Rules of a Bad Boy

Summary: Taylor is just trying to live a normal jail-free life when she almost gets hit by movie star David Carter’s car. He’s as arrogant as he is gorgeous, and, instead of apologizing, he asks her to move in with him. What the hell just happened?

Chapter 1: The Male Reese Witherspoon

Taylor

Why were there so many relationship self-help books for women? They all came in bubblegum pink covers with titles like You Can Be THAT Girl or Get Him to Fall for the New You. These self-help books were not helpful at all. I mean, I’d be ecstatic if I found a self-help book entitled How Not to Get Screwed Over by a Damn Self-help Book.

Finding a semi-decent guy was hard enough already. Having a damn self-help book breathe down your throat while you’re at it can really drive a girl insane.

My best friend Alessandra thought I was just projecting my disappointment with my relationships to self-help books. She was like, “Tay, I think your disappointment in men has deepened your antagonism toward self-help books.”

Well, if you’ve been screwed over by men—no, not men, boys would be more appropriate—as many times as I’ve been, you’ll start feeling a little antagonistic too.

Alessandra thought I was just being emo. If you cut my heart out, will I bleed? Puh-lease. I didn’t think she understood the gravity of the situation. Yesterday, I caught my boyfriend exchanging fluids with another girl. Aless doesn’t know yet since she’ll probably say I-told-you-so. But I couldn’t help myself. He was hot.

Okay, I am not that brainless. Really. It’s just that I get a little carried away by hot guys sometimes. I tend to forget how stupid they are when they have their tongue in my mouth. Also, don’t start thinking hot is the only word in my vocabulary. I happen to know a lot of big words like relationship, commitment, forever, and penis. Oops, sorry, got carried away again. Penis isn’t a big word, but it’s supposed to be.

So, after my last relationship debacle, I hauled my ass to the bookstore and found myself in the self-help section. Now, I’ve come full circle.

Maybe I needed a vacation, somewhere exotic like Thailand or Cambodia. I snorted. Like I could possibly afford it. After almost getting kicked out of school because I threw a textbook at a teacher, my parents clearly weren’t going to shell out the money. What could I do? Professor Smartass wouldn’t believe that Brunei was spelled wrong in the textbook. Besides, just because I threw things when I was angry didn’t mean that I needed to take anger management classes.

“So, you’re into that kind of thing, huh?” I heard someone next to me say.

I looked up and found a forty-ish man with black hair, beady eyes, and a greasy moustache leering at me. He looked like he hadn’t taken a bath in two weeks. At that moment, I realized too late that I’d been staring at a copy of Bondage: 101 Ways for Pain and Pleasure the whole time I’d been talking to myself. I looked at the man again and saw him grinning at me. Eew.

For a second, I considered flipping him my beloved finger, but quickly changed my mind. He might consider it as an invitation. I shuddered at the thought. Insert an infinite number of eews and yucks right here. In the end, I was unable to help myself. I flipped him the bird and shuffled away as fast as I could.

So, basically, here’s the situation. I’m an eighteen-year-old girl named Taylor Higgins. As of yesterday, I’m single, available, and absolutely exhausted due to a series of freakishly unbalanced relationships. Gawd, I so needed to get myself a life. To quote Charlotte from Sex and the City, “I’ve been dating since I was fifteen, where is he?” Okay, I’m exaggerating a little since I haven’t been dating that long, but I sure felt like it.

I just wanted to find a decent guy who wasn’t only after me because he got tired of jerking off and decided he needed some help, someone who would listen and wouldn’t act like a total bitch when I tell him I want to hear the L word. Was that so hard to find? Well, based on personal experience, it was.

Once out of the bookstore, I looked behind me to see if I’d been followed. The disgusting ball of grease who just came on to me was nowhere in sight. I went into the nearest café, and ordered a caramel macchiato. This was basically tradition. Whenever a psychopathic creep broke my heart, I got sloshed on coffee and found another creep to fall for.

When my macchiato arrived, I started sipping it, even though I knew it was still hot and my tongue was going to get scorched.

This was another one of my weird quirks. No matter how many times I got hurt, I never seemed to learn.

Funky Town started blaring from my cell phone, and I dug it out of my jeans’ pocket. Aless was calling.

“Tay, where the hell are you?” Aless screamed at me from the other end of the line. I almost spilled my coffee. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago!”

“Be where exactly?” I asked, knowing full well that my question would just incur her wrath.

