Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 1: Drake (6 page)

I return to the hot tub and tell everyone I had a great time and thank them for welcoming me into their little circle. I mean it, too – this was the most fun I’ve had in ages, hanging out with this crazy bunch. I also insist that nobody stand up to say goodnight. I ask Manning to give me a call the next day, then I walk away and feel eyes on me as I do. I grab my sweater from the patio and my purse where I left it inside. As I approach the front door, I hear “Wait!” from behind me and turn to see The Body hurrying toward me in his underwear, dripping wet. I suck in a breath as he approaches.

“You can’t drive,” he says. “You’ve been drinking all night.” I know he’s right, that I probably shouldn’t be behind the wheel. I’m at least one drink past that point, maybe more. “Let me have Cecil drive you home.” I don’t argue, and he picks up an intercom phone near the front door while I step outside.

Manning joins me in his driveway a moment later, still clad only in soaking wet boxer briefs. I glance, then look away. “You can come back anytime to get your car,” he says, “or if you leave your keys, I’ll have someone bring it to you.” I choose the former so that I’ll have an excuse to see him again — for the interview, or at least that’s what I tell myself.

“I’m sorry about the mix-up earlier,” he says. “Horrible timing. Thanks for being a sport and sticking around. They’re good guys.” He’s a little too close, so I step back and my butt hits the passenger door of my car.

I smile and say, “It was actually a lot of fun. The part when I wasn’t naked, that is.”

“Yeah, that’s the part I’m sorry I missed.”

I laugh softly at his foolishness. “Drake, you have seen an endless parade of amazing naked bodies in the last few years. Forgive me if I find it hard to believe you really want to see mine.”

He’s looking into my eyes again. “Yeah, that surprises me, too,” he says. “I’m not sure what to make of it.” The way he says it doesn’t offend me at all, like he’s attracted to me even though I’m not one of his thin bimbos. Then he moves toward me and that hard body is only a foot away, wet and shiny in the moonlight. I feel myself slipping away, losing my ability to resist this man. I’m suddenly dying to feel that body against me and I struggle against the urge to throw my arms around his neck on the spot.

“You should back up,” I say, but it comes out surprisingly weak and hoarse.

Then Drake leans down and gently kisses me, testing the waters. When I don’t resist, he becomes more forceful. Before I can think it through, our lips are pressed together and his tongue gently slides through to search for mine. I give in to the delicious feeling, knowing I’m tumbling headlong into a potentially messy situation. His hands softly grab my shoulders and his body moves forward against mine. His chest is rock hard as it pushes on my more giving breasts. My hands remain steadfastly at my sides, as I somehow feel this makes me less complicit in the act. I’m losing myself, though, well aware that I’m being sensuously kissed by a famous movie star who is barely dressed.

That’s when I feel it. He’s getting excited –
sexually
excited. Drake Manning is growing hard and I can feel it against me, pressing against my jeans. Sweet Holy Jesus, what do I do?

A car horn jolts me back to reality and Manning pulls his lips, his tongue, his face, away from mine. “I had a feeling that first kiss would be special,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. His smile is utter heaven. I place a hand on his rock-hard chest and push back to create space. In doing so I see his erection, chastely inside his underwear, yet so blatantly raw and sexual that it’s impossible to ignore. I look away as I wriggle free.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” I say, unsure whether or not I mean it. I walk toward the waiting car, the front of my clothes now wet. The driver has come around to open the back door for me and I recognize him as the guard from the front gate.

“Of course we shouldn’t have, but that’s beside the point,” Manning says as I climb into the seat. I look back to see he’s followed me, and Cecil goes back around to take his place behind the wheel.

“What
is
the point, exactly?” I ask.

“The point is that we both want this, Allie.”

I look into his eyes, unable to disagree with him, then shut the door. Before the car pulls away, I’m afforded a perfect view of his wet underwear and the partially engorged cock hidden inside.

On the way home, the front of my damp tank top clings to me where his body touched me, and my jeans are wet, too. It’s a distinctly sexual feeling, that movie star Drake Manning got my clothes wet with his chiseled abs and his growing erection.

“We both want this…” he had said.

I was fast becoming convinced that spending a few hours in bed with Manning might be a pleasant memory to look back on in the future, even if it meant becoming just another notch on an already well-notched bedpost. Feeling his naked body against mine, feeling him inside of me… seriously, how bad could that possibly be? Yeah, I would be fine with that. More than fine, even – I would
love
to know what that felt like. He’s far and away the most attractive and sexiest man I’ve ever met.

