her. The twisted situation shredding my insides. I do the only thing that seems to make sense. The one thing that feels right. I grab her by the hips, pull her onto me, stick my tongue deep into her mouth. We tighten our arms around each other, breathe heavily as we devour each other’s throbbing tongues. Lips swollen with lust, hands clawing and grasping at each other’s flesh – desperately angry with each other, but unable to distinguish hate from lust anymore. I unzip her hoodie to reveal her loose tank underneath, and when she shakes it off I tear the top up and over her head, bringing my voracious appetite to her nipples, sucking them between my lips and flicking them with my tongue as she falls back onto the couch. “You’re an asshole, Nate,” Jessie utters between gasp as she pulls my head roughly to her breast. I pull my head away and press my hand between skin and jeans to get at the tight, hot space between her thighs.

“I never said I wasn’t,” I growl, locking eyes filled with raging desire, my fingers slowly searching out her clit. A wicked smile plays across her lips as I pull her jeans and panties down roughly, revealing the firm muscles and tender skin of her legs. Once they’re off I gaze at her, lying back against the cushions, kneeling on the other end of the couch at her feet as if in worship of her divine form, ready to pay my respects to the goddess of all things feminine. I keep my eyes on her face, her smile flickering like a small flame with every touch I make. My hands over her legs, parting them slightly, so I can bring my head down and run the very tip of my tongue up the side of her calves, the back of her knee, letting her tingle at the brush of my stubble. I kiss the inside of her thigh, as soft as her lips, and keep my mouth pressed lightly there, enjoying the way her body purrs and vibrates. With one hand on her thigh, I reach the other up toward her beautiful tits, trembling elegantly under the convulsions of her back. She takes the back of my hand and clutches it even tighter over her nipple, hard from the slow sucking of my lips across her thigh. I move my mouth closer to her pussy, and she spreads her legs wider and lets out a low moan. I smile now as I move my lips to the other thigh, bringing her closer to the edge, closer to the moment, but still not there. Keeping her in that glorious space between expectation and satisfaction, punishing and pleasuring her at the same time. “Relax,” I murmur. “I’m in control now.” She moans loudly, stuttering as she loses control of her breath, and it sounds like a desperate plea. He hands grab my hair and pull violently. I respond by twisting her nipple a little, mixing in a little pain like the finishing touch on a cocktail of sensations. Her pussy is in front of me now, wet and ripe like an earned dessert, and I lap quickly with my tongue and enjoy the sound of Jessie hissing slowly with pleasure. I lap again, then blow coolly over the slick skin. She clutches at her hair, her breast, my head, her back arching and slamming onto the couch like she’s being tossed at sea. I do it again, and she moans long and hard. “You like that?” I say through my smile. “Yes,” she says, her voice shaking like she’s shivering from cold. “Fuck yes.” I take her clit in my mouth and kiss it softly, pulling my lips away to make it pop softly back into place. I take it again, this time pressing the back of my tongue against it and rolling it over, the taste of her losing control, of her body swelling with sensations. I bring my fingers to her pussy and slide two inside, stirring against her walls while I work her clit with the back of my tongue, drowning in the flow of her unleashed carnality. I lose myself in her, forget who I am as I focus solely on the movements of her body, responding as if they were my own. I interpret her moans and squeals like a foreign language that tells me to go, stop, faster, harder. Her juices dripping over my face, her smell filling my nose, her thighs squeezing my head, a woman worthy

of worshipping, worthy of giving everything to. Jessie filling my every sense, my every being. I stay there for what feels like hours, bringing her in ever-swirling circles of pleasure, falling and rising to ever-increasing heights. A gathering avalanche, a growing storm. I know the button to push, and when her squeals start getting quick, her body starts pressing itself into the couch, I know it’s time. I push my fingers deeper, curving the knuckle a little to hit the place that always brings her over the cliff, my tongue at her clit, my hand squeezing her breast, an assault of bliss on all sides. When she comes, she’s like a woman possessed, her hands digging into my hair with a strength nobody would assume, and a scream loud enough to fill a stadium. I feel her legs tighten around my neck, hard thighs taut and stiff, and then she relaxes. I crawl up over her on all fours and lay beside her, my arm across her chest, our legs tangled, and study the profound peace on her face, eyes closed, mouth softly smiling. When she looks at me her eyes are radiant, sleepy, as if she’s dreaming. I trace my fingers across her collarbone, down around the curve her breast, around the tenderness of her stomach. She hums appreciatively, and I start wondering how we’re ever going to stop.

16 JESSIE

J ust like he’s done for the past three mornings, Nate slams my alarm clock quiet

as soon as it starts blaring. Giant arm flexed, fist coming down on it so hard I’m sure it’s going to break. And just like a beautiful recurring dream, I look up at him from where I’m lying on his chest, and give him a smile. “I fucking hate alarm clocks,” he grins, as he brings his arms back around me. Just like he’s done every morning. A girl could get used to this. I run my hand along the definition of his torso and take a deep breath, my breasts pushing up against him. I bring my thigh up, brushing over his leg, my knee grazing against his cock. I’m still feeling the satisfying grogginess from last night’s ever-inventive fucking, as if sleeping for six hours was just a brief interruption. It’s quiet but for the distant sound of Lorelei in the shower and the rustling of the blankets as Nate pulls me closer, and everything seems bathed in the softfocus warmth of my sleepiness. I nuzzle my face deeper into his chest, marveling at how good he smells, and suddenly wonder if I’ve ever wanted one moment to last forever as much as now. His hand moves up my spine and he slowly strokes the back of my neck. “I’m going to fall asleep again if you do that,” I mumble into the warmth of his chest. He chuckles a little, and I feel every vibration of it through my cheek. “I’m going to get horny if you don’t move your leg,” he says, making me suddenly realize that I’ve been rubbing my thigh against his groin. We settle into each other again, and after what could as easily be three seconds as three days there’s a knock on my bedroom door, so loud and harsh in our world of intimate comfort it may as well be a bomb. “Shower’s empty, babe,” Lorelei calls from the other side, before humming her way back down the hall to her room. I’d never get up before six AM if I didn’t work on set – I still don’t understand how Lorelei can be such a perky little early bird when most of her nights are late and long and consist of trailing celebrities all over town – but I guess gossip never sleeps. “That’s our cue,” Nate says, patting me softly on my shoulder. His sober voice and the shift from strokes to pats telling me dreamy-morning-happy time is over,

and now it’s time for the real world to start grinding me down again. I roll off him and groan with the passion of the full-time worker at the ceiling. Nate pulls his arm from under me and gets up, sweeping the curtains aside to let the light in and then stretching athletically in front of it. I squint and watch him, the first rays of morning sunlight hurting my eyes, but the silhouette of his torso more than making up for it. “You take the shower first,” he says, as he twists his hips like he’s about to play a tennis match. “I don’t need to be at work til nine anyway.” I roll off the bed and stumble to my feet. “Why don’t we go together?” I say, with as much insinuation as I can when half my face is still asleep. Nate laughs as he comes around the bed to put his hands on my arms and hold me in front of him. “Because I really like shower sex, and there’s no way I’d rush it enough for you to get to work on time.” I pout my lips in mock-frustration and he answers me by kissing them, spinning me around to face the door, and smacking my ass lightly. I oblige and grab my things, then head out of the bedroom to shower. Once the scalding water has done its best to wake me and I’ve fixed myself up, I step out of the bathroom where Nate waits like a tag-partner, high-fiving me as he steps into the steam. I get dressed and shuffle like a zombie towards the kitchen, where Lorelei is standing over the countertop, cutting up fruit. “I made you coffee. A big latte for you, and an espresso of that strong Italian stuff that Nate likes.” I thump my palms to my chest in a gesture of deep gratitude before wrapping my arm around her shoulder and planting a sloppy kiss on her cheek. “You’re the best, Lorelei.” She raises an eyebrow before turning back to the grapefruit. “I don’t know…the way you made Nate shout last night has me doubting my abilities.” I try not to laugh as I take a sip of coffee and lean against the counter. “I’m sorry if we’re loud…” “It’s okay, at least somebody in this apartment is getting more action than watching ‘Bad Boy’ videos.” “Is he still a thing?” I say, snatching an orange segment from Lorelei’s bowl. “‘Still a thing’?” Lorelei says, turning to look at me with so much incredulity I feel like I’ve just offended her. “The guy’s hotter than ever now. Totally blew up. And his last few videos have been insane – you need to see the vlog he did all about different sex toys for women. You should totally watch it with Nate, get some ideas.” I almost spit out my coffee. “Lorelei!” She shrugs. “Just saying. He’s not going anywhere.” “Too bad,” I murmur, frowning with disappointment. “Why the sudden

explosion?” “You really didn’t hear?” Lorelei says, invested enough in the conversation now that she turns to me and jabs the knife as she makes her points so much that I take a step back. “What happened was that about a month ago his blog went dark. Just like that. No announcement, no uploads, nothing. And this is a guy who’s put out two or three videos at least every single week for years now.” I roll my eyes. “I’m sure people were upset.” “You bet they were,” Lorelei says, too enthusiastic to recognize my sarcasm. “It caused a total frenzy. People were all, ‘Where did he go?’ ‘Is he dead?’ ‘Did he settle down?’ The internet blew up over him for a while, trying to track him down and figure out who he really was. People posted thinkpieces about how he was a symbol of moral decay in this country. Then thinkpieces about the thinkpieces saying he was some pioneer of a new kind of sexuality. Disappearing only made people want him more.” “Were there any articles that said he might just be a pathetic guy who screws girls who don’t know better and then brags about it online like a douchebag?” Lorelei brushes my comment aside with a roll of her eyebrows before continuing. “Anyway, then he came back suddenly – and with a bang. I mean, he was a sexy beast before, but now?” Lorelei makes as if she’s fanning herself. “You can just see it, he’s really getting down and dirty now. Something’s changed – and let me tell you, I like it.” Lorelei exhales deeply then smiles as if just talking about him has made her hot, before turning back to assaulting her fruit. “I don’t get it,” I say, after a moment of really trying to understand. “What is he even talking about on there? It can’t just be all bragging, what’s the point of that?” “Well,” Lorelei says, to the sound of chopping, “last night, for instance, he posted an amazing tutorial video about anal sex. If all guys did it like that, no girl would ever say no.” “Huh,” I say, wondering at the coincidence for a second. “Is that all? Because I bet I can find you a dozen guys sitting in bars tonight who are probably talking about that.” Lorelei huffs at my sarcasm. “It’s not just sex, Jessie. He gets it. He can take something like anal sex and make it sound passionate, forbidden, exciting. It’s not like he’s about just ‘sticking this, there’ – when he talks he makes it about power, about opening your boundaries with another person and trusting them, about embracing your nasty, dark, repressed inner self and allowing someone else to as well. And, of course, he’s unbelievably hot.” “Right,” I groan dismissively. Lorelei shakes her head as she scoops the rinds from the counter into her hand. “What are you guys talking about?” Nate says, entering the kitchen while wrestling with his tie. “The inexplicably continuing success of ‘Confessions of a Bad Boy,’” I say,

cynically looking at Lorelei. Nate turns away as he grabs his espresso and takes a long sip, then looks at us. “Who’s that?” “You don’t know the ‘Bad Boy’?” Lorelei says, gazing at Nate with a mixture of disappointment and disbelief. “How the hell can both of you not know? What have you been doing? Wait, don’t actually answer that. Dumb question.” Nate glances at me for an explanation and I hold my palms up in a gesture saying ‘don’t ask.’ “Okay,” he says slowly. “Well, thank you for the coffee, Lorelei,” he says, raising the cup towards her before draining it, setting it in the sink, and grabbing me. “I’ll see you soon.” “Mm,” I hum as we kiss just deeply enough not to offend Lorelei. He spins away and leaves. “I should get going too,” I say to Lorelei as she drizzles a little honey onto her fruit salad. “Jessie,” Lorelei says slowly, turning from her salad to look at me directly. “Yeah?” I say, noticing her seriousness. “What exactly are you going to do? About you and Nate? Is this still a casual thing? Because it doesn’t seem like it.” Suddenly a thousand thoughts that I’ve turned over a million times flood through my mind. I open my mouth, an automatic response ready. The response I’ve told myself whenever I’ve asked myself this question. With a friend like Lorelei, though, you realize it’s easier to lie to yourself than to say it out loud. I hang my head and let the thoughts clear, leaving the truth behind, the truth that’s been there all along but which I’ve been covering up. “I think I’m falling in love with him.” Lorelei sighs deeply before coming closer to me and leaning forward sympathetically. “Jessie…” she says softly, not for any other reason than to let me know she’s listening. I look up at her, and the kindness in her eyes lets me know I can speak my mind. “It’s still complicated. But I know he feels the same, even if we haven’t exactly talked about it, and at some point I do have to tell Kyle. We’ve got to come clean eventually.” Lorelei’s face is pained, and she shakes her head slowly. “No judgment here, but I don’t think that’s smart, Jessie.” “What else can we do? We can’t sneak around like this forever. It’s only because Kyle’s on another business trip now that we’ve been able to relax like this. Maybe Kyle will understand.” Lorelei bites her lip, thinking. “We both know that won’t happen, Jess. Kyle is about as predictable as they get. He’ll knock Nate out, then chew you out. He’d never forgive either of you. You’d lose a brother, a boyfriend, maybe even both. I want this to work for you, but…”

I dig my fingers into my hair. “What else can I do, Lorelei? I’m not going to give up on a guy I’ve liked since I was seven years old just because I happen to have an overbearing brother. It’s not right.” “I know, honey,” Lorelei says, drawing me into a half-hug. “I don’t envy you – well, I did last night at two AM, but in general, I mean.” I laugh the kind of short, sad laugh that usually happens when you’re talking about something utterly depressing. “You’re sure it’s for real, what you guys have?” “Yeah.” “All I would say, Jessie, is that it’s been – what, a month or two? You and Nate still have a long way to go to see if it’ll even work out long-term. Plus, how can you tell Kyle that you’re together, when Nate doesn’t even really know how you feel?” “He knows.” I look up at her. “He has to know. I’m not feeling this alone.” “I’m sure you’re not,” Lorelei says softly. “But you always told me Nate played the field, slept around, never committed, remember? You told me that he’d never even had a girlfriend before. I’m not saying that that’s what he’s doing with you, and I’m not doubting that right now he’s genuinely happy with you, but this still might mean a lot more to you than it does to him. He might not be thinking as far into the future as you are, that’s all.” My stomach lurches as her words sink in, echoing my deepest fears. I let Lorelei embrace me again and smile anxiously when she pulls away. “Thanks, Lorelei. You really do know how to kill my vibe,” I say, punching her shoulder softly to show I’m not serious. “I just don’t want to see you walk into a wall of hurt.” “I know,” I say, grabbing one more long sip of coffee before putting my mug into the sink. “But I’m not sure I can stop.”

WHEN I’M NOT BEING MISTREATED at my main job as costumer on the set of Dominique’s procedural cop show, I take on odd jobs for photographers and artists. It’s a nice change of pace, and picking out outfits for photoshoots is way more challenging and interesting than making sure none of the actors have labels showing on their suits (you’d be surprised). The photography studio’s already set up when I get there, a simple backdrop, and after saying hello to Bjorn the photographer and his multiple assistants, I make my way back to the dressing room. There’s already a positive buzz in the air, the kind that happens when the person being photographed is someone the assistants are genuine fans of. Today’s it’s a young, hot musical starlet that just won a Grammy. She’s a pretty big deal. Which is why I’m surprised to find her alone in the dressing room when I get there. “Hey,” she says, as I step inside.