“At the movies!” she whined, and I could picture her pushing her glasses up her nose. “You promised to watch the new David Carter with me.”

A David Carter movie? Oh, no. I felt dumber every time I watched another one of those.

“What was that, Aless?” I said, rubbing a tissue against my phone so my voice would sound muffled. “I can’t hear you! I think there’s a problem with a signal.”

Before she could say anything else, I hung up on her and concentrated on my macchiato. I savored the taste in my mouth, and wondered if I should get a copy of Bondage: 101 Ways for Pain and Pleasure. It didn’t hurt to try something new, not to mention kinky.

“I. Want. That. Role. Travis,” I said, glaring at my agent from across his desk.

Travis Colbert, my agent, was a short little man with a round balding head, and a steadily growing beer belly. He had a penchant for wearing woolen brown suits that made him look like I wasn‘t paying him enough. At the moment, his bald head was shiny with sweat. I was obviously making him nervous. Good.

“I’m doing my best, Dave, but--” Travis started, wiping his sweat away with his handkerchief.

“But what?” I cut him off, leaning back on my chair, a look that was supposed to be menacing on my face. “If you were doing your best, Travis, there wouldn’t be a but.”

“Dave, you have to understand. It’s out of my control. The producers want someone with a…” Travis stopped, as if he was looking for the appropriate word. “They want someone with a badder image.”

“Badder?” I said, unable to believe my perfectly-shaped ears. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Travis flinched. He actually flinched. You know, sometimes I wondered why he even bothered becoming an agent. Clearly, he wasn’t meant for this world. He was just too nice to be in it. For about the millionth time, I considered firing him and hiring someone more manipulative, someone who could get me what I wanted. In short, I needed someone with no moral compunctions whatsoever. Around here, that wasn’t so hard to find.

But I couldn’t fire Travis. He had been with me since I started in the business, and, if there was one thing I was sure of, it was of Travis’s loyalty. He wasn’t going to dump me when the next big hunk actor came along. Our story just tugged at my heartstrings. Give me a tissue so I can cry my fucking eyes out.

“Let’s face it, Dave,” Travis said, wringing out the sweat from his handkerchief. He looked more nervous than usual. “Every single person on earth sees you as the male version of Meg Ryan before she cheated on Dennis Quaid. No, scratch that. You’re like the male Reese Witherspoon before she won an Oscar. Your image is just, well, too goody-goody. The producers are a little worried about hiring you for something so violent. They think your fans might not take to it kindly, and the film might end up being a flop.”

“No movie I star in is going to be a flop.”

My fans? They fucking worshipped me, and who cares if they didn’t take to my new role kindly? They all lined up to watch all the shitty romantic comedies I’d been in, and even I knew how bad they were. It was obvious my fans didn’t have the best of tastes. So, what difference did a violent role make? At least the movie would be worth something. I’d have real meat to work with.

The role in question was Steven Atwood, your typical yuppie who ended up butchering his wife, baby daughter, and about ten other people. Lovely, wasn’t it? It was based on a real story, and they were going to capitalize on the sensational trial. The movie was going to feature Steven’s downward spiral from normalcy to pure insanity. It was pure box-office material, not to mention the fact that Neil Harding was producing it.

Almost every single movie Harding produced had topped the box-office. Also, the sight of him simply screamed Oscar. Working with someone like him was going to boost my status, and it also helped that he was willing to pay the actor who plays Steven Atwood three fucking million dollars.

I wanted the role so much I was willing to give my arm for it. Well, only if an Oscar nomination was in the bag.

“Dave, come on,” Travis said, scratching his head. “The people want to see you in something fluffy and sweet, not a movie where you slash people’s throats. It‘s just not you.”

The thing was it could be me. It sucked to know that even my own agent didn’t believe I had enough chops to pull it off. And that was exactly why I wanted it so badly.

“Bullying Travis again, Dave?” I heard a sultry voice coming from the doorway.

Muriel was standing framed in the doorway. She had thick wavy hair that was so black you couldn’t help but picture it against a white pillowcase, green eyes that were currently narrowed yet leering at me at the same time, and a mouth that was begging me to kiss it. In a tight little skirt that showed off her long legs, she looked scrumptious. Looking at her, I still couldn’t believe that she was Travis’s little sister.

“We’re doing business, Muriel,” Travis said. He started rubbing his forehead, like we were giving him a major headache. “Please come back some other time.”

