Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 1: Drake by Alexis Adaire

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.”
    I can sense the pain in his voice.
    “When Sorcha refused to have sex with me, I acted immaturely. You know that famous scene