Bad Boy Sinner (Bad Boy 2)

"Of course," I said and smiled. "I have a big debt to collect."

George shrugged and grinned back. "Good night.”

I didn’t know what I expected when I started to read Celia's diary, but I learned pretty damn fast that she led a very mundane existence.

Chronicled in the pages of her diary, which dated from a year and a half earlier, was her daily existence in her last year of pre-law.

I felt a bit breathless as I read, a touch of arousal mixed with a smidgen of guilt, but I justified it as intel that would help me carry out an operation with the greatest efficiency and chance of success. Well, it was a good rationalization. I was just fucking curious.

I searched page after page for some reference to a sex life, but was sorely disappointed. The closest I came to finding evidence that she was an actual woman was a disturbing account of her dealings with a fellow pre-law student, Steve, whom she called simply "The Creep." Seems the guy wouldn’t take no for an answer, and pursued her despite her repeated rejections.

“The Creep's been pestering me again to go out with him. He’s such a slimebucket,” she wrote on one page. “He walks around with this air of superiority, as if he’s God’s gift to women. I can barely stand to even look at him. He’s so slick, he’s so suave. Flattering, complimenting. He's a snake. The other female students giggle when he pays them attention because he’s so good looking, and even Nan and Dana eat it up. Dana said she thought he probably had a big dick by the way his pants fit.

“I told her he was a big dickhead."

That made me laugh out loud.

"God—are they potential law students or high school cheerleaders? Don’t they recognize him for what he is? He’s always breathing down my neck like a vampire waiting to bite. He’s an empty bag of wind. Full of himself. I wouldn’t go out with him on a date if he was the last man on Earth.”

I turned the pages to see if the saga of Steve the Narcissist Creep Dickhead continued. For pages, she wrote about her application to Harvard law, her advisor, problems with the process of getting accepted. She even had a list of to-dos for the next week and month.

Finally, another entry about The Creep.

“The Creep's been at it again. I finally got so fed up, I told him I was a lesbian. He thought I was lying and asked me who my girlfriend was. I told him her name was Amy and that she had green eyes and that we slept together every night and that I was more than satisfied with my private life. Of all the nerve, he suggested that he liked to watch women together and he wouldn’t mind if we didn’t. But he’s stopped pestering me, even though now, when he sees me coming, he sticks his tongue out and makes a rude gesture with it. Creep. I was afraid I was going to have a stalker situation going on. Jesus, even if I was desperate for it, I’d rather use a dildo over him any day.”

Celia used a dildo?

I almost laughed at her little lie about her best friend, but then she had to mention a dildo and my mirth evaporated.

Did this mean she had a dildo or had used one or would think of using one? The idea of her playing with herself, inserting a dildo, making herself come with it . . . the heat of lust spread through me until I thought my fucking head might explode. Images filled my mind, causing an immediate ache in my groin, my semi-erect dick now thickening as I contemplated all the possibilities.

Oh, God, that was it.

I closed the diary and leaned back on my bed, my erection straining against my pants. I glanced at my watch. It was now just after five o’clock. I took out my cell phone and texted her number.

HUNTER: I want you at the apartment at 10 sharp. I have something for you.

Then, I went downstairs to the gym and tried to keep my mind busy so I wouldn't think too much about Celia.

I left the gym at nine and flopped in front of the flat screen, eager for Celia to arrive. At quarter to ten, I checked my watch once more and then my cell, wondering why James hadn't texted me to let me know he was on his way.

Finally, my cell dinged, indicating an incoming message.

JAMES: Sorry, we were in an accident downtown on our way over. The car was totaled, but we're okay. Chris was following us and offered to take her to your place. She should be there in about ten.

Chris? Who the fuck was Chris?

HUNTER: I don't know any Chris.

There was a pregnant pause.

JAMES: He said you told him to follow me, to make sure she got there okay. He showed me his ID and it looked legit.

I didn't respond, sitting back, alarmed now that someone had picked up Celia and I had no idea who he was.

I called John and asked him if he knew anyone named Chris.

"Chris?" he said and I could hear the confusion in his voice. "I don't know anyone named Chris. Certainly not anyone on our staff."