“Hey,” I reply, her smile so sweet I feel compelled to smile back. “I’m Haley,” she says, moving toward me with her hand outstretched. I take it and we shake, and instantly I know we’re going to have a great time today. “Jessie.” She stands in front of me looking a little awkward, despite the fact that she’s already dressed to kill in a worn leather jacket and skinny jeans. “Are you the make-up artist, or the hairdresser?” she asks nervously, tugging at the end of one of her crazy curls. “Nope. I’m the costumer. Though you look pretty fantastic already.” She laughs nervously. “I think I’m wearing this in about ninety per cent of my pictures, so you’re pretty welcome to do as you please.” “Well,” I say, sliding my backpack off my shoulder and onto a seat as I move toward the racks, “let’s see what we’ve got to work with.” “So long as it’s not a latex dress and spike heels,” Haley says, and I flash her another smile to show my appreciation that she’s not as stuck-up as most rock stars I’ve dressed. I flick through the clothes on the rack for a while and she comes up behind me slowly. “Um…” I turn to face her, and notice that she’s hovering nearby, flashing me an embarrassed smile. “What’s up? Do you not like any of these?” “It’s not that.” She clenches her hands together and twists them as if she’s wrestling with herself. “I hate asking, but I was in such a rush this morning, and there aren’t any other girls here except some of the assistants and they’re all running around for Bjorn right now and it’s kind of an emergency at this point so...do you maybe have a tampon I could borrow?” After growing more and more nervous at her discomfort I finally break into a laugh at the last word, and put a hand on her arm to show I’m cool with it. “Sure! Of course. God, I thought you were going to tell me you’d forgotten to wear underwear or you wanted me to run out and buy you alcohol,” I say, as I go back towards my backpack. “Or…worse.” “Does that actually happen?” I stare at her without any humor. “All the time. But I draw the line at illegal substances.” She laughs and follows me back to where my bag is. “I’m sorry. I told my boyfriend to get me some last night while I was holed up working on a new song, but I guess he forgot.” “He was probably embarrassed.” She looks at me with a glint in her eye. “It would be a first,” she says, insinuating a whole lot. I smile and open my bag, fishing around in the mess inside, then slowing down, then stopping, then going cold.

“What’s wrong?” Haley asks slowly. “I don’t have tampons,” I say in the slow monotone of someone shocked out of the moment. “That’s cool. Really. Don’t worry about it.” “I haven’t needed them.” I put a cold hand against my suddenly hot cheek and look over at Haley slowly. Her face is confused at first, but then the penny drops and she gasps, bringing her own hand over her mouth. “Maybe you’re just late?” she suggests. “Maybe. But maybe not. I’m never late.”

17 NATE

N othing’s better than the fuck you shouldn’t be having. The girl you’re supposed

to be professional around. The guy your parents warned you about. The one that happens in a public space, where anyone might catch you. The illicit fuck. The secret fuck. The forbidden fuck. The fuck that’s wrong on so many levels, but which is so irresistible none of that matters. My advice, loyal viewers? It’s always worth it. Even if it goes up in flames. It’s a trendy café in a nice part of town. The kind of area in which the girls take good care of themselves, and dress every morning like it might be the day they get spotted by a talent scout. Even so, I notice Jessie a mile off, her hotness radiating on a level beyond anyone around her. Almost more than visual, so fucking sexy I can sense her. All I need to do is trace the guys taking second glances and the women green with envy. She’s sitting outside on the café’s shade-dappled patio in jean shorts and a torn vintage rock band tee shirt, her favorite outfit. Mine too. I step past the hostess and move toward Jessie, smiling as she notices me. She leaps out of her chair and throws her slender arms around my neck, kissing me on the lips before I can stop her, hard and hungry. I push her away quickly and start glancing around. “What are you doing?” I whisper, quickly sliding down into a chair. “What’s the matter?” she says, frowning as she sits opposite me. “Someone could see us, Jessie. You know better than that. Shit. Sitting out here in the open, being as hot as you are, kissing me like that – it’s almost like you want us to be found out. Is that what you want?” She sighs and pouts a little, playing with the straw of her frappucino so she doesn’t have to look at me. I wait for her to speak, and when she doesn’t I call over a waitress to order a coffee. “Why did you call me to meet here anyway?” I ask, once the waitress is gone. “You know that if your apartment is occupied we can always go to mine.” She finally looks at me but her face is still stony. “I wanted to talk,” she says, with a little harshness in her voice. “Okay,” I nod, sympathetically. “I’m cool with that. What did you want to talk

about?” She drops her gaze again to her straw, though this time it’s because she can’t make eye contact with me, not that she won’t. “Is something wrong?” I ask. “No,” she mumbles. “I just…” She trails off, leaving the unsaid hanging in the air. I smile a little and lean forward. “Lorelei told me you were trying for the house again. Is that it? Did they turn you down a second time? She said you reapplied for a bank loan but you expected another rejection. There are other banks, though. I’m sure someone will approve you.” Jessie sighs and brushes her hair aside. “Trying to buy the house was a stupid idea.” “No,” I reply instantly. “It’s sweet. It’ll be a hell of a lot of work fixing it up, but how many properties these days come with a tree house?” She laughs a little, her lips widening into a deep smile that starts to fade instantly. Something about her is different. Jessie could never hide her emotions, they come to the surface of her smooth skin in flickers and shades, like smooth stones beneath the rippled surface of a pond. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve spent so long staring at her, studying her, appreciating every inch of her, but it’s obvious that she’s troubled. “It’ll happen,” I continue. “Even if I need to arm wrestle Kyle into co-signing.” “No…” she says, back to playing with her straw. “It’s not that.” I ignore her protests. “Maybe you could talk to him about it when he gets back. He might really be into the idea. You know he’s always after what’s best for you.” Suddenly her eyes immediately lock onto mine, this time with a little narrowed steel. “So it’s okay for me to lie to him and have him help me buy a house?” “Whoa,” I say, leaning back in my chair as if blown back by the comment. I wait a moment for the waitress to set my coffee on the table, and as soon as she’s gone I lean in again. “Is this really not about the house? What else is going on?” “Nothing,” Jessie says, looking down again. “You can’t lie to me, Jessie,” I say soothingly. “Tell me.” “I…I don’t know. Maybe we should just tell Kyle, get it all out in the open. I think maybe it’s time to come clean.” I try not to look like I’ve just witnessed something horrific, and only half succeed. “Are you serious?” “Nate—” she says, leaning forward to stop me from losing my shit. “Come clean about what?” I say, struggling to keep my voice down. “That we’re jumping each other at every opportunity? How? ‘Hey Kyle, we just wanted to tell you that we’ve been fucking like rabbits on Viagra while you’ve been away, okay? See ya’. How exactly do you see that conversation going, Jessie? ’Cause I have a

pretty clear idea of what will happen, and it’s not pretty for anybody.” She folds her arms and sits back. I turn away from her and gaze out onto the street, where people are passing to and fro, engaged in their own conversations, laughing and smiling. Eventually I feel Jessie take my hand. She’s holding it gently. I turn back toward her, knowing it’s a gesture supposed to calm me, to remind me of who we are and the closeness we’ve built, but all it does is make me realize how different we are. “I just don’t see how we’re supposed to go forward,” Jessie says, softly. “How can we if we’re constantly sneaking around like this?” I pull my hand away slowly from her grasp. Panic rises in me, fast and allencompassing. This feels like it’s coming out of nowhere, and for no reason that I can fathom. We’ve been clear with each other since day one that this was never going to be serious, and now I’m getting blindsided by committed relationship talk. I preface what I say with a consciously light-hearted laugh, hoping it’ll bring us back to friendly terms, but when the words come out they still sound heavy and hard. “Go forward? Jessie, there is no forward. I don’t think about the ‘forward’ – not when it comes to sex. I think about the now, that’s it. About what’s going to happen here, today, at this—” “Stop!” Jessie interrupts so loudly virtually everyone else on the patio steals a quick glance at us. She takes a breath and leans in, projecting her voice. “Don’t give me another one of your ‘big man’ speeches. I’m not in the mood for it, and this isn’t the time.” I try to steady my emotions. It feels like all the lust and passion between us is going sour, turning into a kind of resentment, a sense of dislike. This is exactly why I don’t do relationships. This kind of ugliness is inevitable. I pull back, stop myself from letting the anger rise to the top, from letting whatever the weird turn our relationship took the moment I arrived take me somewhere we can’t return from. “Look, Jessie,” I say, my voice as gentle as I can make it, “I don’t get it. One minute you’re telling me that we can do this. That we’re two adults who can be responsible for themselves. I thought we were on the same page. Now you’re talking like we’re a long-term couple, like we should be thinking about the future.” “Things change.” Jessie presses her lips into a thin, hard line, and I can tell I’m not getting through to her, that my words are falling on deaf ears. “What changed? Tell me. What?” She looks away, and I see her shiver. She folds her arms again, but this time it’s less a defiant gesture, and more a self-comforting one. I wait for her to talk, but instead she seems to go still, to fall inside herself, until I feel like all I’m looking at is a lifeless shell. “Jessie,” I say, after a while, and she slowly turns to face me, as if coming awake from a thousand-year sleep. A soft, tragic smile plays itself upon her lips. “Nate. I always knew you were good at bullshitting, but I never realized you were so good at lying to yourself, too.” “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that you don’t even understand your own feelings.” “Feelings? What feelings? Why are you making something that was so simple and clear-cut into something messy?” “This was messy from the beginning, Nate. All relationships are messy, you just can’t handle that.” “This isn’t a relationship!” I say a little too loudly, before smiling myself back to earth. I take a moment and laugh a little, shaking my head, the way bad sitcom actors do at the end of a show. Only this time a credit roll isn’t going to save me. “This is not a relationship. We just happen to be old friends – good friends, who started fucking each other and enjoyed it enough to keep doing it. That’s all.” Jessie laughs derisively. “That’s pretty much a relationship, Nate. We’ve spent every possible moment together for the past few months.” “That’s not a relationship,” I insist, feeling my blood run hot. “You know why? Because a relationship has a future. A relationship turns into a commitment, turns into a marriage, turns into kids. Turns into misery, obligation, and all the other XYZ. And that is not somewhere I ever want to be in danger of heading. What did you really think this was?” Suddenly Jessie drops her face into her hands, her body shaking with emotions. All of my anger immediately goes cold, turning into the uncomfortable chill of regret and guilt. “Jessie…” I say, moving towards her. “Get off me,” she hisses, as I put my hand on her shoulder, causing me to flinch backwards. She pulls her head up out of her hands, and though she has the trembling lips and redness around the eyes of someone on the verge of crying, her face is stern and confrontational. The face of someone whose pride is bigger than their distress. “You’re an asshole, Nate. You’ve always been an asshole. And my problem is that I’m too forgiving when it comes to assholes.” “Jessie…” “You know,” she starts, as if breaking down and losing control is finally allowing her to find the words to express all her pent-up anger, “I had such a crush on you when I was a kid. For so long you were the guy I wanted, the guy I dreamed about. But that’s all you are – a dream. I should have kept it that way. Because none of this is real.” “Wait,” I say, as she stands up quickly and roughly shoves her backpack over her shoulder, “Jessie…” “Don’t worry,” she says, pausing only for a second as she steps past me towards the street, “I won’t tell Kyle. God! My brother was right, I really do have terrible taste in men.” I reach out to grasp her hand and pull her back but she’s already gone, striding away into the street on her long legs, fast and determined, as if a second longer with me would kill her. I watch her, and with every step she seems to grow more confident that she’s right, that she deserves better than what I could ever give her. And the truth is, I agree.

18 NATE

I ’m no stranger to conflict, to being the villain. Working in the entertainment

industry, you learn to develop a thick skin and a cool head. You develop the ability to keep on going even when you get screwed over, and you figure out how to bounce back even stronger. But it’s been a week since Jessie walked out on me, and the feeling that I’ve just fucked things up doesn’t seem to be going anyway. If anything, it feels even more like I might have made a huge mistake. I guess that’s what they mean when they talk about hindsight being twenty-twenty. I get to work and try to throw myself into the stack of projects on my desk, pulling out a script that I was supposed to choose a lead for, but the words on the page look like bricks in an impenetrable wall, blank and imposing. Within seconds I’ve spun my chair around to look out the window and wonder why the fuck Jessie hasn’t called or even texted me yet, even just to yell. I think about where I’ll go after work, tell myself that all I need is an amazing blonde and something a little kinky to blow the cobwebs off, to clear my head. The second I start thinking about it, however, the blonde transforms into Jessie, and the kinkiness into the soft warmth of waking up beside her. I shake the idea out of my head like a wet dog. I take out my phone and check it, even though I’m sure Jessie still hasn’t messaged me. Somehow it makes me smile, a brief remembrance of how stubborn she is that makes me feel close to her for a split second. Then again, I’m just as stubborn. This isn’t so much a waiting game, where both of us hope for the other to break first – we both know we aren’t going to change our minds. There’s no chance at reconciling this. I log into my Bad Boy e-mail account and my phone starts blowing up with messages. I’ve gone on another unintentional hiatus and haven’t posted a video for over a week now, so the fans are restless. I skim through the messages: Requests for certain topics, words of encouragement, people wondering if they’ve met me in real life, death threats from jealous boyfriends and girlfriends. It’s the same old thing, just more of it. It’s a cheap kick though, a pathetic kind of satisfaction. Nonetheless, I grasp it, desperate for any kind of positivity or fulfilment to distract me from Jessie. I spend

a few minutes reading messages and soon find myself feeling the pull of making a new vlog. It’s a strange kind of desire, almost like sex, a build-up of tension, the desire for some sense of release, and then the sense of contented relief that comes after. I open the video camera app and point the lens at myself. Just my shirt, tie, and the well-cut lapels of my suit in frame, my office window glaring bright light behind me – it’s less sexy than wearing nothing but my boxers, but it still says enough. “Sometimes you wanna go back…sometimes a one-night stand was so good that it sticks in your mind, your body still reacting to it. Sometimes it feels halffinished, like you only tasted the edge of what that person could give you. And you just don’t want to go out and find someone new, ’cause you know you’ll compare them, and you know they won’t stack up to what you had. So the question of the day is: Do you – should you ever go back?” There’s a loud knock on the door and I immediately drop my phone as I spin towards it. There’s only one person who knocks that loud, and it’s the one person who I can’t be mad at for entering without permission. “Nate!” Robinson booms as he strides across the office, his creased slacks flapping around his long legs. “We need to talk.” “Uh…yeah,” I say, stumbling off my chair to find where I dropped my phone. I eventually grab it from under the chair leg and wave it at Robinson as explanation, then pull myself back up to my seat. “Sorry. Go ahead.” Robinson lowers his head and glares at me with what, to him, probably feels like fatherly caution, but in reality looks more like he’s about to beat you to death with his pipe. “You haven’t forgotten, have you?” he says menacingly. “The Carra—” “The Carragher list!” I say, slapping my forehead. “Shit! Sorry. I…I know. I was supposed to get the list of actresses to her days ago.” “You’ve not done it. Her father just left a message with me, and he’s anxious.” Serena Carragher is the daughter of one of our biggest clients, and is about to direct her feature film debut. I was supposed to give her a list of our best female actresses to audition, and retain wonderful nepotistic relations all around. I didn’t. Mainly because I’ve spent the past week in a daze, and work doesn’t complete itself no matter how much you stare at a whiskey glass or out of a window. “I…I’m sorry. I’ll do it now…right now…I promise,” I say, already shuffling papers as if every second counts – which at this point is almost true. “Nate,” Robinson commands, the rigidity in his voice telling me he’s got more to say about it. “Is something wrong? I wouldn’t expect that sort of negligence from an intern – let alone my top performer.” I look up at him and let my shoulders sink a little before looking aside out of the window and shaking my head slowly. “It’s…it’s Tessa.” “Mm-hmm,” Robinson nods, as if he knew it already.