“I’m here to help, brother dear,” Muriel said with a pout. She sauntered into his office, and perched on top of Travis’s desk. She crossed her legs, causing her skirt to rise even higher, and started running her hands down her things. She was showing off, especially for me.

“Well, back to business, Dave,” Travis said, ignoring the fact that his sister had just issue me an invitation. He started rummaging around his desk, looking for something.

When she noticed that Travis wasn’t looking anymore, Muriel nonchalantly uncrossed her legs, right in front of me. It was her way of informing me that she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

I resisted the urge to pull her into my lap only because I was wearing a brand-new Armani suit.

“Found it,” Travis said, looking up from the stack of papers mounted on his desk. He tossed a magazine with my picture on the cover at me. I stared at the headline.

David Carter‘s First Off-screen Leading Lady: Hollywood’s most beloved charmer spills all about his first love in this exclusive interview.

When exactly did I spill all about my first love? I didn’t remember doing that at all. The headline itself was already nauseating, so I didn’t have to wonder about the rest the article. It was all bullshit in the purest form.

“See what I mean, Dave?” Travis said with a triumphant look on his face. “People love you as the good guy. They don’t want to see you turned into a scamming bastard--”

“Which he is in reality,” Muriel interrupted with a saucy smile. God, she turned me on even when she was insulting me.

“Why don’t you try auditioning for Captain America, eh?” Travis winked at me. “You’d be perfect for that one. I bet they’d give it to you right off.”

Somehow, I couldn’t imagine myself in a tight blue suit with my red underwear proudly on display. Batman I could play, but Christian Bale beat me to it.

“I’m not interested in being Captain Fucking America,” I said, leaning forward and fixing the full blast of my glare on Travis. For some reason, I wasn’t getting my point across. “Look, Travis, I’m not paying you to screw the underage starlets you meet at the parties I take you to. I want that Steven Atwood role, and I expect you to get it for me.”

“Wait, you’re after the Neil Harding movie?” Muriel said, leaping off her brother’s desk. Out little game earlier had been forgotten.

“Why?” I said, smelling that she knew something.

“Well, I was at this party last night…” Muriel said, reverting back into flirt mode. She tilted her head and pouted. “You don’t expect me to tell you for free, do you?”

“Let’s talk outside,” I said, grabbing her arm. Before going out the door, I turned back to Travis and said, “Call me when I need to sign the contract.”

The blood instantly drained from his face. Satisfied, I went out, pulling Muriel along, and shut the door behind me.

The corridor leading to Travis’s office was deserted, so I did what I had been itching to do since Muriel showed up. I backed her up against the wall. When our lips were only inches apart, I said, “Tell me.”

“Later,” Muriel said, looping her arms around my neck.

She pulled me in and our lips met. She pressed herself to me, like she wanted to pull me into her right then and there. I could feel myself going hard. She was an expert at this, I thought, as she pushed her hands into my shirt, almost scratching me with her long predatory nails, and rubbed her breasts against my chest.

“Time’s up,” I said, pulling away from her.

“I overheard Neil Harding at a party last night,” she purred, “saying he thought Barry Reynolds would be perfect as Steven Atwood.”

My arousal suddenly drained out of my body. Barry Reynolds? There was no question that he was crazier than Steven Atwood, but there was no way in hell I was going to let him get the role.

About twelve years ago, we both auditioned for a role on A Fair World, a hit TV show about a lawyer who desperately tried to lead a good Christian life (insert loud guffaw here) and his family. I played Attorney Callahan’s eldest son for eight seasons, until I left and pursued my movie career. Apparently, Barry Reynolds never got over losing to me. He was about to feel disappointment for the second time in his life.

“Dave?” Muriel asked, snapping me back to reality.

“I have to go,” I said, unhooking her arms from my neck.

She didn’t protest, but when I was a few meters away she yelled, “When are you gonna invite me back to your place?”

“When I win an Oscar,” I yelled back, straightening my shirt.

“Then, I won‘t be seeing you anytime soon,” Muriel said, grinning at me.

That was the great thing about Muriel. She wasn’t needy, and didn’t push me into a commitment. We had fantastic sex, but that was it and we both knew it. If only I could say the same for most women.

Author’s Note:

So, what do you guys think? I’m quite nervous about this story, because I just sort of went wild with the characters. I’d love to know what you think! All reviews will be dearly appreciated!