(SHIRO GAITHO) You’ve gotta admit it. There’s something really hot about the bad boy. Maybe it’s the attitude. Ok it’s definitely the attitude. Because bad boys are not all good-looking. Hell some of them are just downright nasty-looking. But they always have a horde of girls ready to take their (expletive). Some girls overwhelmingly shallow. Some surprisingly smart. But all unfortunately silly. Silly to think they’ll make him fall in love and have him change for them. He won’t. But he always finds a way to make you think he will.
I’ve been a fan of the bad boy. Ok fine, the bad boys, they’re a number. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever dated a nice guy. Maybe one. But he wasn’t even particularly good looking. And he didn’t have the attitude. So only my college girl heart can point that out. Because I cannot for the life of me remember what I saw there. No, hold on. He looked really good in his uniform. And I have a thing for uniforms (confession: I think even the G4S uniform, on a nice body, looks good haha!). And backs. And lips. And white v-neck t-shirts. And nice-fitting biker jackets. The way the leather moulds around those shoulders, good heavens it’s hot! But he was an ass. A thieving ass for that matter. Sometimes I think about it and wonder whether I have a character judgment defect. A flaw. A gene I miss.
Anyway, I think I might be growing up. I’m done with the bad boy. Done with the drama. Done with it all. Not sure I miss it. Probably because I learnt that there exists the good boy who can still keep me interested. You see, I’ve always equated the nice guy to being boring. A pushover. A guy with as much character as a sponge. Probably the same conversation as well.
But I was wrong. I met an interesting nice guy. A gentleman. A guy who can make me laugh. A lot. His sense of humour is wicked! He likes to shop. He likes to try out new things. He’s cooked for me. More than once, without me asking. He’s smart, and does the sweetest things. Like giving me attention, and I’m a sucker for attention! But the sexiest thing about him, he’s not a pushover. He can call the shots. Stand his ground. And that always gets me, because I’m headstrong, and I like to push people just so I can see how far I can go before they crack.
A part of me thinks it’s too good to be true. Because they all start out like that, then not work out. And my opinion on relationships is a bit jaded. I’m not as eager to give a part of me as I once was. I used to be the girl that said “Go on, give it a shot. What do you have to lose?” But that was until I lost a part of me. Gave some of me to someone, only to have it crash and burn like a freaking meth lab. It hurt. A lot. Not because it didn’t work out. Naa, that’s life. We move on. But because I thought I had read the person right. Only I hadn’t. And I don’t want that to happen again.
But a part of me is willing to give it a chance. What have I got to lose? Another piece of my heart? I don’t think so. I choose to look at it as a risk, a risk that might be worth it. A risk my heart wants to take. A risk I think about all the time. A risk that’s turning out good so far. A risk that I should probably stop thinking about and just feel. A risk that I don’t remember how I ended up taking, but which I’m thoroughly enjoying.
He may be a nice guy. But he’s not just any nice guy. He’s my nice guy. I’m the prize. If he works at it, earns it, he gets me. So who the hell said nice guys finish last? In this race, where I call the shots, make the rules, the bad boys finish last. And I don’t want to be associated with number last.