“We’re…we broke up.” Robinson’s face is steely, before suddenly breaking into a frustrated “Damnit!” If we weren’t talking about something so difficult for me I’d find it funny how he reacts as if he’s affected himself. “Can’t you fix things up? How bad is it?” “I don’t know. I really don’t. I…it’ll just take some time, I suppose, to find out if there’s a chance for us to patch things up. For now I’m at a loss.” As I say the words, I know they’re true. And it surprises me how much I want to believe in them. “Mm-hmm. Well, in the meantime I can give the Carragher list to—” “No. I can handle that. I have half of it done already. It’ll be sent by lunchtime. I promise.” “Okay,” Robinson nods, skeptical but trusting. “But I’d strongly advise you to take a few days off. Samuel has plenty of time to take on extra work, and he’s keen to prove himself. You need to focus on what’s important, right now. Tessa’s the kind of woman you find once in a lifetime. Believe me, I’d know.” “I know,” I say, wondering how what was once a funny, goofy charade turned into something genuinely troubling. Surprised that I’m at a point now where Robinson’s advice is actually kind of welcome. “I’ll try to get it together.”

WILL’s already at the bar when I get there, and as I step through the doors I suddenly remember it’s the same one Jessie met us in. Wearing those tight gym clothes, her skin shiny with sweat…even memories like that come with a stinging aftertaste where they once felt so sweet. I move toward Will, who somehow notices me despite the winks and smiles he’s shooting across the room to a brunette in a miniskirt. “Nate!” he says, patting me on the back as I take the stool beside him. “I’ve already bought you a drink, and there is plenty more where that came from. For tonight, everything you partake of shall be bought by me.” “You seem like you’re in a good mood,” I mumble as I down the glass and immediately gesture to the bartender for another. “I am in a fantastic mood, Nate. And I owe all of it to you. In this past week I have not only begun shooting on a film which will relaunch my career, but I also received a rather lucrative advertising contract too. The narrative of the teen drama star reinvigorating his career as a serious actor has begun – and it’s all your fault.” “I’m glad to hear it.” “Seriously, Nate, I cannot express how much I love you right now. It’s bordering on the homoerotic.” I raise an eyebrow in his direction. He laughs and slaps another hand on my back. “Don’t worry. I heard that your life is changing as dramatically as mine. A little birdie tells me that you’ve gone and got yourself a girlfriend – or should I say, a girl has gone and got you.”

Will raises a glass and a smile. Reluctantly I grab my whiskey and clink it against his. “You heard wrong.” “Hm?” Will says, his attention already taken again by the brunette. “Your boss told me you’d brought that Jessie girl to the retreat, and seemed rather close. I didn’t think for a second you’d actually go and have a relationship with the girl, but she was certainly something special. And considering you persistently refused my requests to play wingman on my bombing runs the past few weeks, I thought it was a done deal.” “It’s more complicated than that,” I say, draining the second whiskey and exhaling up at the ceiling as it starts to numb the pain inside. “How so?” Will says, giving up on the brunette entirely now to focus on me. “I don’t even know the answer to that myself. It just got real messy. It’s over now, anyway.” “I see,” Will says, before asking the barman for some beer chasers. “You were friends, you said? Childhood friends?” “Yeah,” I shrug. “She’s probably the only girl I’ve known that long. The only girl I’ve actually spent a lot of time with, the only one I actually care about.” “Okay, so you care about her, you’re friends, and you’ve known her quite awhile,” Will says, as if ticking off a checklist. “And you liked the…how to put this…‘carnal’ aspects of the relationship, yes?” I turn to look him in the eye, and nod in a way that lets him know all he needs to. “Very good. Right. And did you have sex with any other woman at any point during this not-relationship? Did you even want to?” I take a few seconds to consider it before answering. “No. Not really. I haven’t even thought about fucking anyone else since we started.” Once it’s out of my mouth, my response seems to shock me more than it does Will, who just nods. “Okay. So again – just to clarify – this is a girl with whom you have a strong emotional relationship, which you’ve had for many years now, and with whom you have a wonderful sexual relationship, and who satisfies you sufficiently that you haven’t even considered looking anywhere else. And this thing you have, which is not a relationship, is somehow now ‘over’ and you’ve just gone and given up? Forgive me if I’ve missed something there.” “It’s not that simple,” I say, a little frustrated at how simple it actually sounds. “Her brother is my best friend. He’d kill both of us if he found out about us.” “Ah! A disapproving brother,” Will says, nodding sarcastically. “How romantic! It’s like Romeo and Juliet, only with less ruffles. And hopefully less suicide.” “Do you have to wisecrack your way through my fucking problems?” Will laughs and shakes his head. “If I’m wisecracking it’s because I don’t see the problem! If he’s a good brother and a good friend, how can he not understand? You two obviously care about each other – you wouldn’t give up the promiscuous life you lead for anything less than

something wonderful, and she evidently cares about you enough to forgive you your past sins, which are many and great. Whether this ominous-sounding brother is upset or ecstatic at the idea of you two together, it shouldn’t really matter, should it?” I let the question hang in the air, falling somewhere deep into my own thoughts, and the new ones planted there by Will. He rubs a hand on my shoulder as I stare into the bottom of my empty glass as if the answers are sitting down in there. “Maybe you’re right,” I mumble eventually. “I just…it feels like a hell of a commitment. I like my freedom. I don’t know how much I’m willing to give it up.” Will smiles and shakes his head before speaking. “From my perspective, Nate, it looks like you’ve got your freedom, and you don’t know what to do with it anymore.” I allow myself a little smile. “I don’t know that she’d even take me back now. Even if she did, it’s a big change. I just don’t know if I’m ready.” “See that brunette that’s been casting her enticing eyes at me? There’s a lovely blonde sitting right next to her that you’d have been all over a couple of months ago,” Will says, slowly and deliberately. “You gonna go over there and get her, or should I do it for you?” I look over at the blonde and shrug, uninterested. “That’s what I thought.” Will smirks. “I don’t think you need to figure anything out, Nate. That change you don’t think you’re ready for? It’s already happened.”

19 JESSIE

L orelei leaps out of the booth like she just heard a bomb go off the second I walk

through the doors of the diner. She quickly steps toward me and I smile awkwardly as her enthusiasm draws a couple of strange looks. “Lorelei…” I say as she takes my backpack from me and leads me by the arm to the table. “Christ this bag is heavy, Jessie! You shouldn’t be carrying this!” She dumps it on a chair and pulls another out for me. I roll my eyes a little and sit in it as she takes the seat opposite. “I’m pregnant, Lorelei,” I say, leaning over so the few people still looking can’t hear, “not dying.” “I know,” she says, with a tenderness in her voice she usually reserves for children, “but you’ve got to take better care of yourself from now on.” I sigh and laugh a little at her – I can’t fault her ability to care. “So what did the doctor say?” she says, with the urgency of a question she’s been anxious to ask. “It’s all good. Blood test good, blood pressure good, examination good. Nothing to report.” “I’m glad to hear it.” “Yeah,” I say, opening the menu in front of me. “My only problems now are the ones the doctor can’t fix. Oh, by the way, I filled out some form there and they asked for an emergency number. I put yours down – that’s cool, right?” “Sure. Of course,” Lorelei replies, before pursing her lips as if holding back what she wants to say next. I notice. We’ve spent too much time together the past few years for me not to notice. “You think I should have put Nate’s number there.” Lorelei holds her palms up and shrugs her innocence. Before she can plead anything the waiter comes over and I order a big sandwich, a side salad, and seasoned fries with a side of ranch, wondering if I’m already ‘eating for two’ or just indulging my hedonistic side. Once the waiter’s gone, I make small talk with Lorelei, mentioning a new art film I’m trying to get work on, asking her about her

latest gossip article, and trying to avoid talking about my condition. But despite my best efforts, I can still see the concern on Lorelei’s face. “What now?” I say, exasperated. “Have you spoken to him?” she asks carefully, as if bracing for my response. I don’t need to ask who she’s talking about. “Since we argued last week? Nope. I haven’t contacted him, and he hasn’t contacted me. End of story. Good riddance.” “Oh, Jessie.” My tough guy act obviously isn’t working. “Lorelei, if you get any more motherly you’re going to lay an egg.” “I’m just really worried about all this.” “Well I’m not,” I insist, holding my head up to add to the defiance of my words. “My responsibility is to take care of myself now, and my…future.” “But Nate’s the father! You have to at least tell him!” “I will. When I’m ready. I just…I need to figure out the best way to do that. It’s not exactly a convenient time to drop that bombshell. ‘Hey Nate, I’m still pissed off that you don’t want to be fuckbuddies anymore, but I thought I’d mention that you got me pregnant. Have a good day, asshole’.” “I’m sure it won’t go like that.” “Won’t it?” I say, leaning back a little for the waiter to set my food in front of me. “Thanks,” I tell him. As soon as he turns his back, I grab a few fries, dip them in the ranch dressing, and stuff them into my mouth, flashing Lorelei a thumbs-up as I chew. “Listen. Nate is Nate, and I know he doesn’t want this – a baby isn’t going to change who he is.” “Maybe it will,” Lorelei implores. “It’s changed you a little.” “But I’m ready to change, I’m happy to change. I have my shit together. Nate is still the same guy he was when we were teenagers,” I say, pausing only to put another fry in my mouth. “I don’t want even the smallest chance of him feeling guilt-tripped into getting back together with me because of a baby. That would be the worst thing for everyone – especially the kid.” Lorelei nods empathetically. “I get that.” “And then there’s Kyle,” I continue. “I’ll tell him the truth, but I need to pick the right moment.” “Maybe the right moment is sooner rather than later?” I look at Lorelei and let my shoulders drop. “I don’t know,” I say, looking down at my food like ignoring the question will get rid of the problem. Lorelei eyes me like I just told her I decided to drop out of high school to become a stripper. I take a big bite of my sandwich and try to calm myself by focusing on the taste of chili mayo. “Maybe Nate will surprise you, Jessie. He seems like a nice guy, the kind of guy who’d step up if he was asked to.” I quickly swallow and wipe my lips, eager to put that idea to bed. “No way. Uh-uh. Trust me, Nate is not that guy. He nearly vomited when he saw me with a Babies ’R Us catalogue I brought home so I could look for a baby shower

present for my coworker. And he’s made it very clear that when it comes to family, the only end he sees is full of misery, obligation, and resentment. That’s not someone I want to raise a child with.” “That bad?” I nod, and then shrug a little, softening. “I mean, I get it. He had a rough childhood. It didn’t leave him with the most positive view on family life. But even without that, Nate’s a player. He’s always been on the hunt for something – someone – new. Our little ‘thing’ was pretty much the longest he’s ever been with one girl, and that didn’t even last two months.” Lorelei turns away, looking about as sad as I should be feeling. “People can change,” she says, her voice hopeful. “Especially when the stakes are so high. You should at least give him a chance.” I stare at Lorelei and try to hold back the welling of emotion inside of me. Whether she realizes it or not, the last thing I need right now is to delude myself into something stupid, into hoping for a future, or expecting anything more from Nate than great sex. “Honestly, Lorelei, even if Nate did tell me he wanted to try, I’d be an idiot to believe him. There’s no way I see it working out.” “Jessie, don’t be so harsh—” “I’m not. I’m being realistic. Nate got with me because he really wanted to fuck me – and I wanted it too – but it wasn’t because he appreciated me as a person, or our friendship, it was just that his desire was big enough to make him forget about consequences. Then, when I wanted to make it just a little more serious, he ran off like I had threatened his life. Add in the fact that he treats the idea of having children like a terminal disease, and forgive me if I assume he won’t turn into dad of the year overnight.” Lorelei slumps back into her chair and grabs her milkshake for comfort, eyeing me like I’m a lost puppy. I weigh everything in my mind and finally let out a deep sigh. “Okay. Fine.” I smile tightly, giving into Lorelei’s pleas even if I don’t fully agree with her logic. “I promise I’ll tell Nate about the baby next time I see him. Or at least – I’ll try. Alright?” Even if I hate the idea, it feels good to have made my decision. “I’m glad,” she says, “and I’ll be here for you, regardless of how he reacts. I’ll make sure you don’t need anyone else.” “I’ll drink to that,” I say, grabbing my cup and hitting it against hers, causing her to smile for the first time since I entered the diner. “I suppose this means you’ll be trying for that house loan again?” “Already did, and already denied. This bank didn’t even call me, just sent me a form e-mail this morning. I thought third time was the charm, but I guess not. Maybe fourth?” “Oh, Jessie, I’m—” “It’s cool. I’ll just have to work twice as hard, save up for a bigger down

payment. One good thing that did come out of my little ‘charade’ at the retreat was that I made some good contacts. I’m going to get to work on them and hope something develops.” “Fingers crossed. You deserve a bit of luck.” “Maybe,” I say. “But I stopped believing in karma a long time ago.”

