Free Sex, Lies and the Dirty by Nik Richie

pushing it, taking things further, and bringing two girls back with me.
    But watching that blonde freak out in Seattle changed something. It made me reflect. Ask questions. It starts to sink in that this isn’t normal newly-divorced guy behavior. I need to get stable, I think. I need to step it back before I do something that permanently fucks me up somehow. I need something real. The Nik Richie game is fun, but it’s dangerous. It’ll keep escalating until it hits a breaking point.
    I go to Pleasanton for an event.
    This is where I meet Amanda Reed.
    She’s young. Really young. Eighteen, blonde with light blue eyes. The kind of blue eyes that I like. She’s doing this pretend red carpet interview, which is basically going to be a direct-to-YouTube upload. It’s not going to be on TV, so I’m kind of fucking with Amanda when she tries to ask me questions. Any time she tries to get an answer out of me, I turn it back to her.
    What are we doing tonight, Amanda?
    What’s your story?
    The story is that she’s the assistant to the club promoter and she’s got a boyfriend. No one knows if it’s serious or not. They just know she’s not single. She doesn’t fuck around on him, or at least, not that anyone has seen. And I like her. I’m drawn to her. Part of it is the way she looks, how she carries herself. The other part is that she was born in the ‘90s. She’syoung. Unspoiled. She hasn’t been tarnished by the scene yet. Not yet, anyway. The liquor and late nights haven’t had their chance to age her skin or break her morality. She’s still got a chance to live a good life.
    I love this girl.
    I don’t love her specifically, but I love the ideal that she represents. She could be my stability. She could bring me back from the edge. So I JanSport 31 this chick for the night. After the interview (if you can even call it that), we keep talking. I talk to her about whatever she wants to talk about. Like she’s my girlfriend. I make it all about her: her interests, her life. If a girl comes to the table wanting to meet me, I either outright ignore them or make it brief so I can get back to Amanda. The entire night is devoted to Amanda, but I’m not the only one. Throughout the evening, maybe twenty or thirty times, the boyfriend texts her. He tries calling a couple times too but it’s so loud in the club that they wouldn’t be able to hear each other anyway. The boyfriend texts while we talk, flirt, get to know each other. Actually, it’s really me getting to know Amanda. I try not to make Nik Richie a topic, thinking that she’ll stop thinking of me as a brand or a persona. A blogger. I’m trying to get normal, so I keep the discussion as normal as I can.
    There’s no mention of Dirty Celebs or fame-chasers or what actress is doing which drugs in a certain club. We really don’t talk about the site. During the interview we did, but we’re both over it now. And the boyfriend keeps texting, wondering when Amanda is going to be home. He wants to take her from me. Steal her away. And even though I can tell that she’s kind of into me and all the attention I’m giving her, another part, the responsible one knows this is leading to something wrong. She’s crossed the boundary of flirting with another man, but I want to keep going. Keep pushing.
    I stay on her for the rest of the night: from the club to the after-party. We drink and the hours pass. Eventually, the boyfriend stops texting. He gives up. I don’t.
    I tell her, “Look, it’s really late. Can you please get me back to the hotel? I have no clue where I am.”
    It’s bullshit. I’m lying. We both know it. I could call a cab and get back to the room just fine by myself, but I don’t want to be alone right now. I want Amanda. And she needs to be needed if this is going to go any further. She needs the excuse of seeing another person stranded and helping them. An emotional loophole.
    So she stays. We get a cab and get back to the hotel, at which