His desire for me is harder to figure out. I’m neither famous nor jaw-droppingly attractive. Whatever his reason, though, it was pretty obvious he wasn’t joking about it. I had seen the proof of that desire with my very own eyes and felt it pressing against me.

This gorgeous man does indeed want me, and I can have him. All I have to do is say yes to make it happen.

I think about that very thing at home an hour later when I use my vibrator to bring myself to an intense orgasm.

G
oddamit
.

So close, yet so far away.

As I watch the car disappear into the night, I know I had Allie Winters right where I wanted her. I could see it in her eyes when she realized that kiss had given me a hard-on.

Guys get two different types of erections: there are body boners and brain boners. Body boners are just pure instinctual reactions to physical stimuli, whereas brain boners occur when someone intrigues you for reasons that aren’t physical. Occasionally, you’ll be lucky enough to get both at the same time.

Allie Winters gave me a double hard-on, or at least I was well on my way to one when Cecil pulled up in the car.

If any other chick had wanted to leave, I would have told her it was either tonight or never. That always gets them, the now-or-never thing. So why couldn’t I say it this time?

Her body felt so good against mine, and that kiss was amazing – one of the most perfect kisses I’ve ever had. And the best kissers are
always
the best fucks, every time. As I stand on my driveway in the middle of the night with a boner that won’t go away, I realize how badly I want to fuck that woman.

I just can’t figure out
why
.

That desire only grows larger when I wait out my hard-on, then return to the hot tub when it finally shrinks back down. The guys tell me about Allie walking out earlier wearing nothing but a blindfold, standing there showing off her slightly curvy body for my sake. I’m sure that wasn’t easy for her. Some chicks come over here and are ready to strip the moment they walk through the front door, but this one resisted. Why she decided to give in, I can’t say, but she strolled out there with everything on full display for my benefit.

Too bad I wasn’t there to witness it.

Marcus says Allie has “a slammin’ perfectly curvy body” along with one of the best pairs of tits he’s ever seen, and Marcus has seen more than his fair share. The others agree with him, and what I saw in that bikini gave me no reason to argue.

So now I’m now absolutely obsessed with seeing this chick naked. Mason says, “If you don’t fuck her, I will.” Like I would give up that easily.

Talking to my friends, I sense something else going on: They
like
Allie. They think she’s interesting and funny and sexy. They were impressed with her little stunt, but even more impressed by how she handled the situation afterward. Most of the chicks I’ve been with wouldn’t even bother getting dressed if my friends showed up. Some of them would have ended up fucking all four of us. Trust me, it’s happened more than once. Allie still agreed to sit in the Jacuzzi with all of us for a while. I feel a growing admiration for her being able to stick around and not get overwhelmed by such an embarrassing moment.

And I
really
want to see those tits.

I’m leaving for three months in Italy in a couple of days, and I’m determined to fuck Allie Winters before I go.

A
fter drifting
off to sleep still thinking about Drake Manning, I wake up late the following morning to find my first thoughts are again of what it would be like to have sex with him. Over coffee, I talk myself down from that particular ledge, reminding myself that I’m a professional journalist with a job to do and a reputation at stake. Those sane, sensible thoughts are interrupted by a text from you-know-who.

I laugh and try to think of an appropriate response, as if such a thing existed. Then a second text shows up.

I fire off a reply, still finding it difficult to believe that Drake Manning is sexting me.

A second later he responds.

I’m glad he can’t see me blushing. Would his friends actually have done that? Yeah, I’m certain those three guys would. I change the subject on him.

I know he’s going to start shooting the
Entangled States
in Italy starting sometime in the coming week.

Shit.

His reply tells me he’s still playing games.

He’s right, of course, but there had been a reason for that.

I have to wait a while for a response.

Dammit. Why is he even asking? I thought if we were naked in that hot tub together, he might open up a bit more. I didn’t have sex in mind at the time I did that. At least I don’t think I did – at this point I’m not totally sure. I decide to level with him.

His reply catches me off-guard.

Then he quickly follows up.

I sit on my couch, staring at the screen. It’s time I push him a little and see what happens.

Then I take another shot.

After I hit send, I re-read my message and I realize it sounds like I’m trading him a future guaranteed fuck in return for more interview time. Then again, that’s not far from the truth.

I ignore his message.

