Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 1: Drake

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

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Authors: Alexis Adaire
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body in the mirror one more time, then decide to go for it.
    “Almost ready,” I say, raising my voice so he can hear me. “I have a little surprise for you.”
    I take a couple of minutes to properly psych myself up. I’m thankful that I’d waxed just a few days earlier and was perfectly smooth from the waist down. I put the bathing suit away and pick up the scarf, folding it to make a blindfold. I place it over my eyes and tie it tightly behind my head.
    Feeling brave and also pretty damn anxious, I feel my way to the door of the pool house. I can’t see a damn thing and can’t believe I’m actually going to do this.
    “I’m coming out,” I say. I need him to be looking when I walk out. I want to shock the famous Drake Manning.
    “Okay,” he says. Something about his voice sounds odd, but I’m committed now.
    I take a breath – it’s now or never. You can do this, Allie. It’s all for the interview.
    I open the door and tentatively step out into the cool night air. The concrete feels warm beneath my bare feet and my heart is beating like a drum. I take a few steps toward where I remember the pool furniture being and can feel his eyes on me.
    “You didn’t think I’d do it, did you?” I ask, laughing as I put my hands on my hips.
    There’s no response at all, just the sound of the breeze blowing through the nearby palm fronds. My nipples stiffen.
    “Drake?”
    Not a sound.
    Then I hear a snicker. That jerk.
    “You’re not funny,” I say.
    I lift the blindfold over one eye to peek out and am startled to see three strange men, all sitting there staring right at me. There’s a very tall black man, a massive weightlifter type with a shaved head, and a normal-sized guy – all ogling my nude body.
    They burst out laughing simultaneously, and I scream and run back into the pool house.
    What the fuck? I think. Who are those guys and why are they here? Where the hell is Manning?
    “Sorry,” someone says. “We didn’t mean to laugh. We just weren’t expecting that.”
    Shaking like a leaf, I quickly get dressed while mentally berating myself for being so foolish. What the hell was I thinking? I just want to get out of here as fast as possible, but I have to assume Manning knows those men and I can’t afford to be rude and alienate him. I’ll have to just roll with this as best I can. After all, it’s my own damn fault. There’s still enough residual courage in me to get through this. I finish putting my clothes back on and walk outside, my face still beet red.
    The three men are still there, but Manning is nowhere to be seen. All of them stand when I walk out. They begin to apologize profusely, but before I can even say anything Drake walks up, three more glasses in his hand.
    “I see you met the guys,” he says. “I totally forgot I told them to come by tonight to meet you.”
    I blush all over again. “Well, they met me,” I say. “Sort of.”
    “You didn’t find a bathing suit?” Manning asks.
    Someone stifles a laugh, then each of them introduces himself. The black guy, Marcus, is even taller than I thought. He’s easily six foot eight or more, and thinner than Manning but still muscular. His head is shaved and he has no facial hair to detract from his smooth look, and something about him is familiar. I know I’ve seen him before. The big guy is named Link, and he’s just plain huge; well over six feet tall and as wide as a door. His biceps are as big as some people’s thighs, with tattoos covering both arms, and his head is also shaved. He doesn’t smile much, either. The last man I meet is Mason, and he’s a few inches shorter than the others, but still much taller than my own five-seven. He’s got more of an average build than the others. With his short medium brown hair and chiseled face, Mason is handsome enough to be a male model. He’s got an intense confidence about him. I get the feeling all of these guys are players just like Manning is. Women can sense that in a

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