Diary of a Bad Boy

by Quinn, Meghan

  “Hold up,” Maddie says with a stern voice. “He’s broken, yes, but we’re not feeling sorry for him, not after he wronged you. He needs to learn his lesson. It’s the only way he can grow up and be the guy you’re looking for.”

  “And how do you propose I do that?”

  “Revenge.”

  I roll my eyes and stand from my bed, feeling a little better. I begin to unpack my suitcase. Even though I have a lot of clothes here, I brought a few additional comfortable items with me.

  “You said that already. Elaborate.”

  There’s a sinister tone to her voice when she talks, and I can’t help but smile over my diabolical friend.

  “He arrives later today, he’s sleeping in the room across from you, and that tells me one thing: you have the opportunity to make his life a living hell. Flaunt it, Sutton. Show him what he’s missing out on and when he tries to hold your hand or get intimate, be strong and move away. After having a piece of you last night, he’s bound to be hungry for more.”

  “How do you know that? He left me.” Why he bothered to come over still angers me.

  “Yeah, but the guy is infatuated with you. There’s no doubt in my mind he’s thinking about every second he had with you last night and trying to drink away the memory because he wants more. For men like Roark, when they set their eye on someone, pursue them, and then finally have a taste, they can’t walk away. Trust me, he still very much wants you, but he doesn’t know how to handle his feelings.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.”

  “I don’t,” she relents. “But I also know a man doesn’t go to girl’s place in the middle of the night to hold her if there are no feelings involved. He likes you, Sutton, and being the idiot he is, he doesn’t know what to do with that.”

  Huh, she has a point.

  “So instead of giving him an ultimatum, I should show him what he’s missing out on?”

  “Exactly,” she says, and if I could see her face, I know there’d be an excited glint in her eyes. “He knows New York City Sutton, but he’s never seen Country Girl Sutton. Wear those short shorts and white crop tops. Toss some hay, ride a horse, show him how your hips can perfectly rock up and down on that powerful steed . . .”

  I snort, just thinking about it. “That’s so mean.”

  “But perfectly deserved. Set up the torture chamber, Sutton. It’s time to make this fool realize what he could have had.”

  Feeling lighter, and now with a smile on my face, I think about all the ways I’m going to make Roark sweat. He thinks he’s here for a charitable camp, but little does he know I’m about to shake up his entire world.

  “Thank you, Maddie. I love you so much.”

  “Back at you, girl. Now if you think he’s worth the effort, snag the guy and bring him back here so I can give him the best friend warning.”

  “I’m on it.”

  * * *

  From a distance, I spot a black town car making its way up the long, freshly paved driveway of Green Ranch. Showtime.

  Standing next to me is my dad, wearing his signature Levi’s—that he’s paid to endorse of course, thank you, Roark—and a short-sleeved grey T-shirt. His sturdy black Stetson sits on top of his head while his black matching boots dig into the porch. He’s in his element, more than when he’s on the football field. He’s a Texas man through and through, so whenever he gets back to the ranch, it takes no time for him to look and feel part of the place again.

  Not wanting to look too slutty in front of my dad and wanting to ease Roark into this side of my life, I put on a pair of jeans, my worn boots, and a very tight-fitting white T-shirt. And to top it all off, I put on my white Stetson. I remember getting my first real hat. I was six. Dad said I would always be a white-hat girl, and he’s kept it that way. As he puts it, my white halo must grace my head when on the ranch.

  Little does he know, there are devil horns peeking out through my halo.

  The town car nears—my dad ordered it for Roark—and I steel myself. I’m in control. He’s the one who left, the one who should be feeling weird. Not me.

  Mission Tempt Roark is in full motion as the car comes to a stop. I hold my breath as we step forward. The door to the car opens, and my dad and I stop in our pursuit as Roark falls out the back, small bottles tumbling to the concrete with him as he clutches the biggest bottle of Jameson I’ve ever seen.

  Oh, Roark.

  I glance at my dad, who has a very disappointed look on his face. He places his hand on my shoulder, silently telling me to stay where I am as he makes his way toward the drunk man in our driveway.

  Roark looks up, pushing his black Ray-Bans off his eyes, and gives my dad a crooked smile. “Fosterrrr,” he draws out, “I made it.”

  He struggles to get up, but when he does, he leans against the car and holds his bottle of whiskey like a baby. For once, Roark’s signature hot combination of skinny jeans and a snug-fitting Henley look out of place, as if he was plucked straight from a nightclub in New York City and transplanted here. Which he probably was. His beard is thicker, untrimmed, and from where his glasses have lifted up, I can see dark circles under his eyes, heavy and bold.

  Looks like Maddie was right. He’s hurting worse than I am, which is good to know. Or he simply resorted to what he likes best.

  “Have you been drinking all day?” my dad asks, his voice booming.

  Not even caring, Roark nods. “Yup.” He holds up his hand. “But don’t worry”—he sways to the side—“I didn’t get into one fight.”

  Stepping forward, my dad’s powerful shoulders flex as he reaches out and snatches the bottle of alcohol from Roark. “You can’t have this here.”