ONCE WE’RE DONE, I drive us both back to our apartment and try to steer the conversation away from talk about maternity leave and baby showers by asking Lorelei more questions about what’s going on in her own life. I’ve spent so much time with Nate recently that I’ve missed a lot. She’s reluctant at first, too concerned about my state of mind and well-being, but once I convince her that I need the distraction and I want to get caught up, there’s no stopping her. From the drive, to the walk up to our apartment, to the point at which we’re sitting in the living room with a couple of drinks (mine non-alcoholic, of course) she gives me a full checklist of her thoughts. From her indecisiveness about changing her hair color, to the book she’s reading about psychopaths, to the intern at work who she’s sure likes her but is six years her junior. It’s a relief to listen, to feel like I’m being a good friend again. Eventually, talk turns to her favorite topic: the Bad Boy. I groan and pretend I suddenly have stuff to do, but she ignores me and continues to expound on his virtues (which as far as I can tell are just having a hot voice and talking about sex) as if it’s for my own good. “I can’t believe you still haven’t even checked him out, Jessie. Seriously.” “I plan to keep it that way. The last thing I need is another asshole in my life.” Lorelei sighs. “He’s so not an asshole.” “He sounds just like one,” I tell her. “Owning your sexuality is practically the first commandment of feminism!” “I don’t think that’s exactly correct, but I guarantee you he is not a feminist,” I snort. “He’s a predator.” “Either way, he’s talking sense! That’s why you have to hear him for yourself,” Lorelei says, her voice getting more excited as she pulls out her phone, jumps up from her chair and sits next to me, squashing me against the armrest. “Ugh,” I moan, “really?” “Yes. Let me just show you this one… No, this one… Wait…this one – oh this one was amazing.” I let out a deep sigh and resign myself to my fate as Lorelei starts the video and holds it in front of us. The video loads and a sculpted torso, its lines accentuated by the side-lighting in the semi-darkness, comes into the shot. I suppress a laugh and watch. “You can spend a lifetime trying to figure the opposite sex out. You can read books, experiment, travel the world, and still feel like they’re speaking a language you don’t get…”

Something immediately feels wrong. Something about this video. His voice compels me, not so much what he’s saying, but the way he’s saying it. It feels familiar. The rhythm, the cadence, the intonation. I put it down to whatever it is that’s made him popular and continue watching. “You can learn the hard way, pick up the bruises and read them like runes to get a little closer to the truth. You can let yourself be swayed by all the gurus, conmen, and sleazeballs out there who claim to have the answer…” I let out a little snort at the irony, and Lorelei shoots me a quick, placating look. I turn back to the video, the sense of unease growing despite the ridiculousness of what he’s saying. “You wanna figure out what the opposite sex wants? You already know. Listen to your body, your feelings, your primal urges. Get rid of all that surface bullshit, and learn to be an animal again. A creature of emotions and sensations and—” “Stop the video,” I say suddenly. “What? He’s just getting to the good part!” “Stop it!” Lorelei obliges and pulls back a little to look at me dubiously. The hand I bring to my mouth is shaking, and I’m struggling to breathe properly. I feel my body go deathly cold. “Jessie? What’s wrong?” I look at her, and even though she’s right next to me on the couch, I feel like I’m calling at her from a thousand miles underground, the shock of realization pounding my consciousness into its deepest recess. “It’s Nate,” I say, my voice trembling so much it turns the words into drawled moans with multiple syllables. “What?” Lorelei says. “Forget about Nate, Jessie. Jesus. I thought you were having—” “No,” I cry desperately, jabbing my finger at the phone for a few seconds before I can bring the next words to my lips. “Him. The ‘Bad Boy.’” Lorelei gazes at me in confusion. “It’s Nate. That’s him,” I add, the words tumbling out of my mouth almost involuntarily. Lorelei’s eyes widen and she glances at her phone, then back at me. “Are you sure?” she asks, her own voice full of shock now, too. I take the phone from her and stare the image, surprise and incomprehension giving way to a rapidly boiling anger. “Shit…” I whisper softly at the image. “It might not be him,” Lorelei says, almost as if she’s pleading for it not to be so. “I mean, one six-pack looks a lot like another.” “You see that mark there?” I say, my voice going from quavering mess to heated hiss. “That’s a scar he got when he was a kid, doing a dumb bike jump off a tool shed roof with my brother. I’ve spent months sleeping against that scar. Believe me, it’s him.”

“But the voice? It doesn’t sound like—” “It’s him. That’s the voice he uses in…” I let out a spurt of air, still struggling to find my feet in this new reality. “In bed. That’s his fucking bed voice.” I stare at the paused image, shaking my head as the cold chill down my spine turns into a fiery anger rising in my chest. “Maybe it’s not so bad,” Lorelei says, taking the phone slowly from my hands like it’s a weapon she’s afraid of. “Maybe there’s more to it.” “Are you fucking kidding me?” I say, jumping from the couch and pacing quickly up and down the room. “How can there be more to that than that?! He’s a pig!” “Jessie, calm down, please,” Lorelei says, perched timidly on the edge of the couch as she watches me stride from one side of the room to the other. “No. I’m not calming down. I just found out that the guy I’m pregnant by – one of my closest friends – is also an internet-sex-pervert-guru-philosopher-asshole. Calming down is not a viable option. Anger is.” I stride so vehemently I almost get dizzy, my heartbeat and my breathing quickening to match my steps. I feel full of heat and frustration, a balloon ready to burst violently. “Jessie,” Lorelei says, sounding almost frightened, “just…try to think about it rationally. You always knew he was a player, didn’t you? That he liked to screw around, have a lot of one-night stands. This is who he was, sure. But maybe not anymore? It’s not like—” “What was that thing you said a few weeks ago?” I say, stopping suddenly and pointing at Lorelei. “We were in the kitchen, Nate was here. You said he stopped.” Lorelei pauses for a second and screws her face up a little as she tries to remember. “’Bad Boy’? Yeah. He did.” “And then he came back…” I say, feeling a whole new rush of turbulence shake through me. “Yeah,” Lorelei says, seeing where I’m going. “He came back,” I say, in a hushed whisper, before gritting my teeth. “While he was with me…the fucking…he was in the kitchen with us even and…” The murky image comes into focus, pieces falling into place, and the facts are so clear, so stupidly, annoyingly clear that I feel like an idiot for missing them. It’s too much. Too ridiculous. Fury, exasperation, and lucidity overwhelm me. I consider slamming the table over, throwing myself out of the window, and allowing myself to crumple to the floor all in the space of a split second, and in the end, all I can do is laugh. The laughter of someone giving up, despairing and hopeless.

20 JESSIE

L orelei does everything in her power to drag me along to a movie premiere that

she’s been invited to cover for her gossip column, but it’s still not enough to make me go. Once I promise her for the thousandth time that I’m fine, and just need some time to myself, and a big tub of ice cream, and no, I won’t watch any more of his entries, Lorelei leaves me with the promise that she’ll call to check up on me. I nod gratefully and wait for the sound of the door shutting, then go straight to the computer. And so began one of the worst nights of my life. Cross-legged on the office chair, Haagen-Daaz on my lap, and lit only by the glare of the computer screen, I embark on a journey of a thousand humiliations. A stomach-churning ride through the darkest side of the man whose baby I’m pregnant with. There are hundreds of videos, each one seemingly more graphic, more explicit, than the last. A personal horror movie that lasts for hours. I try not to cry, but by the fourth my sweatpants are drenched with tears, and the tub of ice cream has melted from the heat of my misery. I go numb as the man on the screen continues to talk in graphic terms about his sex life, struggling almost to believe it’s really Nate, but knowing somewhere deep inside that this is more Nate than the guy I felt I knew. Every word seems to push me further away from him, and every encounter he talks about makes me a little colder toward him, until I lose every sense of connection and compassion I built up with him. Years of friendship are torn away, and my feelings for him are overwritten by a steely, calm indifference, the best emotion I can muster for whoever the person on the computer screen is. And that’s before I even get to the recent entries, the ones Nate made after we got together. I know I’m there because the comments all mention Nate’s ‘disappearance,’ and in the first video back there’s a difference, a new tone. Darker, sexier, more serious – and even more stunningly unbelievable. If realizing for how long, and how seriously, Nate had been making these videos pushed me to the point of despair, seeing him make a video about fucking – while the only person he was fucking was me – makes me boil once again. Suddenly I’m out of my seat, screaming at the screen with more hardcore venom than any

football fan in the country. I’m pacing up and down, my hands wringing an invisible Nate’s neck as he talks about the finer points of going down – in a video posted a day after he did it to me. There are other offenses, other examples, other humiliations, and I cringe so hard I almost turn inside-out, get so angry I elbowdrop my couch and throw punches at the pillows, find myself so shocked I have to rewind parts to double-check I’m not imagining this. Around midnight, going through the last – the most recent – of his videos, I’m finally half-insane and distraught enough to answer back as the sound of his sordid thoughts fills the room. With the last video done, I sit back down in front of the computer, the sudden silence almost unbearable. I almost don’t notice that I’m crying again, given that it’s become almost irrelevant now, and through the blur of tears I stare at the giant play button. This was the guy I thought I could have something real with. The guy who’s just described in no less than three minutes how to make sure a woman enjoys anal sex. The guy who has three videos about involving food in the bedroom, one giving tips on harmonious threesomes, and countless vlogs devoted solely to doling out sex advice or answering heaps of e-mailed questions. A guy who can talk for four minutes about nipples. Actually, forget all that. I can deal with nipple-talk. That’s not what’s making me bawl my eyes out. That’s not the part that makes me want to throw this computer out the window, and then follow it. The problem is this: in every single video, Nate makes a point of mentioning how much he hates the idea of settling down, how much he loathes commitment. His devotion to staying single and free from accountability – it’s almost obsessive. The man on the screen hates marriage with a passion, fears it and detests it to the depths of his very soul. I mean, I always knew Nate didn’t believe in getting married, but to see him tear into stable, serious relationships at every opportunity, to see just how deep his dislike – bordering on fear – goes, is more than I can ever forget or forgive. This is a guy I would have to be stupid to think could be anything more than a one-night stand – let alone a father, a husband. Even just thinking that thought makes it seem impenetrable, hard and cold. A slab of truth that chains me to it. Nate won’t ever be the guy I need him to be – and where does that leave me? Alone. Until this baby arrives, and then… I drop my head onto the desk, forehead against the keyboard, and let the wave of sobs and hurt come to the fore again, draining me of what little energy and fight I have left.

LORELEI WAKES me up in a frenzied panic, cooing when she notices the ice cream stains and the red marks on my face. I emerge from an uncomfortable dream in which I’m falling headfirst into a cave, and she helps me to my room and undresses me like I’m wasted, then sets me to bed. “What time is it?” I say through the pounding in my forehead as she pulls my

sweatshirt off me. “Three AM.” “Shit,” I moan, as she adjusts the blankets and I flop backwards. “I’ve got work tomorrow. My call time’s in five hours, I have to be on set by—” “No you don’t! Jesus, you can’t go to work in this state. I’ll call them in the morning.” I try to protest, but the heaviness in my eyelids pushes me back toward those gloomy dreams.

I WAKE up to the smell of coffee and the sound of Lorelei on the phone. For a few seconds I experience the bliss of nothingness – and then the memories of the night before enter my mind like annoying stabs. They’re quickly followed by the freighttrain of fear that comes with being late for work. I throw the covers off and run out of my room toward the bathroom. “Hold on, I’ll call you back, okay?” I hear Lorelei say in the other room, before she hurries over to stand in the doorway of the bathroom. “I’m fucking late for work,” I say scrambling recklessly around in the sink to wash my face. “No you’re not,” Lorelei says, calmly. I turn to look at her. “I called in sick for you.” “What? But I can’t call in—” I stop myself. It only takes a deep breath to realize Lorelei did the right thing. I smile a little and hug her. “Thanks.” When we break apart Lorelei looks at me like I’m a patient. “I’ll make you a coffee, come on.” Once I’m dressed and sitting in the living room, Lorelei brings me a big latte and I take it eagerly. She settles herself on the chair perpendicular to me, like a psychiatrist, and I let myself smile at the idea, but it disappears quickly. Smiles don’t stick when you have the kinds of worries I have. I nod toward her computer. “Shouldn’t you be working now?” “I can hand it in whenever,” Lorelei says casually. “Do you want to talk?” I sip slowly from the coffee, but the mental fatigue and numbness seems to extend to my tastebuds. “What’s there to talk about?” “Jessie…” she says, making my name sound like a sigh. “You shouldn’t have watched those videos.” “Yeah,” I say, nodding. “I should have. That’s the father of my child. The guy I thought I…” I don’t say the word. I can feel the tears building up in my sinuses already, and I’m scared even thinking the word would open the gates. “I know it seems bad right now, Jessie, but Nate isn’t the worst person on the planet.” I freeze halfway through bringing the cup to my lips in order to glare at Lorelei. “Isn’t he? The guy has been making videos about his sex life for years now. He

spends half the time talking about techniques and positions – some of which I wouldn’t even think were possible if he hadn’t done them with me – and the other half of the time talking about marriage like it’s an Illuminati plot to castrate all men. And the worst part is that he did it even while we were together. I mean, who does that? What kind of guy would do that?” Lorelei looks at me sympathetically before shrugging. “I don’t know. I admit it’s kinda weird. But at the same time, it’s kinda not. So he played the field, never expected to commit, and did those videos. Maybe they were an ego-boost, maybe it was therapeutic for him – I don’t know. But something changed when he met you.” “Pfft.” “It did, Jessie. You can see it in his videos. And by the fact that he hasn’t spent the past few months picking up more girls in bars. He’s been coming here. To be with you.” “It was just sex.” “Was it? Do you really think so?” I look at Lorelei and find that my breath is shuddering. It’s the hope that kills you. Is Lorelei trying to kill me? “Still,” I say, shaking my head so hard my hair tosses against my face, “it’s fucked up. Am I really going to raise a kid with a guy who makes videos about fucking random women? I don’t think he wants to be part of a family.” The doorbell rings and Lorelei gets up, holding her hand out to stop me from going. “Well. It would certainly make the ‘birds and the bees’ talk a lot more interesting.” I smile into my coffee cup. But not for long. The voice at the door is too far to hear clearly, but I can tell from Lorelei’s concerned voice that it’s not good news. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, my muscles stiffen, and I suddenly start wondering why our apartment doesn’t have a fire escape. “Hold up!” Lorelei says, her voice getting louder. “Wait!” Nate steps into the living room, the sight of him literally taking my breath away. Lorelei follows close behind and looks from him, to me, then shrugs. “I need to talk to you, Jessie,” he says. “Please.” I look from Lorelei back to Nate, then back to Lorelei, my mind doing flips. Too many emotions and thoughts flooding through me for me to act on any of them. Nobody tells you about the calm that comes when you reach critical mass, nobody tells you about the zen you get when you feel like it can’t get any worse. I place my coffee cup slowly down on the table and, still looking at it, say, “It’s okay, Lorelei. He’s right. We should talk.”

