Confessions of a Bad Boy(7)

Then I look back. She’s leaning over the bathroom sink, drinking water from the tap. I let my eyes go back to her ass. The jean shorts she’s wearing suddenly look like the hottest f*cking thing I think I’ve ever seen a girl wear. Her shirt’s slipped up a little to the arch of her back, accentuating the curve from the feminine slightness of her waist down to her hips. I can’t help imagining what it would be like to take her from behind and— What the f*ck am I thinking? But it’s like she’s someone else. Like she’s just another hot girl with an ass that’s begging for me. But it’s Jessie.

I move over to the armchair in the corner opposite the bed and drop down into it. I take my shoes off, then my blazer, and lean back. She comes out of the bathroom and walks over to the bed. I can’t stop looking at her legs, then feeling ashamed, and then looking even harder. She unties her plaid shirt and throws it off, leaving just the t-shirt on. It tightly hugs her breasts, and I see she’s not wearing a bra. I go dizzy from watching her tits bounce when she slumps back onto the bed.

“I’m so f*cking wasted,” she says, laughing softly. She rolls her head to the side and looks at me, smiling. “What’s the matter? You look like you’re gonna hurl.”

“This is my drunk face,” is all I can manage to say. It sounds better than, ‘I’m trying to not f*ck you.’

She keeps looking at me, then suddenly sits up on the edge of the bed, a mischievous grin on her face.

“You’re f*cking hard!”

“What?”

She points in the general direction of my crotch. “You’re f*cking hard! I can see it!”

“I’m not hard,” I say, standing up, which only makes the fact I’m about as hard as I can get even more obvious.

“Yes you are!” Jessie says, moving toward me and reaching out clumsily for my cock. She fumbles her hand over it, and my reactions are way too slow to jump back, leaving us standing there, inches apart, her hand clutching my rock-hard erection through my pants.

“Uh. Guess I am.”

I put my hand over hers, but I don’t have the willpower to pull her away. Her smile drops, she bites her lower lip, and her eyes dilate as she looks up at me. Everything comes zooming into sharp focus. I can hear her breathing and my own, feel the heat that’s radiating off her. It’s as if time stops for a few seconds. We’re thinking the same thing.

This is wrong for so many reasons. It’s wrong because we’ve grown up together as friends. It’s wrong because her overprotective brother (who also happens to be my short-tempered best friend) would go f*cking crazy. It’s wrong because she’s a sassy-mouthed costume artist who doesn’t take any shit, and I’m a smart-talking talent agent who trades in bullshit. It’s wrong because this one single act could ruin so many of the best things in both of our lives.

But the fact remains, we’re alone in a hotel, she’s wearing jean shorts that are driving me crazy, and I’ve got a hard-on that could drill granite – all the wrong in the world isn’t going to stop the inevitable from happening.



I wake up feeling like my head’s been dried, roasted, and half-chewed by the neighborhood dog. My tongue feels like it’s growing its own beard, and there’s an uneasy feeling I might never know which way is up again.

But at the same time, I feel pretty f*cking awesome. The kind of beat-up, bruise-wearing triumph that I imagine boxers feel when they’ve taken a hell of a thrashing but still won.

It lasts about four seconds. About the time it takes me to realize that the pressure on my bicep is Jessie’s head. About the time it takes to realize I’ve just f*cked my best friend’s little sister. About the time it takes to realize I’m a dead man. If he finds out.

Slow and tense, as if defusing a bomb, I pull my arm out from underneath Jessie’s head, and shift slowly away from her. Maybe it’s the way my ears are ringing, or the fear of what might happen if she wakes up, but everything seems as loud as if it’s amped up; the rustle of the bedsheets, the soft moans in her breathing, the brush of my stubble against the pillow.

After pulling myself out of bed like the slowest ninja in the world, I start moving around the room and picking up my discarded clothes from the night before. I find most of them, but either my left shoe decided to go for a walk on its own, or I’m going out of my mind. I decide to risk one last look under the bed before I put it down as a casualty of war, and get down on all fours on the same side as where Jessie’s sleeping.

“Shit,” she says, and I realize she’s awake, looking at me.

I swallow, and wonder if the bad taste in my mouth is the hangover, or the guilt.

“Uh…yeah,” I say, slowly getting up. “Shit.”

Jessie shifts up and back in the bed, sitting up against the headboard, the top half of her body out of the sheets – naked. Her tits are luscious and perfect, and suddenly a rush of memories from last night hit me with all the relentless power of a freight train.

I look away and clear my throat loudly until she realizes she’s exposed, quickly pulling up the sheets to cover herself.

I go to the end of the bed, as if unable to trust myself if I get any closer to her, and sit down, rubbing my forehead roughly.

“This is bad,” I say, breaking the awkward silence between us.

“Yep,” Jessie replies.