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. One-night 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.