21 JESSIE

N ate stands in the middle of the room, his eyes focused on me. I glance up at him,

but it’s like looking at the sun – almost painful – and I quickly look down again at the spot where my coffee is. “Um…” Lorelei mumbles awkwardly. “I’ll…I should go do a thing…that I have to do. I’ll leave you two alone.” She leaves without either of us acknowledging her, and I keep my stare fixed on the coffee table. “So I guess you’re still mad at me,” Nate says, moving to the center of the room. I raise my eyes to his, almost in a challenge. “Give me a reason I shouldn’t be.” Nate smiles. “How about because I’m here to say I’m sorry.” I shake my head, almost amazed at how easy Nate thinks this is. “Sorries don’t change the past, Nate,” I say, standing abruptly and moving toward the window. “And they don’t change who we are.” I turn back to find him staring at me with a frown on his face. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” “It means there’s nothing to be sorry about. It means that I’m not angry, not confused, not frustrated. Not anymore. I’m just disappointed.” Nate clenches his jaw before talking. “Jessie, I came to try and fix things between us. To admit that I fucked up. To tell you that I know I was wrong and that I—” “To ‘confess’?” I interrupt, studying Nate’s face for his reaction. When he barely flinches at the word, I smile – he’s one hell of a poker player. “About being a ‘bad boy’?” I say, driving the point home. This time I watch the tiny changes in his expression, so subtle even I wouldn’t spot them if I hadn’t spent so much time looking into those eyes. I can almost see his thoughts play out, the instinctual desire to call my bluff, to try and talk his way out of it, the realization that it’s hopeless, the calculation of his best defense. It only takes a few seconds, but I see everything that’s there, and at the end of it all Nate laughs gently and looks at the floor like a kid caught with his hand in the

cookie jar. “So?” Nate says, his eyes unrepentant. “I make videos. That part of my life doesn’t have anything to do with this – with us. I don’t see the problem.” “Fucking hell, Nate,” I say, with as much awe as frustration, starting to pace in front of the window. “You really don’t get it.” “Get what? That you want me to feel ashamed? That you keep trying to fit me into some perfect little boyfriend role? That you don’t like the life I led before we got together? You know exactly who I am, Jessie, who I was.” “I do, that’s the problem. Regardless of the videos you make, and whether or not you chose to hide them from me, I know that you’re never going to be the guy I need you to be.” He flinches back as if I’ve struck him. “And who exactly is ‘that guy’? The guy who cheated on you? The guy whose car you wrecked? Or is it the one who bailed you out of jail at a moment’s notice? The one you’ve known since you were a little girl? The one who fucks you the way you want? Which guy do you really need?” “Ugh,” I groan. “It’s always about sex with you.” “What else is there?” Nate shouts, raising his arms wide as if imploring some third party. “We fuck well, and we’re good friends. This could work as a relationship, it doesn’t have to get more complicated than that. What else do you even want?” I feel the pain and humiliation and anger rising in my chest, and I narrow my eyes and try to keep from yelling in his face. “A little fucking honesty, for a start.” Nate sighs, laughs, and puts his hands on his head. “Shit, Jessie. If that’s what this is all about, those fucking videos, I can just stop making them. You don’t have to be this fucking melodramatic.” I stop and stare at him, half-shocked, half-insulted. “You think I’m being melodramatic?” “Yeah. And I’m a talent agent, so you know that means something.” He says it with a smile, a controlled joke, meant to break me down, meant to release the tension, meant to make everything we’re arguing about feel irrelevant. But I don’t laugh, and his attempt at humor hangs there like a bad taste. “Look,” Nate says, his voice low and soothing, as he steps toward me and puts his hands on my shoulders, “I get it. I understand how you can be mad at me. I’m a little slow on the uptake when it comes to relationships – you know that. It just took me a little time to get to where you are, that’s all.” “Uh-huh,” I say, looking up at him, holding on to my resistance despite the seductiveness of his eyes. He still thinks this situation is so simple. When in reality, it couldn’t be further from that, now that this baby is on the way. And how can I tell him? “And the video thing…I should have told you. I would have told you. It’s not that big a deal to me, so it shouldn’t be for you. Shit, we’d probably have laughed about it if I got to tell you myself. I never meant for it to be some kind of secret.” He holds me in his eyes, and despite my warring emotions I can’t help feeling

the effects of the controlled desire in them. “Actually…” I start, as his hands brush down to my waist, “I’ve got a secret of my own.” “Oh yeah?” Nate says, and I see the smolder in his eyes that always ends with us naked. “Yeah.” I take a deep breath, my heart about to pound right out of my chest. This is it. Now or never. “I’m pregnant.” Nate stops breathing. I feel his hands stiffen at my sides, and his face turn to stone. He steps back, away from me, and brings his hands to his mouth, turning away, then turning back toward me. “Are you sure?” “Yeah.” My pulse is still skyrocketing, and I cross my arms and try to just breathe. He paces a little more. “How did that happen?” This time I’m the one who smiles with controlled aggression. “I thought you were an expert?” “It’s mine?” I try – and fail – to hold back an insulted snort. “No, it’s Lorelei’s - of course it’s yours. And I’m keeping it, so don’t even think about suggesting otherwise.” Nate paces a little, breathing into his palms. He stops and looks at me. “Okay. So what happens now?” he says, suddenly defiant and confrontational again. “Do you expect me to just…change into someone else?” “No,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t expect you to change at all. That’s the problem.” Nate stands there glaring at me, tense and angry, as if I’ve cornered him. I guess I have. “I need some time to think,” he says, already moving towards the door. “I won’t hold my breath,” I reply, but he’s already gone.

22 NATE

I ’m driving to meet Kyle at a taco place in Malibu, right off PCH. It’s a sunny

Saturday, not too hot, and there’s the glorious kind of mid-day light over L.A. that almost makes you forgive living in a city of smog. But I’m gripping the wheel so tightly that my knuckles feel like they’re locked, and even the a/c can’t stop the uncomfortable prickliness running down my spine. I park the BMW and get out, too lost in my own thoughts to even acknowledge the flirty comment from a girl in yoga pants walking past. Striding toward the stand purposefully, the rest of the world out of focus, I eventually see Kyle notice me and grin. “Hey buddy!” he says, as we grab hands. “Hey man, good to have you back,” I say, falling into our habitual way of talking, but still locked in an internal wrestling match. “Believe me,” he says, already turning towards the stand, “not as good as I feel being back. Shit!” “How was London this time?” “Better the second time around. I never had to kiss so much ass in my life – not outside a bedroom anyway.” “But you got the contract back?” I say, as we line up. “Eventually. But having to go over there again means I’m way behind on my work for everyone else. I’m at the limit, dude. And this jet lag! How about you?” “I’m good, same old,” I say, before turning to order, glad to be cut off from making small talk. We grab our food and make our way to some benches, the beach off to one side, L.A. traffic on the other. I tear into my food like I’m really hungry, even though my stomach’s turning so much I can barely chew. I’ve been visualizing this moment for days. Turning it over in my mind as if looking for the key. Short and sweet, no. That’s an invitation for a reaction. Take my time, let him know I’m serious. He probably wouldn’t let me get that far. I’ll do what I always do, try and go with the flow. Or maybe not. “What’s up?” Kyle says, licking his teeth and wiping his fingers already. “You finished that quick,” I say, nodding at his plate. “Maybe they think you can

do more than one person’s work because you eat enough for a whole group.” “Ha! Sure. Well, if you work like you eat,” he says, nodding at the taco I’ve been holding in my hand for a full fifteen minutes, “I’m surprised they even pay you.” I try to laugh, and immediately realize how difficult it is. I suddenly have a whole new appreciation for people who fake emotions. “Hey, I gotta tell you about this British chick I met. Jesus H. Christ!” I raise an eyebrow and pretend to carry on chewing so I don’t have to answer. “She was working in the hotel I was staying at. They made them wear these dorky uniforms, but even in those clothes this girl was enough to make your eyes water. I’m talking grade-A ass, dude. I seriously didn’t think the Brits made them like that. Anyway, so I call for room service one day, right? And…” Kyle draws out the story and I make as if listening, familiar enough with his tone that I can nod and smile at all the right parts, but inside I’m tightening up like somebody’s got me in a chokehold. I look down at my half-eaten plate and suddenly feel disgusted, the noise of cars and people talking around us suddenly filtered through a fog. I put my taco down and wipe my fingers, concentrating on it so that Kyle doesn’t notice how seasick I’m feeling. I push every bit of strength in my body to the surface, bracing myself, tightening my focus to the job at hand. It only works when I think about why I’m doing this. Jessie. Her face. Her voice. Just thinking of them makes me feel a burst of adrenaline, a surge of strength. I imagine her smile, and it’s like a tonic for all the queasy shakiness in my gut. I haven’t even told her what I’ve decided yet, but if I can get through to her brother, maybe he can help me win her back. Because I think I’m finally ready to step up. Am I one hundred percent sure? Truthfully, no. But I’m willing to try. That’s what you do when you care about someone as much as I care about Jessie. And as for the pregnancy – even if she hates me, I hope she’ll at least let me be there for her. Help out however I can. Support her and…it. A fresh wave of nausea washes over me, and I take a long drink of my beer. It doesn’t help. Meanwhile Kyle’s still talking, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “…I was hoping for a repeat on the last night, but she texts me that she had to swap a shift. Dude, I was so fucking gutted. I’ll tell you one thing, though, she’s almost better over text than in bed. Shit, I never liked that ‘sexting’ crap, but this girl can say things that’d make porn stars blush. Plus, it’s the only action I’m gonna get now that I’ll be stuck to my desk twenty-four seven again. You think I should ask her to fly to L.A. for a weekend?” “You spoken to Jessie?” I interrupt, trying to sound casual instead of strangled. I fail. Kyle’s enthusiastic demeanor drops the second I mention her name, the thrill in his eyes when talking about the ‘British chick’ suddenly replaced by the concerned frown he usually wears when talking about his little sister. “I tried to,” he says, his voice now tinged with indignant exasperation, “she says she wants to talk to me, but…well, you know how it is. I work a lot, she works a

lot.” “Yeah.” “I get the impression she’s avoiding me, though. I know you’ll say that’s bullshit, but I tell you, dude, something’s going on. You know anything about it?” This is it. There won’t be a better opportunity than this. I look up at Kyle, who notices that I don’t respond quickly, that I’m not jumping in with my usual ‘I’m sure she’s fine’ or ‘let her live her own life.’ His glare turns from casual annoyance to severe worry, and I think of her face once again to draw strength. “Actually, yeah. It’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” Kyle doesn’t say anything, just twists his lips as if preparing to get angry. I take a few deep breaths as I figure out where best to start. “That day you came to her house, back early from your trip, and I told you I was there because Jessie had broken up with her ex. Do you remember?” “Of course I remember, I spent the next three nights waiting for that asshole to come by again.” “Right. Well, the truth is that I wasn’t there because of that. It wasn’t that she’d broken up with her ex.” “What?” Kyle says, his frustration growing. “They didn’t break up? You mean she was still seeing him?” “Not him. But…she was seeing someone.” Kyle shakes his head as if it’ll remove his confusion. “Who? Fucking hell, Nate. Just tell me who.” Her face. Focus. Don’t back down. “Me.” Kyle’s face has never been the most expressive, but in the few seconds following my answer it goes through pretty much the entire range. Amusement, shock, intense rage, concentrated scrutiny, tortured uncertainty, and back to rage again. “The fuck? Hold up…I don’t get it. What are you saying?” “Jessie and I were…seeing each other. For a while.” Kyle slams the bench so hard the metal rivets holding it to the ground probably loosen. In a smooth gesture of animalistic power he leaps up from it and moves backwards, pacing away from it, hand clutching his scalp like he’s trying to contain the ferocity of his thoughts. I get up as well and step to the side. Kyle turns around and starts stalking toward me, finger pointed, his stride sideways and low, like he’s already prepared to start throwing punches. “This is one hell of a sick fucking joke, Nate,” he says, his face flickering between a humorous smile and gritted anger maniacally. “I’m under a lot of pressure right now, dude. Last thing I need is to be getting wound up like his.” “I’m not joking,” I say, backing away, holding my palm up like I’m taming a lion without a whip. “I’m coming clean.” Kyle doesn’t think about his next move, his arm is pulled back before I even get the last word out. He swings, hard and straight. He’s fast, but I’m faster. I duck it and sidestep, but only because Kyle’s too angry to read me, and I know how he

throws first punches. Shouts rise from the people seated at the benches around us, a few of them getting up quickly and moving away. “Did you fuck her?!” Kyle screams, as I back away again. “Did you fuck my sister?!” I back up into a bench, with no more room behind me, and Kyle bearing down on me still. “Yes, but—” There’s no time for me to get another word out as Kyle throws himself forward. I sweep myself aside once again, this time barely escaping, his fist catching my side a little. A little being enough to knock most of the wind out of me. “But it’s more than that!” I call out now, partly because Kyle seems to be getting angrier, and partly because there’s a crowd being drawn around us now. “I care about her!” “You’re my best fucking friend!” Kyle cries out, as I move around and put a bench of scared taco-eaters between us. “You’re supposed to fucking protect her – not use her!” “I didn’t use her!” I reply, shimmying around to keep the table in between us. “I swear, it just happened.” “Agh!” Kyle says, stopping to wince a little. “Don’t act like I don’t know you, asshole. You make fucking videos, dude! I bet you made videos when you were fucking her!” There’s no time for a response as Kyle leaps up onto the table, half-eaten tacos shooting everywhere as his boots send them flying. I back up just in time to avoid having him drop the full force of his weight on top of me. It’s a close call, but it doesn’t leave me with anywhere else to go. The crowd closes behind him, and there’s nothing but a parking lot fence behind me. Kyle knows it, and he moves slow now as he squeezes me into the corner. “You’re the one fucking guy I expect to understand, Nate. The one fucking guy I trust. You can have any fucking girl you want, and you do this? Why? Why do this to her? To me? To all of us?” Kyle’s three steps away. He only needs two to throw a punch. I know it’s coming, and I know this time he won’t miss. “Because I love her.” Then everything goes black.

23 NATE

T hey say in tough times you realize who your friends are. What they don’t say is

that losing your friends is the toughest time of all. I take Robinson’s advice for once and spend the next few days working from home. Partly because the only task I can muster up enough energy to do is order pizza, and partly because I don’t feel like coming up with a story to explain my black eye. The throbbing, swollen bruise is nothing compared to the searing sense of dejection. I sit in my apartment, wearing nothing but boxer-briefs, and wallow in the miserable realization that if I never left the house again, the only two people who’d give a fuck are the two people I’ve just destroyed my relationships with. I check my phone for what could be the thousandth time since I got up three hours ago, and sift through the messages looking for their names. I don’t see them. This is it; rock bottom. Knuckles raw from entire nights hitting the punching bag, trying to push the frustrating anger of my mistakes out of my flesh. Nights out that end with me blind-drunk in the back of a cab rather than bare-naked in some random woman’s apartment. My apartment trashed from the random rages that overwhelm me in the middle of the night, as if physical strength is the last thing I’ve got to depend on. If only it was that easy. I could have taken Jessie seriously when she told me how she was feeling, instead of still regarding her as the immature kid that always followed us around. I could have at least tried to stop it when it was just fun, could have gone out and found another girl to fuck and see how I truly felt. I could have told Kyle the second we came back from the retreat. Shit, I should have stopped to talk properly with Jessie about what we were doing while we were there. Though if there’s one thing I can still forgive myself for, it’s not thinking straight when me and Jessie were burning for each other. Even now, even with the dull ache that thinking of her causes in my chest, I realize how amazing she is, how much I still want her. I get up off the couch, but only to mope around the apartment like a caged animal. I used to like my place, until it started feeling a little small, but now it feels like a prison of my own making. A monument to what an asshole I am. The condoms I put in discreet but easy-to-reach places in all the rooms. The soundproofing in the door frames I had to put in when neighbors kept complaining

about the sound of women orgasming too loudly. The ‘tasteful’ black and white nude portraits I have on the walls so I can brag about being a photographer. The spare room I keep as sparse and as non-descript as possible so I can film Bad Boy videos in it. I walk through the rooms now and feel like a stranger, interpreting the apartment like a first-time guest. Who lives in a place like this? I don’t know, but he doesn’t live here anymore. My mind goes back to Jessie, back to the party at my dad’s place. The way she glowed at the sight of her old home. The way she was still so connected to it. I looked at it and thought it was just the place she used to live, a run-down bungalow that wasn’t worth the trouble of knocking down. What did she see, though? Warmth, probably. Family, love, trust. All the things I took for granted. Things I never realized I had until I destroyed it all. Things I thought I was too good for, before realizing I was not good enough. My cell rings and I sprint through the hallway to get at it, diving onto the couch like it’s second base and almost fumbling the phone as I bring it close enough to see who it is. Dad. Reluctantly, I bring it to my ear. “Hey,” I say, realizing how croaky I sound. “Hello, Nate. When’s your lunch break? I’m in your neighborhood.” “I’m not at work, Dad. I’m at home.” “Even better! Come and meet me at Toaster’s, then. I’ll treat you to lunch.” “Dad…” I say, realizing I sound exactly like I did when I was a teenager. “I don’t know if I—” “You’re coming, and that’s that,” he says, most definitely the way he used to when I was a teenager. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t stick around at my birthday for the cake. We’re long overdue for a little chat.” Instinctively, a mental stream of excuses begins popping up in my mind. The art form of selecting the best one has been well-honed and perfected through years of experience. But this time I stop myself. I don’t want to be that guy anymore. I don’t want to be the guy who’s too good at lying to face himself, too good at deception to ever be called truly honest. Besides, isn’t the whole idea of family and trust about putting up with the rough as well as the smooth? Well, they don’t come much rougher than my dad. “Sure,” I say, “I’ll see you there.”

