Dirty Deeds

CH 3: What Do Nice Guys Like, Anyway?

        As much fun as it was to leave Matt and Maria confused, I knew Layla was right. I'm going to have to step up my game if I want to win this bet. I don't have a lot of experience with nice guys; I'm more used to guys who will do anything to get what they want. That's how I find myself knocking on a certain straight-edge superstar's door half an hour later. Punk looks disheveled and grungy and NOT flawless. He also looks confused.

"McCool?" he asks, frowning at me. "What do you want?"

"I need to ask you something." He tilts his head, and I take a deep breath. "It's going to sound stupid, but... what do nice guys like?"

"What do... what?" Punk asks, blinking at me. "Why are you asking me this?"

"You used to be a nice guy. I thought you might have some insight."

He stares at me, suspicious. "What are you up to?"

Hmm, the truth, or a lie? "I'm interested in someone..."

"Poor guy," he mutters.

I ignore the comment. "And he's a really nice guy, and I... uh, have no idea how to get him interested in me. Especially if he's going to insist on behaving irrationally and being nice to everyone he meets."

"Look, McCool, the best advice I can give you is to find someone else who is more in line with... well, you."

"That doesn't help!"

Punk smirks at me. "Just move on."

This is not going well. "I can't. Layla and I have this bet going..."

"Ah!" He laughs, the jerk! "I knew it had to be something. Who's the poor sap? Anyone I know?"

"Matt Hardy," I mutter.

And now he's staring at me. "Is this about Maria?"

"Why do people keep asking me that?" I glare at him. "No, it's not about Maria, okay? It's about..." I pause. "I have no idea what it's about. Layla picked him." Okay, it's a lie. So what?

Punk doesn't look convinced. "Mm. Whatever. We probably shouldn't discuss this in the hallway. Why don't you come in?" I debate the matter, then shrug. It's not like being seen going into Punk's room will hurt my reputation—or his. I slip through the door, ignoring his smirk. Punk closes the door and turns to me. "I have to ask," he continues, heading deeper into the room, "hasn't Hardy suffered enough?"

"I'll ignore that," I say, "because I really do need to know about nice guys."

"And you came to me, which is sad if you think about it."

"I'm trying not to think about it, Punk."

"Right. Nice guys. Well, it is Hardy. You could ask him out for a beer or something." He scrunches up his nose. "I think he likes that kind of thing. And being drunk might lower his natural distaste for you enough to—" He pauses. "You get the idea."

I get the idea, all right, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. "Great, that's a start. What else?"

"Honestly? He's not even going to look at you with Maria in the picture. He's too much of a nice guy to do it. Besides, he seems to like her." Punk stares at me. "So if it were me, I'd find a way to make the diva of the year disappear."

I smirk. "Sure, and then he finds out that I had her fired and he hates me. That's not going to get me anywhere."

"How's he going to find out?" Punk asks. "You're sneaky enough to cover your tracks, McCool." He slings an arm around my shoulder and grins at me.

"Ugh." I push him away. "You really should shave that horrible beard, Punk. You look like you're growing a demented Furby on your face."

He chuckles. "Serena thinks it's cute."

"Serena has no hair, and she hangs out with you and Festus. I don't think anyone will be calling her for hairstyling tips anytime soon."

"Are you sure you want Hardy?" he asks me again, tilting his head like an overgrown dog.

"Positive," I say.

"Then you've got a lot of work to do."