Confessions of a Bad Boy(15)

“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…*-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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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.