Quickly I send an addendum.

Knowing that the quality of this big interview depends on me getting more out of him, I wait to see if that’s going to be possible. Eventually another text pops up on my screen.

Seriously, at Starbucks? I know the one he means, a few doors down from that sushi place in the little shopping center near the top of the Hollywood Hills.

I hurriedly shower, then spend the next two hours picking out something to wear. I decide on a print skirt and a dark top with spaghetti straps, with a sweater thrown on. It’s perfect: heavy on the cute, but light on the sexy. This is about work.

I already have my mental list of six questions, most of them likely to lead to follow-ups that will push him even further. This will be a tricky balancing act, because I know Manning will likely be trying to push
me
further at the same time.

He meets me at my car in the parking lot and suggests we go to a small nearby park where we can have some privacy. Not wanting to suffer constant interruptions from people who spot one of the world’s biggest celebrities while waiting in line for their lattes, I gladly agree.

“Get in,” I say.

Manning looks at my little Fiat and frowns, then climbs into the passenger seat. His muscular body fills that half of the car as he directs me to the park. Once there, I see it’s perfect for the occasion. There’s a little track meandering through the small landscaped grounds. Trees dot the area, with flowers and shrubs blooming in the spring sunshine. Most importantly, it’s deserted except for an elderly couple sitting on a bench.

As we step out of the car, Manning approaches me and has his arms around me before I can stop him. His lips touch mine and I offer him only a second of mild intimacy before pushing him away. Damn, that chest is hard as a rock.

“We’re here for the interview, Drake,” I say, mock-scolding him.

“I can’t help it if you look sexy,” he says. Actually, he’s the one who looks absurdly sexy, in dark gray sweat pants and a tight navy T-shirt stretched over his upper body. If I didn’t have this interview to finish, I’d be tempted to drag him behind a bush.

“So six questions,” he says as we start strolling. “But only on one condition.”

I hold my breath, waiting for some sexual request. The man is relentless.

“For every question you ask and I answer honestly, I get to ask you a question. And your answers have to be truthful as well.”

I know immediately that will work in my favor. I’ll be honest with him, and he’ll feel compelled to do likewise with me.

“Sounds fun. I agree.”

“Let’s do this, then,” he says.

I show him my digital recorder and he nods assent, then we begin walking.

“Okay. First question: Who did you like better, your mom or dad, and why?”

“That’s two questions,” he says.

I frown at him and he relents.

“That’s easy. My mom died of uterine cancer when I was only two and I don’t remember her at all. My dad and I weren’t particularly close, but he was all I had.”

“Tell me about him,” I say. It’s not a question, but I get the impression he might be ready to talk. I’m amazed at what happens next: Drake Manning actually opens up more than I ever thought he would.

“Dad was a plumber. He and Mom had plans for a big family, but that didn’t happen because I was the first and only child. There was no extended family whatsoever, just me and him. He was strict and had a cold, distant personality, so it was tough. I now understand he was doing the best he could, he just wasn’t cut out to be an only parent.”

I listen sympathetically and realize Drake Manning didn’t seem quite so arrogant anymore.

He continues his story without any prompting from me. “Then Dad died suddenly of a heart attack at age fifty-two, at the beginning of my junior year in high school. Just after lunch one day the counselor pulled me out of math and told me. I was suddenly without any family at all. Nobody.”

“What did you do?” I ask, unable to fathom being in such circumstances at that age.

“I moved in with Mason’s family down the street. He was also an only child and I was already like a second son to his parents because I was over there so much. I was there for about two years, then when I graduated high school, I went to college for a year. I ran out of money, so I quit and worked a series of construction jobs for a while before leaving for Los Angeles, determined to become an actor.”

I’m literally speechless at his tale. We walk for a bit in silence until I say, “I’ve never heard this story. Have you ever told anyone in the press about your parents?”

“No, I changed my name when I got to Hollywood, and nobody’s managed to track down my real name.”

I stop in my tracks and stare in surprise at this man, stunned that he’s decided to open up to me and even more shocked that he’s not really Drake Manning.

He senses my unasked question and says, “Edward James Drake, Jr. I was Eddie to my friends.”

Still rooted to my spot on the walking path, I ask, “Can I use this in the interview? You don’t mind?” I can’t imagine not using it, since it came out of his mouth in response to a direct question, but I feel compelled to be certain he’s okay with this information being public.

