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Filmed_ An Alpha Bad Boy Romance

By:B. B. Hamel

Filmed_ An Alpha Bad Boy Romance (City Series Book 3) - Hamel, B. B_




Opening Credits: Noah


“Noah, come back to bed.”

I paused outside of the bathroom and looked over my shoulder at the blonde through an early-morning hangover, her hair doused in weak dawn light, and I had no clue what her name was. Jackie? Jessa? It was something with a “J,” at least. Déjà vu flooded through me, and I had to physically shrug it off. I grunted at her softly, hoping she’d understand what I meant, stumbled toward my toilet, and began pissing for what seemed like ten minutes. I could practically feel the toxins flushing out of my body, and it felt horrible.

It was the same way I had started the morning nearly every day for the past few months. There was almost always some strange chick in my bed and my head always felt like a truck was driving around in it.

The night before, after the grand opening of the new student movie theater my father had purchased for Temple’s campus, I had gone out with my coworkers to a club in south Philly. Everything was on my dad, of course, and we overindulged: shot after shot, beer after beer, and eventually I found myself hitting on what’s-her-name.

Like every other vapid club slut I met, she was easy to draw in as soon as she figured out who my father was. I hated playing that card, but I was too drunk and too tired and she was too boring to give her an ounce of real effort. One thing led to another, and we were in a cab, blondie’s hands all over my hard cock, my friends left back at the club.

Things got a little hazy after that, but I did have a distinct memory of her big, firm tits bouncing while she rode my dick.

“Noah, what are you doing?” she called out, sounding impatient.

I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, self-loathing melting off my body in thick waves. My skin looked pale, I had heavy bags under my eyes, and my hair was a mess. Frankly, I didn’t think I had ever felt so terrible in my entire life, and it wasn’t just the hangover. I was sick; sick to death of the emptiness, of the cash and the fame that came with it, and of my father’s unceasing need to control everything I did. I was sick and drowning at the same time. I knew I needed something new, some change to pull me from whatever ocean I was barely treading water in, but I had no idea what that change was or how I’d find it.

Blondie said something again, but I ignored her. Most girls didn’t last more than a night. Some made it through breakfast, but none had ever gotten a call the next day. It wasn’t my style. They understood what I wanted, and they went for it anyway on the insane off chance that I’d fall in love with them or something. They were deluded and I didn’t care. I made no promises.

I sighed, rinsing my mouth out with cold water, spitting it down the drain. The theater was the only decent thing in my life. For the first time ever, I had a place that I felt like I belonged, even if it was populated with some of the biggest weirdos I knew. But those weirdos were the only people in the world who gave a shit about me, except for maybe Ellie.

I turned and looked back into the bedroom, at the clothes scattered around the floor and, most importantly, at the gorgeous pair of perky, firm breasts and lean, tan skin perched on its hands and knees, staring at me hungrily. For a second, all I could see was another way to hide myself in plain sight.

When everybody thought they knew you, it was easy to give them what they wanted. It was easy to camouflage yourself with their expectations, and that’s exactly what I did. Noah Carterson, the asshole playboy, who fucked as many women as he could and spent his money recklessly, was empty and pointless.

Maybe there was some truth to that, but it wasn’t how I saw myself. It wasn’t who I was. Although, truthfully, sometimes the lies bled into my reality, and I couldn’t tell where the rumors ended and where myself began. But it was easier that way. It was easier to push everything else away, and to give everyone what they expected.

I wasn’t a good person.

I didn’t care what I had done. I wasn’t a good person.

“There you are,” blondie said, smiling softly. I could tell exactly what her look meant and, although I had class pretty soon, it was tempting. I wasn’t in the mood, but it was tempting.

As much as I didn’t feel like it, my cock began to stir.

But I knew what she really wanted. It was the same thing every other girl before her had wanted, what they always wanted. She wanted a shot at my dad’s movies and at my money. She wanted to try and bleed me dry, and she was willing to put out as much as she needed to get it. She didn’t care about me or who I was, and for the most part, that suited me just fine.

I didn’t care about her, either.

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