TOASTER’S ISN’T the kind of place guys in their sixties typically like to eat. It’s a pretty hip place, with a menu full of exotic, overpriced sandwiches (either ‘vegan’ or ‘free-range’), coffees drinks with candy store flavors, and the kind of fauxartisanal dressing that’s far too local-organic-gluten-free to come across as anything other than self-conscious. Most guys my dad’s age would take one look at the place and walk down the street to the old pizza place that sells slices so tasty

and cheap you’d almost get suspicious. The kind of clientele Toaster’s attract is a whole lot younger, trendier, and indulgent. That means lots of cute, well-dressed, and fit young women – and thus, my father. I push through the glass doors and step into the hum and clatter of coffee machines, women’s laughter, and Macbooks being typed on. Heavy reclaimed wood tables sit next to industrial steel chairs. A giant chalkboard listing the daily specials hangs above the counter, and the walls are decorated with old movie posters and hand-written notes. I notice my dad before he sees me, mainly because he’s exchanging sly winks with a couple of half-terrified giggling women standing near his table in the coffee line. He still dresses pretty well for a guy his age, in a checked shirt with a good cut and flattering jeans - though I know it’s only a by-product of taking so many young women shopping. I step over to his table quickly, before he interprets the waiting women’s laughter as an invitation. “Hey.” “Nate!” he says, opening his arms wide, then bringing them together to point at the chair opposite him. “Good to see you.” I sit down, adjusting the aviators I’m wearing to cover the bruise. “I hate this place,” I groan. “It’s like Captain Kirk and Captain Ahab decided to go into business together.” “Uh-huh,” my dad says, assessing my mood. “What’s with the sunglasses? Late night?” “Um…something like that,” I say, fumbling. He eyes me a little, but before he can say anything else his attention is completely taken by the tall model-slash-waitress who steps up to our table. “Hi there, welcome to Toaster’s. Can I take your order?” I see the look of delight that comes over my dad’s face as he takes full advantage of the girl’s tight shirt and skinny jeans. “Well hello young lady,” he says, smiling back at her. “That’s an incredible tattoo you’ve got there.” He takes her arm softly and angles it to get a better look at the graphic tribal design, and I try not to puke as I bury my head in the menu. “Thanks,” the girl laughs. “It’s kinda new, I’ve only had it a few months.” “Oh, nice. I hear they’re pretty addictive, tattoos. You getting any more?” I glare at him for a second, but I may as well not be there. He’s got ignoring me down to an art, with twenty-nine solid years of practice under his belt. “I’ll have the, uh, grass-fed organic cheese steak with hot peppers and a water,” I interject. “Dad? You want the same?” He breaks away from the girl, a brief flash of frustration crossing his face until he processes what I just asked him. “Sure,” he says, turning back to smile one more time and send her off with a wink. “But make my drink a beer. Anything from the Golden Road brewery. I’m in the mood for a little buzz.” The girl grins and turns to scribble the order in her pad as she walks away, my

dad’s eyes laser-focused on the sway of her narrow hips. “What’s the problem?” he asks, his voice heavy, all the light-hearted humor he had for the waitress gone completely. I pretend to take a lot of care sliding the menu back into the condiment holder so I don’t have to meet his gaze. “Nothing.” “Bullshit,” he answers, quickly. “What’s wrong? Is it me?” “No. It’s not you.” “I know it’s not me talking to the waitress, ’cause you’ve had a face like a melted waxwork since you got in here.” I sigh deeply and run a hand roughly through my hair, realize how unusually messy it is, and that I probably look like shit right now. “Forget about it.” “It’s a girl, right?” he says, pointing a finger at me before jabbing it and putting it away. “Of course it is. It’s always a girl.” “Can we talk about something else?” I ask, trying to keep it together. “No. Because it’ll be like talking to a zombie. Come on. Tell me what’s going on.” I sigh and stare at him, letting him see how frustrated he’s getting me. “You gonna make me guess?” he says, digging his heels in. “I can sit here and guess all day, though I doubt it would take me too many tries.” I stare at the table, then look around the restaurant. It’s funny. Before Jessie, all I saw were single women everywhere, but now, after everything that’s happened, it’s like all I see are couples. “Okay. Fine. Yes. It’s a girl.” He nods, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression on his face like he’s my therapist. “So what? She doesn’t like you back?” “No. Not that. Let’s just say I had her, and fucked it all up.” “Uh-huh,” he says, sounding unimpressed. “So forget her. Find a new one. What’s the big deal?” I snort a little, then shake my head at him. “You think I want to feel like this? Forgetting someone isn’t that easy.” He laughs a little, deep, throaty, but still light and easy. The kind of laugh you develop from years of partying. “Nate, you were always too intense. Let me tell you something: the only thing holding you back right now from feeling as good as you can be is the past. Your baggage. The world is full of girls, too many for you to get hung up on just one. When everything you know is causing you to struggle, you’ve got to start trusting in the unknown instead.” I allow myself a small smile at the sheer ridiculousness of what I’m hearing. The comprehensive absurdity of sitting here, with my father, hearing him say those words. “Where did you hear that?”

He nods and digs around in his pocket to pull out his phone. “I’m gonna send you a link. You need to watch this guy. ‘Bad Boy’ his name is. The guy’s got this shit figured out. I haven’t seen a guy talk as much sense since the seventies.” “Dad, wait…” I say, feeling a wave of discomfort as he starts jabbing at his phone. “And you can bet this guy is getting way too much pussy to be dragging himself around looking like a mess in the way you’re doing.” “Dad,” I say again, pushing his phone away, “I know about the ‘Bad Boy.’ He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.” This time he regards me differently, as if the veneer of nonchalant humor and buddy-buddy superficiality he always gives me is broken a little. He scratches his head, looks around, then nods softly at me as he finally tucks the phone away. “I see. It’s that serious, huh?” I shuffle in my seat, the weight of the question’s answer bearing down on me. “Yeah. It’s the most serious I think it’s ever gonna get for me.” After a few seconds of us looking at each other, open and frank, oblivious to the noise and commotion around us, he leans forward. “Do you love her?” “Yes.” He scowls. “When I say ‘love,’ Nate, I’m not talking about just enjoying her company, or wanting to make her yours. I’m talking about the real thing. The feeling that you’re half a man when she’s not around, the knowledge that nobody else you’ll ever meet will change you, connect you, move you as much as she will. I’m talking about someone you’d give everything for. Everything. So let me ask you again. Do you love her?” It takes a few seconds to respond this time – not because I’m not sure, but because I’ve never heard my father speak this way before, and also because I’m so sure the word wants to explode out of me in a shout of conviction that I have to take a moment to tamp it back down. Despite my effort, the answer comes out in a roar that rumbles from the depths of my being. “Yes!” I look at my father, desperate for him to tell me what to do now, where to go, how to be, so that I can fix this. In the long conversations with myself late at night, I always reach this point, the point of zealous belief, of impossible confidence that I love Jessie, that I have to find a way to make this right, but it’s been a dead end every single time. I look at my father, and pray that he’ll know what to do. He nods softly again before speaking. “I don’t think I ever really told you, Nate, but your mother was the only woman I ever really loved.” He looks down, licking his lips nervously, before meeting my gaze again. “And I fucked it up. Biggest mistake of my life. I spent the next twenty years trying to feel that again. The marriages, the parties. The girls, the drugs. But that’s all it ever was. Chasing that feeling of true, genuine love.”

I go to speak but he holds up his hand to stop me. “Look, I’m not asking for pity, or saying I didn’t like it. I know what I’m doing. And I have no regrets. No more than the one, in any case. I should have never let your mother go. I should have done everything I could to get her back. But it took me too long to understand that. I don’t know about your situation, Nate, about this girl, or what’s happened between you. But I’ll tell you this. You’re young, and I can see how much she means to you. So don’t stop trying, whatever you do. Don’t give up on her. Not unless you want to live the same life I did.” At the words of hope, coming to me in my father’s voice, something shifts. I’ve never heard him speak like this, and that alone would be enough to shake me, but the fact that he’s giving me a way out, a way forward, is enough to make me want to run out of this place and straight to wherever Jessie is right now. I let the words echo in my mind, resonate, as if the power of hearing them alone will make them come true, and see my father with new eyes. “Thanks, Da—” “Here are your cheese steaks!” the tattooed girl interrupts in her best ‘have a nice day’ voice. “One beer, and one water.” “Looks good enough to eat!” my dad says, leaning back and clapping his hands, before turning to the waitress. “And the food doesn’t look too bad either.” “Enjoy your meal,” the girl says, going just a little red. “Let me know if you need anything else.” My dad’s eyes glint, and he winks at me before turning back to her. “What if I just ‘want’ it?” The girl laughs awkwardly before turning away, my dad’s eyes once again studying her ass like he’s planning to sketch it later. I look at him and marvel at how the guy who just brought me back from the brink of suicide can suddenly turn into someone else entirely – and then I realize how similar we actually are. Or used to be.

24 JESSIE

I t’s only when I hear the sound of Lorelei opening and shutting the front door that I realize I’ve been staring at the same picture of a gingham dress on my laptop for about ten minutes now. As if jolted into the present, I move the mouse and continue flicking through the pictures of stock costumes. “Jessie?” Lorelei calls from the hallway. “Hey,” I say, turning to watch her come in. “I picked up some Chinese on the way home. I know I said I was going to cook something healthy but I didn’t have time.” “Jessie.” “I got an email from Caroline Tiernan asking if I could send her my ideas for a project she’s working on. Can you believe it? She might need me to assist her on set! The only problem is that I can barely think straight. I just worked a sixteen hour shift and I’m struggling to stay awake, let alone be creative. This is my fourth coffee.” “Jessie—” “I know, I know. She’s probably just indulging me. I shouldn’t get my hopes up. But what more have I been asking for but a chance to finally—” I stop abruptly as she thrusts her cell phone in between my eyes and the computer screen. I pull back a little to see what’s on it. A Bad Boy video. I spin my seat around to glare at Lorelei. “Why would you show me that, Lorelei? The last thing I want to think about right now is Nate.” “I think you should see this,” she says, slow and solemn. “I really shouldn’t. Not now.” “Please,” Lorelei pleads again, the expression on her face unreadable. She leans forward over the keyboard and I reluctantly let her bring up the Bad Boy video on the desktop screen. I cast one more reproving glance at her before looking at the screen. The image on the website is different. There’s no soft candle lighting, no selfconscious posing. Nate’s sitting on a short chair, in front of a well-lit white wall,

with his face just out of shot. The only thing visible is his white t-shirt, and his sinewy arms perched on his knees, fingertips together. Lorelei presses play, and steps back. #251: The Final Confession This is gonna be tough. But at the same time, it’s not something I need to think about. I guess that’s how you know when you’re doing the right thing. I want to tell every single one of you, every person who ever clicked on one of my videos, that I’ve changed. That I fucked up. That I’m not the Bad Boy anymore. And that I’m sorry. But you guys don’t come here for apologies, you come here for confessions. So here it is. The final one. The deepest, hardest, and most important confession I’ll ever make. I fell in love. Not ‘we went on three dates and I think I really like her’ love. Not ‘I feel just like the cheesy songs I used to hate’ love. But full-on, bone-shaking, life-changing, can’t-turn-back love. I’m in deep, guys. Real fucking deep. I know what a lot of you will think, hearing this. That I’m full of shit. That I’ve spent years on this channel talking about how commitments, marriage, all that ‘love’ crap is for people too scared to live the way I did. Who didn’t have what it takes to live a life of perpetual pleasure. Quick sex and fast getaways. But I didn’t lie. Nobody believed in that as much as I did. I thought it would be enough forever. Thought it couldn’t ever be better than that. But that was before I met her. And I want to tell you about her…shit, all I wanna do is talk about her. I can’t stop thinking about her. But I can’t tell you. If I start, I wouldn’t finish... I’ve sat here and described every kind of woman to you guys. Every kind of body type and eye color; every attitude and personality type, but her…she’s too full of surprises. Too brilliant and talented and fierce and complicated. Too amazing in every way. I can’t even describe it to myself, all I do is feel it. And how do you really describe a feeling? This vlog has meant a lot to me over the time I’ve been doing it. Millions of views, thousands of messages. It’s been a good boost for my ego. But falling in love tends to do the opposite. In a weird way I think I needed you guys more than you needed me. It feels kind of ridiculous now to think about how many times I talked about hating commitment and marriage. Because now I see that same sense of consistency – the comfort of knowing somebody will listen to you, support you, care about you – that was what I got from this, from all of you. But I don’t need it anymore. There may be millions of you, but there’s only one of her. So that’s it. I’m ending this. I’m deleting all my videos, and in a few days, this account. It’s been a wild ride. I don’t regret the life I’ve lived, but I do regret thinking I had it all figured out. Because the truth is, nobody has it all figured out.