  Roark leans backward. “The kids aren’t here, yet. Consider it a welcoming gift.”

  “I don’t mean on the ranch. I mean in this county.”

  Roark’s brow pinches tougher. “What?”

  Roark is in for a very rude awakening. I’m almost giddy as I try to hide my smile.

  “It’s a dry county. There are very few in Texas, but the ranch falls within one of those county’s lines, which means no alcohol.”

  Roark’s eyes widen. “No alcohol?”

  “No.” My dad holds out his hand and says, “And no smoking either. Hand them over.”

  “What? No smoking here either?” Roark looks around, the bright sun causing him to pull his sunglasses back up. “What kind of straight-laced county is this?”

  “The no smoking is my rule. Now hand them over.”

  Reaching into his back pocket, Roark pulls out a packet of cigarettes and places them in my dad’s hand. What is Roark going to do without his “accessories”?

  Maybe actually clean up a little.

  Nodding toward the car, my dad says, “Grab your luggage. Sutton will show you to your room while I dispose of this crap. You are to take a shower, sober up, and get ready for some hard work. We need an extra pair of hands to get the chores done before dinner.”

  “Chores?”

  My dad nods. “Did you think this was a vacation? Far from it.” He leans forward and gets into Roark’s face. “You just entered hell, and you’re about to get yourself cleaned up, whether you like it or not. You’re a good guy, Roark. It’s about time you start reaching your full potential.”

  Muttering something under his breath, Roark takes his suitcase from the driver and starts walking toward the house, and that’s when his eyes focus on me for the first time. His step stutters and his eyes rake me up and down from under his sunglasses, his lips parting open ever so slightly. Just the sort of reaction I was looking for.

  Putting on a cheery smile, I say, “This way, Roark.”

  I spin on my boots and give him a good sway as I make my way in the house. I hold the door open for him and guide him up the stairs. I glance back a few times and find him struggling to keep a straight line as his eyes are fixed directly on my butt.

  Maddie was so freaking right.

  This is going to be fun.
/>
  When we reach his room, I open the door and gesture inside. “This is where you’ll be staying.” I point to the door across from his, and even though he’s staring at my breasts, I keep talking. “My room is right across from yours. We’re sharing the bathroom right there. Make sure you knock before coming in.”

  “Knock, sure, got it.”

  He leans against the wall, looking absolutely exhausted. Did he get any sleep last night? From the looks of it, he didn’t.

  “I suggest you take a shower like Dad said and get some coffee in you. It’s going to be a long afternoon if you don’t. Everything you need is on your bed. Welcome to the ranch.”

  I start to walk away when he grabs my arm to stop me.

  Just to drive him crazy, I whip my head around and smile brightly at him. “Yes, is there something else?”

  “Sutton,” he grumbles. “I’m . . . I’m.”

  I reach up and pat him on the cheek. “Don’t sweat it, Roark. Let me know if you need anything.”

  I pull away and walk down the stairs, leaving him with a confused look on his face and an untapped desire in his eyes.

  * * *

  Do not snort!

  You’re only going to make it worse.

  Oh man, it’s so hard not to though. I’ve never seen a man struggle so hard in my life. Barely sober, looking wrecked, Roark lifts another hay bale over and attempts to chuck it onto the truck bed, missing once again.

  “Motherfucker,” he yells, kicking it and then wiping his brow with his forearm.

  The heat from the sun is relentless today, especially for a guy who’s not used to it, and thanks to my dad’s demands, the ranch hands are not letting up on him.

  “Come on, lad,” one of the guys says. “Are those pretty muscles or do they actually work?”

  I’m sure they work, there is no doubt in my mind, but Roark’s barely regained his coordination and is struggling.

  Sweat is dripping down every part of his shirt, there is dirt caked on his face, and his jeans are an ashy brown rather than crisp black from the amount of times he’s stumbled his way through chores. There is only one thing left, feeding the horses, but he’s obviously done for the day.

  “Fuck you,” Roark mutters as he reaches for the hay bale again.

  I walk past him, a bale in my grasp, and chuck it into the truck, using just the right swing to get it up and over the hatch. Roark watches me.

  I point to his bale. “Want me to do that for you?”

  His eyes narrow. “No. I got it.”

  “You sure? Seems like you’re struggling a little.”

  “I’m not struggling. I’m just, fuck.” He wipes his forehead again. “I think I’m actually hungover, for one of the first times in my life.”

  I pat his shoulder as if we’re pals, rather than two people who find one another attractive but can’t quite figure out how to make it work between them. “That’s what happens when you drink: hangovers follow.”

  * * *

  I haven’t had a hard day on the ranch in a long time because of school and trying to make my career happen, but today felt good. I know, weird right, to be happy about doing physical labor, but it’s what I grew up with. During football season, I would go back and forth to New York to visit with Dad, but my true home was Texas, and Dad was very adamant about me carrying my weight around the ranch.

