Free Confessions of a Bad Boy by J. D. Hawkins Page B

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.