Least of all me. Thank you all, and take this advice: Never give up on love, even when it’s nowhere in sight. And when you find it, hold onto it – don’t let it go without a fight. I hope you guys have a better time figuring that out than I did. As for the future…well, I suppose it’s time for this bad boy to grow up into a real man. So be sexy, be safe, and take care of each other. Goodbye. I watch as the screen fades to black, then keep staring at the black screen, too scared to move in case the tremble in my throat turns into a full-blown sob. I feel Lorelei’s hand press on my shoulder. “He seems really different,” she says, tinging the words with a little smile to make them easier to swallow. “It doesn’t change anything,” I mutter. “Jessie,” Lorelei says, spinning the chair around a little so I can face her, “come on. You don’t really think that.” I try to look indignant, to keep up the brick wall of indifference that’s the only thing keeping me sane, but it’s hard to be cold when you’re so confused. I step out of the chair, needing to move, and pace up to the other side of the room, rubbing at my aching eyes and groaning loudly. “I don’t know what to think anymore,” I say, turning around to look at Lorelei again. “He might love me, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to work out between us, and it doesn’t mean he’s cut out to be a dad. That last video doesn’t make any of this any better.” Lorelei points at the blank screen as if it’s irrefutable evidence of something. “Seriously? Did you listen to everything he just said? It’s kind of a big deal, Jessie. Maybe not to you, but trust me. Nate has more people watching each of his videos than most TV shows. There are, like, a dozen copycats, but Nate’s still the one everyone talks about.” “You mean ‘Bad Boy,’ not Nate,” I say, petulantly. Lorelei smiles. “So you admit they’re different?” I sigh-laugh and shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a video channel. Am I really supposed to be impressed that he quit? Is that supposed to mean something to me?” “It meant something to him,” Lorelei says, her voice hard but her face soft. “I know you always thought of that vlog as stupid, but he did it for years. It was obviously important to him. You could tell in the video – giving it all up was hard for him to do. But he did it anyway, Jessie. Because he feels differently now, and it’s because of you.” I moan and let my shoulders slump, then go over to the couch and drop back onto it, burying my head in my hands. Lorelei comes and settles herself beside me. “Hard or not, the right thing would have been to stop posting videos the second

we got together. Or at least tell me that he talks about his sex life to a million fucking strangers every night. How can I ever trust a guy who would hide something like that?” “He’s not hiding anything anymore,” Lorelei says, rubbing my back tenderly, “And I have a feeling it’ll stay that way. I agree that Nate’s a little behind the curve, but he’s never really had a relationship before. He’s still figuring this stuff out. Give him another chance.” “I can’t be his practice dummy.” Lorelei laughs. “But maybe you can be his tutor.” I lean back and let my head rest on the top of the couch, eyes up on the ceiling. “Isn’t it supposed to be easier than this?” I say. “Meeting the right guy, falling in love, having a baby? Isn’t having a child supposed to be this beautiful thing that two people really want to do?” “It looks to me like two people do really want to,” Lorelei says. I don’t know if irony can be expressed through facial features, but Lorelei makes a convincing case. I smile a little sadly. “Are you really sticking up for him?” Lorelei doesn’t say anything, and I sit up on the couch to look her in the eye. She purses her lips. “Yes.” “Lorelei, seriously? Did you forget what he did already?” “No. But I think you’re being too hard on him. Don’t let your pain and your pride keep you from trying to work it out with the guy you’re obviously still in love with. That you’re having a baby with, whether you like it or not. He’s made mistakes, sure, but—” “Mistakes? He changed his mind about being with me a dozen times, because he didn’t want to commit or be tied down. He made weird sex-videos online while we were together. And that would be enough even if I forgot about the lifetime of sleazy one-night stands and womanizing he’s done. On top of that, I’m pretty damn sure he doesn’t want to have this baby, and since that’s not up for negotiation, I don’t see how we can get back together and just pretend there’s not a child growing inside me. At some point, reality’s going to hit us both – and I’m not sure I believe he’ll stick around after that.” Lorelei nods then stiffens her lips again. “Right. But he’s grown up a lot since he started seeing you, Jess. Think about it. He stopped seeing other women. He was there for you when you needed him. And even after you guys split up, he went and told Kyle about your relationship, knowing full well he’d get his ass kicked – which he did. And then, even though you haven’t forgiven him, he went and shut down his video channel, and it just seems like…” Lorelei trails off into a sigh. “Seems like what?” I urge her. “Listen. I don’t know Nate that well,” she begins, slowing down the tempo of her voice, “but you’ve talked about him a lot. Even before all of this started. He’s been your friend since you were a kid, right?”

“Right.” “And maybe I’m wrong, but I always got the impression he was a good one.” She lets the comment hang in the air for a second like a question, but I don’t bite. “You always spoke about him as someone kind, caring, loyal. Someone who you could depend on. I mean, didn’t this all start when he bailed you out of that jail cell and kept it a secret from Kyle?” “Yeah,” I mumble, slow threads of regret starting to wind themselves into my brain. “So maybe it’s not Nate the ‘Bad Boy’ womanizer that you should be thinking of. Maybe it’s Nate the lifetime friend. Maybe that’s the guy who wants to make good by you. And the way I see it, that Nate deserves a second chance.” I give Lorelei a tortured smile, and then look away. Lorelei has a habit of giving you stuff to think about right when you feel you’ve just got it all figured out. My phone rings, and we both get up. “I need a drink,” she says, moving toward the kitchen. “You want anything? A water?” “No,” I say, going over to the desk. “I’m good.” I pick up the phone and see the name. Nate. I let my finger hover over the screen, unsure of what to do. “It’s Nate, isn’t it?” Lorelei says, almost making me jump when I see she isn’t in the kitchen. I look at her and nod. “Talk to him. He deserves that at least, for what he did,” she says, nodding at the computer screen. I let my shoulders drop, and when Lorelei sees that she’s twisted my arm, she disappears into the kitchen. I answer the phone and bring it to my ear. “Hey.” “Jessie?” I pause a moment, lips parted but unable to say anything. “Hi, Nate.” “Fuck.” “What?” I hear Nate laugh a little embarrassedly. “Nothing. It’s just…it’s been a while since I heard your voice.” I smile involuntarily. “Listen, Jessie,” he continues, sounding like a man anxiously trying to stay calm, “I don’t want to argue, or fight, or anything like that. I just want to clear the air. I mean, it’s all up to you. I understand everything.” “Uh-huh,” I say, sounding aloof and distant, though it’s only because I can’t think of what to say. “I just have to tell you one more thing. In person. Would you give me that?” I let out a long breath. “Okay. Where do you want to meet?”

25 NATE

I pace up and down the sidewalk in front of Jessie’s childhood home, blood

thumping in my ears, adrenaline flowing, stopping and staring at any car that looks even remotely similar to Jessie’s like a boxer waiting for the bell. This is it. This is the last roll of the dice. Since I knew how I felt I kept telling myself how much I’d give for Jessie – and right now I’m about to give it all. Her car appears on the horizon, a dot, but I’ve been looking so hard I can almost sense it’s hers. I roll my neck and tense my shoulders – show time. The car rolls up in front of the house and comes to a stop. I watch her exit, and it’s almost surreal to see how beautiful she is in person now, after so long just remembering it. She slams the door shut and walks up to me. “You look great,” I say, when she’s in front of me, her head tilted away from the sun. “Thanks. You look…” she stops, hesitates. “Like it’s healing.” “Oh, yeah,” I say, bringing my fingers up to the fading bruise on my eye. “Well, I can still see out of it. I guess Kyle went easy on me.” Jessie nods, too tense to laugh. She looks around with a tight, forced smile on her face, as if trying to break the awkward atmosphere between us. “Why are we meeting here? It’s not exactly neutral territory.” As if remembering the reason myself, I quickly go to my back pocket and pull out the envelope, then hold it out to her. “Here.” She looks at it dubiously, then takes it slowly. “What’s this?” I try to swallow and realize how dry my throat it. “The house.” Jessie’s frown deepens. “What do you mean?” I tap the envelope in her hand. “I bought the house. For you. It’s yours now.” “What?” Jessie says, leaning forward and making it sound like a gasp as she does so.

“I mean it needs work, but I figured you’d want to decide on how to rebuild it. But I’ve got contractors ready, and a deposit, so it’s up to you. Whenever you have the time to start.” “Nate. No,” she says, in her most commanding voice. She slams the envelope up against my chest and holds it there. “I can’t take this.” Slowly, I take the hand she’s pushing up against my chest and push it back to her, holding the envelope there. “I can’t let you not take it.” We stand there, eyes fixed on each other, my hand on hers, the envelope in between. Neither of us sure what to say, or what to do. “This is too much,” Jessie says, taking the envelope and shaking her head at it. “It’s no more than you wanted. No more than I ought to give you.” “I never wanted you to feel like you owed me.” “You didn’t. I’m not trying to make up for anything anymore. I’m not trying to persuade you of anything, or make up for the past. I’m doing this simply because I want you to be happy…both of you. With or without me.” Her lip quivers and she sniffs suddenly at the last words. “How can you afford this?” I shrug as if it’s irrelevant. “I have a steady job. I made a little money from those videos.” I stop myself suddenly, regretting bringing them up. But Jessie just smiles and shakes her head. “‘A little money’?” she repeats, looking over at the rundown bungalow. “I know how overpriced this hunk of junk is, and I know how hard it is to get approved for a loan. You didn’t win the lottery, so…” She turns her head back to me and looks me up and down. “How’d you turn around and just buy it outright? Seriously, Nate, how?” I turn to the house and take a step toward it, still looking at Jessie. She takes the hint and walks beside me as we cross the yard, her eyes still scrutinizing me for an answer. “I was saving up to buy a house. I had the cash.” “Nate!” “But do you know why?” I say quickly, over her protestation. “I wanted a bigger place to take girls back to. Something impressive. Something that would boost my ego. Somewhere big enough to throw parties. And then I realized…I’m turning into my father.” “No…you’ll never do that.” I look at Jessie, shaking my head as we go through the gate and walk along the side of the house toward the back. “Won’t I? A big house. Vacuous friendships. A ruined relationship. And a kid that I’ll never be a true father to.” “Nate. Stop.” I oblige, and stop walking to turn to her. We’re in the back yard now, in front of the big sprawling oak tree, the one with the treehouse. I look up at it, then back at

her, smiling at the acknowledgment, but her face is pained and sad. I reach out and brush the tear suspended on her cheek, but she only seems to shake more at my touch. She blinks rapidly, and I take her in my arms, clutching her tightly, as if unable to do it softly, as if my body can’t afford to let her go again, even though my mind knows it’s already over. “I love you Jessie,” I whisper into her ear. “I know it’s over. I know I’ve hurt you. I know pushing me away is probably the right thing. But I still love you. And I want you to know that I’ll always be there when you need me, either of you, no matter what happens.” Jessie pulls herself back, just enough to look up at me. I look down at those eyes, at the face that’s become the background to my every thought, my every dream. A face that’s come to symbolize everything good and pure and right in my life. A face I’d given up on seeing this close ever again. A face I don’t deserve. She parts her lips, and I hold on to the moment, every fiber of my being hoping that time will stop, here and now, so that I can live eternally in this final moment of pure happiness. Before she says whatever she’s going to say. Before she can tell me once again how I’ve disappointed and hurt her. Before she can explain to me so sweetly and yet so painfully why we can never be together. Before I have to walk away with the feeling that I did the right thing, but still lost somehow. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t say anything at all. She just brings her lips to mine, and kisses me. It’s a kiss that says more than words ever could. A kiss that seems to connect our souls as much as our bodies. At the soft, yearning push of her lips I feel all the baggage and regret crumble away from me like a cracked shell. It’s not just a kiss, it’s a gesture of love, a hint of the future. Years from now, wherever I am, and whatever I do until then, I know this’ll be the moment I remember as my best, as my most meaningful. Our lips break apart, and I open my eyes to a world that seems like it’s in softfocus. Small and intimate. A world that begins and ends at the lines of Jessie’s face. She smiles, and I feel like I could move mountains. “Nate, I love you too. I want us to be together. Or, at least try.” It takes me a moment to process her words, but what stands out most to me is the word ‘try.’ And I know I can do that – I’ve never wanted anything more. “We can make it work. I promise I won’t ever let you down again.” Jessie laughs gently. “Don’t make that promise, Nate. Everybody makes mistakes.” We turn and start walking back to the sidewalk, hand in hand. “Well then, I promise I’ll try not to.” Jessie looks at me, a lock of hair fallen against her face, the sunlight casting an ethereal tint in her eyes. “That’s more like it.” I glance over at her, unable to stop smiling. “You know, I ended the whole video thing. It’s done.”

“I saw.” “The ‘Bad Boy’ is officially dead.” She swings herself in front of me and presses her body against me, a sly grin on her face and a mischievous look in her eye. “Don’t say that,” she murmurs, fingering the gaps between the buttons on my shirt. “I wouldn’t mind spending some time with him myself.” Grinning, I cup her chin and tilt her head back to kiss her again, and all of a sudden I feel like everything is going to be alright.

EPILOGUE

“Holy shit!”

“Nate…” Jessie hisses at me, before glancing apologetically at the woman in scrubs who’s guiding the ultrasound wand over her stomach. “Sorry,” I say quickly, my eyes fixed on the screen as the fuzzy image starts to resolve. “I just…it’s amazing.” “It’s okay, I’ve heard worse,” the technician says. “There it is,” Jessie utters softly. “Our child.” “I can’t believe it,” I murmur. “It’s…it’s alive.” “Like Frankenstein’s monster?” Jessie teases, as she and the ultrasound tech exchange a quick snigger. “And kicking,” the woman adds. “It’s a very healthy baby.” “This is so fucking surreal – sorry.” I look down from the screen toward Jessie, and squeeze her hand. “How do you feel?” I ask. “Happy,” Jessie says, her face glowing with pride and tenderness. She squeezes back. “A little overwhelmed, but happy.” “Do you want me to print a picture?” the technician asks. “Oh yes,” we say in unison, before Jessie continues. “There’s someone who’ll kill me if he doesn’t see one.”

WE WALK hand in hand toward the benches by the beach. Kyle’s already there, an empty taco plate and half a basket of tortilla chips in front of him. We approach him on his blind side. “Is this some kind of joke?” I say, once we’re in earshot. He looks up suddenly and spreads a wide grin over his anvil-jawline. “What do you mean?” “Isn’t this the same bench we sat on when you punched the living shit out of me?” Kyle laughs and embraces Jessie warmly before we clasp hands.

“Kyle probably remembers the tacos more than the fighting,” Jessie says as she sits down. I sit beside her, my arm instinctively going around her shoulders to pull her toward me, but then I quickly pull away. Kyle groans and laughs. “Hey, you can touch each other in front of me, you know. I’m over it.” Jessie looks at me and laughs, before going in for a kiss. “Okay, now that’s getting a little gross,” Kyle says, blocking his view with his palm. Jessie laughs again, before reaching into her bag. “We got you something,” she says, pulling out the sonogram picture. “Whoa!” Kyle says, grabbing it from her and holding it up to the light. “That’s the head. And you can see its hands there,” I say, pointing them out. “Shit,” Kyle says, breathlessly. “The kid looks like me!” He lowers the picture, but keeps it held in front of him, his eyes glancing at it every once in a while. “I can’t believe I’m gonna be an uncle.” “You are.” “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” Jessie and I glance at each other. “No,” she says. “We decided we didn’t want to know until it’s born.” “Why?” Kyle asks, frowning as if we just told him we hope it’s a cat. “It’s just cooler that way, dude.” “Yeah. It’s a surprise.” “Shit. I’d have thought you two would be sick of surprises by now. I know I am.” Kyle looks at the picture again and I nudge Jessie, swapping a quick smile at his look of child-like fascination. “You’re still helping us move some more stuff to the house this weekend, right?” Jessie asks, pulling Kyle’s basket of chips toward her. She dumps salsa on them and digs in. “Sure,” Kyle replies, looking up and smiling. “So how is it? Living in the old place?” “It’s like coming home,” Jessie says. “As if it couldn’t get any weirder. My best friend, my sister, my old house, a kid on the way. I’m starting to feel like a third wheel.” “Maybe we just need a fourth, dude.” Kyle chuckles. “Not with my schedule.” “I’m gonna get some real food,” Jessie says, pushing the chips away and turning to me. “I’ve got a craving for something spicy. You want anything?” “Sure,” I say. “Get me whatever you’re having. You’re gonna eat half of it anyway.” Jessie smiles and leans in. “Aw. That’s what I like about you. So giving.” She kisses me quickly then steps away toward the taco stand. I watch her go a while before Kyle calls for my attention.