“Sure, Mason told me I need to be more accessible. And it would have come out sooner or later. I trust you to present it in the right light.”

Something about him trusting me feels good.

“My turn now,” he says, and I fear the worst. “When did you lose your virginity? And what’s the story behind it?”

“Two questions!” I say, getting a laugh in return. “Okay, okay. I was seventeen, and he was a football player. We were in the back seat of his mom’s Corolla.” Manning is looking at me for more detail. “It wasn’t great, but I was madly in love. I never got anywhere close to an orgasm, but he had two in fifteen minutes. I thought he’d become my boyfriend, but a week later he was dating a cheerleader.”

That seems to satisfy his curiosity, so I move to my second question: “Who was the first girl you ever kissed?”

I could swear he’s blushing ever so slightly. “I can’t give you her name,” he says.

“You don’t want the poor girl to be inundated by the press?” I ask.

“No, I never knew her name.”

I look at him quizzically and he elaborates. “It was at a massage parlor. Went there with some buddies one day. I honestly thought we were just getting legit massages. As it turns out, I would have gotten my first blowjob if I hadn’t shot my load while she was massaging my thighs. I was mortified, but she thought it was so cute she gave me a kiss. Tongue and everything.”

“This was during high school?” I ask.

“No, it was during my year at college.”

I’m now staring at him in utter disbelief. “You’re bullshitting me, aren’t you? Great prank, Drake. You had me.”

“I’m totally serious.”

“So you’re telling me that Drake Manning, the man of five hundred lovers, never even kissed a girl until he was almost out of his teens?”

There’s that smile again. I honestly don’t know if he’s fucking with me or not. I press him. “You were a never-been-kissed virgin all through high school?” My tone of voice conveys my doubt.

“I was a chubby kid, with glasses, bad skin and bad teeth. Supremely dorky.”

I’m not sure whether or not to believe him. “But how…?” What’s the right way to finish this question? But how is it possible that such a gorgeous man started out as an ugly duckling? As I’m trying to navigate my way through, Manning answers my unasked query.

“I started lifting weights after I dropped out of college. That led to a healthier diet, and my skin cleared up once I stopped eating shitty food. I got contacts. And I used some of my construction work money to get braces. Little by little, the dorkiness disappeared and women started noticing. Especially my body.”

I’m honestly stunned by the revelation. “Was it painful?” I ask. “Being ignored?”

“It’s not fun, but you get used to it if you think that’s all you’re getting out of life. Okay, I answered honestly,” he says. “It’s my turn now.” I nod, putting a mental pin in the concept of People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive of 2011, 2014 and 2015 not getting cheerleader tail right and left in high school.

“Have you ever had a threesome?” he asks. The focus his one-track mind shows is impressive.

“Yes, a former boyfriend and another woman.” Johnny the rock singer had talked me into it.

Manning is looking at me eagerly. I know exactly what he’s thinking, so I don’t play coy.

“Yes, I did,” I tell him, “because he specifically wanted to watch me do that.” He’s still looking and it makes me laugh.

“Would you do it again? Be with another woman?” he asks.

“I’m not sure. It wasn’t bad. I’m much more into men, but in the right situation I might.”

“Please let me know when that happens, because I simply have to see that,” he says.

I’m pretty sure his impression of me just changed a little. I’ve nearly told anyone that I went down on another woman. It only happened that once and I didn’t think about it much afterward, but part of me wants to titillate Manning, to make him think I’m more of a badass than I actually am.

For my third question, I ask him how he feels about people who see him only as The Body and ignore his acting skills. He responds with an answer that says a lot of nothing. My fault for not asking a better question, I suppose.

“Next?” I ask.

“Are you a member of the mile-high club?”

“No.”

That was easy.

“We could remedy that,” he says. “I have my own jet.”

“First things first, like this interview.” Jesus, he never quits trying to pull me in that direction. It’s flattering, but I keep thinking about the other five hundred women and how quickly he disposed of them afterward. “Next question: Give me one female co-star you hated working with.”

Manning doesn’t even have to think. “Sorcha Keenan.”

I’m surprised because Keenan’s name was listed on the Drakecount website. “Why?” I ask.

He sighs, then says, “Okay, I promised to be honest with you, so here goes: I wanted to fuck Sorcha, even while we were still shooting the movie. She was just out of a relationship and let me know she wasn’t interested in me in that way, that she’d prefer we remain friends. Well, I don’t do so well with women friends.”