Kat Likes Pretty Boys by Laura Roberts

“Kat likes… pretty boys,” Joseph Gordon-Levitt says to Heath Ledger. Joseph hesitates ever so slightly with his line.

Heath looks unimpressed.

“CUT!” I yell.

“What’d I do?” Joseph asks.

“Joseph, baby, it’s not you – it’s me. In fact, it’s all about me. You’re history, kid.” I shove him aside and insert myself into the scene. “And… ACTION!”

“Kat likes pretty boys,” I begin, taking Joe’s place. It adds a certain je ne sais quoi. I’m Kat’s female friend, talking to one of her prospective suitors. I can play up her good side, whatever that is.

“Are you saying I’m not a pretty boy?” Heath asks, sticking with the script. He eyes me with suspicion. Or is that bemusement?

“No,” I say, continuing boldly, “I’m saying she likes vain boys who spend half their time pumping iron and the other half tending Corvettes. She likes guys with tight, cut arms that can lift her off the ground and twirl her in the air. She likes guys with legs that are hot from riding a bike or running a marathon. She likes guys with six-pack abs and very little body hair. In short, she likes gay men who hang out at the gym.” I am lying through my teeth. Sorry, Kat. Fight your own battles.

“That’s a damn shame. I’m not gay,” Heath ad-libs, with the slightest trace of an Australian accent.

“But you do have a really nice bod. Perhaps it’ll work in your favour anyway.” I pretend to be disinterested. Reel him in, push him away… that’s how this game works, right?

“Excellent.” He grins that half-smirk. It’s a killer. My legs wobble.

“She’s also a gigantic flirt. If you talk dirty, she’ll go along with it. But only if you meet her criteria.”

“What exactly are these criteria? I mean, what exactly makes someone a pretty boy, as opposed to a sexy boy?” He raises one of his perfect eyebrows.

“Well, let’s take you, for example. You’re extremely pretty.” I run my hand through his hair. “You’ve got this long, curly hair… these big brown eyes… and you’re skinny, but you look like you could still give a mean airplane. You’ve also got those freckles, which are adorable. And while most of those things could also qualify you as a contender for Sexiest Man Alive, it’s the freckles that ultimately put you into the ‘pretty’ category.”

“So the freckles really do it for you?”

“Oh, god. I’d sleep with you in a second,” I venture. Will he go for it?

“Yeah?” He raises his other eyebrow, then recovers his cool demeanour. “Good, because I’ve learnt everything I know from Mel Gibson.” Again, the smirking smile.

“Gross. Mel is definitely not sexy. He’s egotistical. You’d better unlearn that stuff. NOW.” I push a finger into his tight chest. So muscular. So defined. I quiver with anticipation, but maintain my cross expression.

“Yes, ma’am.” He wipes the smirk off his face and looks apologetic. Mmm, obedient. Even better!

“That’s my boy. Now you’re looking very pretty indeed,” I purr, sliding my hand underneath his shirt to feel the skin of his toned abs, his smooth pecs. He’s so warm, so close. His breath is soft on my
cheek.

“I thought this was about Kat?” His eyes betray him.

“The hell with her. She can find her own pretty boy.” I pull him by the lapels into a filthy French kiss and put one hand up to block the camera filming it all.

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Laura Roberts is the Editor of Black Heart.