“Bro. I wanted to tell you something.” I look at Kyle’s expression, the sudden seriousness in his eyes, the way he’s leaning forward as if hiding something. “What?” I say, leaning in, too. “I say this man to man, okay? However much you might not like it, it’s important that you hear it.” I take a moment to let him know I get it. “Okay. Go ahead, dude.” Kyle shifts slightly, his eyes flickering away, then back onto my face. “That day, here, when I punched you, was the worst day of my life.” “Dude, it’s cool, you don’t—” “I do. I have to say sorry. ’Cause the truth is that I did it deliberately.” “What are you talking about?” Kyle shifts again and looks at the taco stand to make sure Jessie’s still there. “You think it was easy to bring myself to hit you? It went against every instinct in my body. But I did it anyway, you wanna know why? Because I wanted to see if you meant it.” “Meant what?” “That you loved her.” “You punched me as a test?” Kyle nods, and I exhale loudly. “Jessie had a big crush on you as a teenager. For years. She thinks I didn’t know, but of course I did.” “Yeah. She told me.” “It almost tore her apart. And it tore me apart, ’cause you were too busy chasing tail to even notice. I wanted to make sure this wasn’t a rerun of that. That this time it was a two-way thing.” I lean back and rub my brow. “Fuck, dude. I had that black eye for more than a week.” Kyle shrugs nonchalantly. “But at least you passed the test.” I glare at him, then break out into a laugh. “Dude, I love Jessie. You could have broken my legs and I’d have crawled back to her.” A couple of asada taco plates appear in front of us, loaded up with sides of rice and beans, lettuce, tomato, and guacamole. There’s also a plate of nachos covered in melted cheese, pico de gallo and jalapenos. It’s become obvious by now that pregnant Jessie has a brutal appetite, but the truth is, I find it pretty cute. “What are you guys talking about?” Jessie says, reaching for the food before she’s even sitting down. “Uh…nothing much,” I say, glancing at Kyle. “Just life, love, and the problems we all face.” “Oh,” Jessie says, as I snatch a nacho from her hand and put it in my mouth. “It

sounds like one of your videos.” “My old videos,” I correct. “I’ve got nothing to confess anymore.”

THE IDEA COMES to me sometime in the evening, the house still full of boxes, Jessie gone to catch up with Lorelei and her other Thursday night friends. Maybe it’s just a new way of scratching an old itch, maybe I just find it easier to say certain things this way, or maybe it’s just nice to have a diary of some kind – but whatever it is, I go into the room where we’ve set up the computer, where the evening light casts window-frame shadows across the wall, and sit down in front of the monitor, clearing my throat and fixing my loose painting shirt. I turn on the webcam. This time I put my face in the frame. This time I’m not worried about the lighting. This time I don’t figure out what to say beforehand. This time it’s just me, being real, being honest. I take a deep breath, check the camera one more time, then hit record. “Hey. I don’t know when you’ll see this, or what you’ll think when you do. It’s kinda strange to think about. But anyway, it’s me, your dad…and there are a few things I want to say…”

THE END

AFTERWORD

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If you liked Confessions of a Bad Boy, check out this excerpt from THE BET.

My muscles scream, chest on fire, nerve endings twitching like a million thunderbolts across my torso. I can feel the beads of sweat on my forehead running down my tensed neck. I glare at the fluorescent light on the gym ceiling, feel the cold metal of the bar against my chest. That twinge in my triceps should worry me. Gotta meet Jax at the club for drinks in a couple hours. Maybe it was a bad idea to do this big a lift at the end of a workout. Last time a lift went wrong I messed up my thigh so bad I was fingerfucking girls for a month. Thoughts bear down on me like a load of bricks, pressing down on the ends of the bar, making it even heavier than it really is. Don’t think, Brando. Just fucking lift. I repeat the words like a mantra. A rhythmic drumbeat that focuses my mind. I

exhale as I push, the rush of adrenaline leaving no room for thoughts, the heat burning all doubt out of me. Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think. As I pump the bar up and down it feels like I’m lifting the entire building, like I’m trying to push a planet away from my chest. I feel like I’m calling on strength that doesn’t belong to me, strength that comes from the same deep pit of hell the pain in my muscles comes from. I exhale and my breath comes out with a long, low grunt. The pain and the heat and the testosterone and the adrenaline swirl inside of me, and I direct it all against this fucking barbell. When my set is finished I have just enough energy to bring the barbell back onto the claws. My fists sting as they let go of it, palms almost melded to the metal. I drop my arms and breathe deeply for a few seconds before sitting upright. My blood pumps, veins throb, and I feel the satisfied ache of a post-workout high seep into my skin. “Pretty dangerous, benching that much without anyone spotting you,” a throaty female voice says from behind me. I look up. The gym is almost empty except for a guy listening to his headphones as he runs on a treadmill in the corner. I save myself the trouble of turning around to see her and just look at the reflection in the wall-sized mirror in front of me. “Looks like you spotted me just fine,” I drawl, eyeing her in the glass. Even by gym standards, she’s unbelievable. She’s in tight black spandex pants, with nutcracker thighs and hips that seem custom-made for my hands. Her sports bra is so tight she may as well be naked, and the thought instantaneously sends about a million X-rated images through my mind. Judging by the hungry look in her eyes, I know exactly where this is going—but I’m enjoying the foreplay, so instead of just cutting to the chase and inviting her to suck my dick in the locker room, I grab the barbell and force myself through one more punishing set of reps. It takes everything I have to keep my arms steady, my muscles screaming all the while, before slamming the bar back onto the rack and sitting up. “Impressive,” she says, eyeing me up and down in the mirror. “You certainly don’t do things the easy way.” “I prefer the hard way,” I tell her, checking out the curve of her breasts like I’m about to paint a portrait of them. It’s all I can do to keep myself from just grabbing her and sitting her down in my lap. “So do I,” she purrs, running a hand across my back. She steps closer, standing behind me with the bench between her legs. Then she puts both hands on my shoulders and starts pressing and rubbing. “Shit that’s good,” I say, closing my eyes at the deeply sweet touch of her hands – the only thing that could stop me from enjoying the ravenous eye-fucking she’s been giving me in the mirror. “It should be,” she says, a tinge of amusement in her voice. “I’m a massage therapist here. With all the time you spend working out, I’m surprised you haven’t

stopped in for a session by now.” “So you’ve seen me around,” I growl. She rubs harder, massaging a knot next to my shoulder blade until it loosens, and I groan out loud. “Damn. Maybe it is time to see about that session.” “Good, because you’re way past due. And I’m not gonna wait any longer.” She leans down toward my ear, her long blonde hair brushing my shoulder, and says in a low whisper, “I teach a yoga class, too.” Her words hit me like a shot of adrenaline to the cock. I close my eyes and let her work me some more, lust building with the sensation of her palms kneading the base of my neck and the scent of her as she leans over me. I let out another low moan. Looks like Jax might be drinking by himself for a little while tonight. But I’m sure he’ll understand. My eyes flicker toward the guy in the corner, still running on the treadmill. The yoga teacher/massage therapist/sportswear siren reads my thoughts as easily as she reads the tension in my back and nods toward a side door. “It’s your lucky day,” she smiles. “I’m giving a free massage to the man who can handle it.” I stand up, grab my towel and run it over my face. “Always good to have a massage after a workout,” I reply. “Keeps the blood flowing.” She nods and turns, her body even more erotic in movement. The sway of her ass makes me grit my teeth. My heart thumps like a revved engine, her silhouette magnetizing every muscle in my body. This time I don’t need to push the thoughts away – I couldn’t think straight if I tried. I follow her toward the massage room, swaggering with the loose power of muscles after a workout. She looks back over her shoulder just before opening the door, her blonde ponytail flicking over her shoulder, and winks before sliding inside. “Close the do—” she starts, but I pounce like a predator spotting its window of attack, nothing but lust, impulse, and nature controlling me now. In a single motion I slam the door shut with one hand, push her up against it front-first, and press my groin hard against her ass. Her surprised gasp turns into a throaty giggle. Now that I’ve got her where I want her, I’m as slow as I was quick. I wrap my hands around her waist, brushing my fingers lightly against her exposed midriff. I close my eyes, let the electricity between our skin guide me. I press my face against the side of her head, letting the scent of her drive my body wild, pulling away teasingly after every touch. “I like your style, Brando,” she says, turning her head to shoot me a sultry stare. “How do you know my name?” I hum into her ear as I slide my hands slowly up her stomach, under her top and between her heaving breasts. She puts her palms higher on the door, steadying herself and pressing back into my body.

“You’ve got a reputation.” I taste the nape of her neck, eliciting a deep moan from her that tugs at my balls harder than a magnet. “What reputation?” She laughs lightly, in between the stuttered sighs and gasps that she responds to my every touch with. “Big…bold…brash…Brando.” As I lift her tight top up over her breasts with one hand, my other snakes down her pants to find the wet line of her pussy. “Half the girls in my yoga class want to fuck you…and the other half claim they already have.” I run my tongue down her neck, tasting the tender, pale skin. Her nipple hardens under the gentle touch of my fingers, pinching lightly, palm tracing the flawless shape of her breast. “You girls really like to talk,” I say, before taking her earlobe between my teeth. “I had to see for myself if the rumors are true. This is just research,” she says. I feel a tremble between her thighs as my finger moves slowly over her clit, brushing it until I feel her backing into me with a sharp intake of breath. “Then I’ll assist any way I can,” I tell her, giving her clit a firm, steady press with my palm as I slide a thick finger deep into her slick pussy. “Fuck,” she moans, leaning into it. I work my finger back and forth inside her, agonizingly slow, until she’s panting heavily and writhing against me. “More,” she begs. I spin her around to face me. She tears her top off the rest of the way, breasts bouncing back into firm shape, and eyes me like I’m a three-course meal and she’s fresh off a hunger strike. Then she pulls my mouth onto hers and swirls her tongue aggressively around mine. It’s more like martial arts than making out, but I’m not complaining. I run my hands down the taut skin of her sides, grab her breasts, feeling every curve so thoroughly I could sculpt her. We back and forth with our tongues, pushing and pulling, lashing and biting. Striking the sparks of the oncoming flames. “It’s no secret,” I say, pulling her toward me as I back off and sit on the massage table, “that I love women. What else do you need to know?” I pull off my shirt, and she spends a full five seconds staring at my chest with her mouth open. I slide my shorts down while she watches, her eyes glazing with lust. “I think I have everything I need right here,” she finally manages. “All that’s left is a little field work.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a condom. I put it on while she peels off the second skin of her spandex pants. “Welcome to the field,” I say, as she straddles me on the massage table. She cups my face in her hands and thrusts her tongue into my mouth, pulling away only to bury her teeth into my neck. I let out a hiss and wrap my lips around her nipple, rolling my tongue around it like it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted, teeth biting just enough to make her shake. She moans as she hugs me tight to her

chest, rolling her clit up and down the shaft of my cock. I lose myself in her curves, hands tracing the arch of her back as her pussy winds up against my cock harder and faster as she starts losing all restraint. She moans in short, sharp bursts, and I feel the hum of her voice as I move my mouth from one breast to another. “Slow down, baby,” I tell her. “You gotta let yourself enjoy it.” She laughs wildly, looking down at me as I grip her ass tightly and maneuver her over my cock. Her pussy is ready and wet as it presses against me, and I read the expression on her face like a dirty novel, all drugged eyes and strained pleasure. She squeezes the head of my cock between her lips, pulling me into her, but I hold her off, tantalizingly close, but not there yet. “Tell me what you want,” I say, when her eyes go pleading. “I want—” She gulps deeply, all the playfulness gone out of her now, replaced with fierce need, and speaks between pants. “I want you. Inside me.” I let her take a little more, and she releases another low, vibrating moan. “Tell me,” I command. Her eyes narrow, the pupils dilated. “I want your dick.” “Again.” “I want your big, hard dick. All of it. Right now.” I adjust my grip on her ass to let her take my full length and she slides down onto it, her moans turning into squeals of helpless delight. She bounces like she’s riding a horse, her body taking over, moving up and down on my cock according to the thousands of sweet sensations that emanate from our connection. I let her get her fill for a few minutes and then take charge, grabbing her ponytail in my fist and pulling her head back. “Don’t move,” I say. I ease out of her slowly and she whimpers in protest. “Wh—” With no warning I slam back into her, both of us groaning as I plunge into the depths of her tight, hot sweetness. Then I hold her steady and fuck her with everything I’ve got, turning in a performance worthy of a major award. As we find our rhythm she convulses and sways like a girl possessed, whispering obscenities and encouragement in between her moans. I run my tongue up the tender spots between her breasts, pumping with all the determination of a champion racehorse. I focus on the sensations radiating from my dick, finding a oneness with the zen of the energy building between us. My hands stroke the curve of her thighs as she bucks wildly on me, matching my power with every harder, deeper thrust. When she comes there’s no missing it. She throws her body forward onto me with a desperate cry, head over my shoulder, hands clawing against my back as I keep on gliding in and out, relentless, relishing the convulsions shuddering around my cock. Her stomach curves in and out like a booming subwoofer, the orgasm washing over her like sea waves. I let myself feel the pressure of her pussy, the softness of her breasts, the tightness of her thighs around my waist, and let go of the tension I’ve been

clutching since she first touched me. I cum in a hard, pounding rush as she’s letting out the last, gentle moans of a hard fuck. The long breaths of someone returning to their senses. “Did your research find I’m worthy of my reputation?” I ask after a few moments, blinking myself back to reality as the blood returns to my head. “That and more.” A minute later I’m helping her pull those tight pants up the last few inches of her gut-punchingly good ass. I take my time – it’s good enough to make me consider another round already. She turns around and puts a hand against my cheek. “How about coming back to mine?” I glance at her with an apologetic shake of the head as I lace up my shoes. “Sorry. I’m heading out to meet a friend tonight.” She leans up against the door. “Aren’t you tired? All that bench-pressing...I could give you that massage I promised.” “I tend to make bad decisions when I’m tired.” “Not going home with me is a very bad decision,” she says, her voice loaded with promises. “I’m sure it is,” I say, drawing close to her and opening the door a little. She steps aside, an expression that says ‘your loss’ written all over her face. “You know…” I pause and turn back toward her. “Yeah?” “You might want to consider fucking the other half of my class.” “Why’s that?” “I really think it’d help them, you know, balance their chi. Give them a better feel for that whole mind-body connection.” “I’ll take it under consideration,” I grin, breezing out the door. Like I need any encouragement.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

JD grew up in Southern California and now lives with his wife in Venice, CA. JD loves to travel and enjoys surfing, training in MMA and riding motorcycles. Join his newsletter where all the cool kids hang out. When I'm not surfing or being my badass self at my local coffee shop, you can catch me on: @fuckyeahhawkins JD-Hawkins-Author

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BOOTYCALL Part 2 I'm going to show her just how good a bad boy can be... Everything's riding on my comeback, but suddenly, Hollywood is the last thing on my mind. Gemma Clark was supposed to keep me out of trouble, but now I'm in way over my head. What we have is real -

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book is dedicated to my wife, Mrs. J.D. Hawkins, without whom I wouldn't have been able to become J.D. Hawkins. Thanks for your great attitude and support. I love you. I would also like to thank my readers and "fans,” who, for some reason, like to read my books. Thank you for boosting my ego. I love you long time. Finally, to my mean, anal editor. You know what you're doing. Thank you so much for believing in me and giving me the guidance and tough love I needed so much.