  If he heard I wasn’t doing my chores, he’d fly from New York to lecture me, only to fly back for practice the next day. I learned quickly he hated that, and the tongue lashing I got would be proof of it, so I made sure I pulled my weight.

  And I learned to appreciate it. Maybe not right away, because what teenager wants to be shoveling horse crap on the weekend? But over time, I understood why Dad was strict with me. He wanted me to realize the benefit of hard work, both academic and physical. I confidently believe I earned my position with Gaining Goals, and I’m proud of myself.

  Letting the water run down my sore muscles for a few more seconds, I breathe in the steam billowing below and let out a long breath. What a day.

  What a wonderfully long and rewarding day.

  I switch off the shower, dry off, and then wrap the towel around my body, stuffing the end between my breasts to keep the towel in place. I brush out my long, wet hair, moisturize my face, and put a touch of lavender behind my ears and on my wrists.

  Satisfied, I open the bathroom door and walk down the hallway toward my room where I see Roark leaning against his door, his eyes shut, a towel dangling from his hand. When he hears me approach, he stands up and looks in my direction. Immediately his eyes start to rake over my body, and from the burning look Roark has on his face, I’m very happy I decided to leave my clothes in my room.

  “Shower is all yours.”

  He scratches his beard, eyes still trained on me. “Thanks.”

  I pause in front of him, letting him take a longer look while the lavender scent I know drives him crazy floats between us. “Do you need help turning the shower on? I can show you how it works.”

  “I, uh . . . I think I can handle it.”

  I press my hand against his chest, innocently batting my lashes up at him. “Are you sure?”

  His eyes fall to my hand then back up to me. “Yeah.”

  I pat his chest and walk over to my door. Looking over my shoulder, I say, “Well, I’m just across the way. You know where to find me.”

  I begin to walk into my room when Roark says, “Hold on.”

  Hand still on the door, I turn toward him. “Yeah?”

  “Can we talk?”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary.” I smile brightly. “We don’t really have anything to talk about.”

  “Bullshit,” he growls. I’m taking it he doesn’t like how nice and sweet I’m being. My dad was right, you catch more flies with honey.

  Fully turning toward him, I reach out and wipe a piece of mud off his brow. He tries to lean into my touch, but I pull away before he can make too much contact. “Listen, there’s nothing really to be said. We’re good. Don’t worry about it.” My towel starts to come undone, so I grip the knot, but making sure to hold it low.

  His gaze drifts down to the abundance of cleavage I’m displaying. He rakes his hand over his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut.

  “It’s been a long and painful day, Sutton. Don’t tempt me.”

  “What are you talking about? I’m not tempting you.”

  “You’re not?” His brow shoots up. “You’ve been sweet to me all day after I left your apartment without saying a word, and you’re strutting around this house like a goddamn temptress with your tight white shirts and towel dances.”

  “Towel dances?” My nose curls. “I highly doubt standing here in the hallway and talking to you like an adult is considered a towel dance.”

  “You know what I mean,” he answers exasperated. “You’re punishing me.”

  I pat his chest and give him the sweetest smile I can muster. “And why would I do that, Roark? We’re friends . . . just friends. You made that quite clear this morning. I’m good with that. Now if you’ll excuse me, there are some homemade beans on the stove I want to make sure I’m first in line for. Hurry up and shower; Dad doesn’t like it when people are late for dinner.”

  Satisfied, I walk into my room and shut the door, a huge smile plastered across my face. This really is going to be so much fun.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dear Satan,

  Yeah, Satan, because I’m really hoping somehow this godforsaken diary makes it into his hands.

  I’m living in hell. Pure, torturous hell.

  What kind of county decides to ban alcohol? I’ll tell you, the kind that was bathed and clothed by the devil himself. There is no other explanation.

  Fuck. Really that’s the only way to describe how I’m feeling right now. Just . . . fuck.

  It’s bad enough my vices have been stripped from me, leaving me feeling raw and exposed, but having to sleep in a room across from Su
tton’s and share a bathroom with her, that’s goddamn torture.

  After she got out of the shower and strutted toward me in that white towel, my tongue nearly fell out of my mouth. Freshly wet and sexy with her low-slung towel, I got hard in seconds. And this whole nice act she’s pulling with me? I don’t trust it. There is no way she’s cool with what I did. I know her, and she wears her emotions on her sleeve, so I don’t believe for a second she’s fine.

  Which makes this situation even more irritating because I wish she’d get angry at me, yell, scream, do something, but instead she’s strutting around like nothing happened.

  And I swear to Christ, your enemy, that she’s hotter in the country. I don’t know if it’s the fresh air, or being back at her childhood home, but she has this intoxicating air about her. It’s different and really fucking hot.

  It’s why I spent a good ten minutes jacking off in the shower to her lavender scent that was mixed with the steam of the shower. It was as if Sutton was wrapped around me.

  Yeah, I’m fucking losing it, Satan. Please, for the love of God, end my misery and take me to your dungeon. Do weird shit to me, I don’t care, but just take me away from this purgatory. I won’t last another thirteen days.

  Roark

  * * *

  ROARK

  “Isn’t she wonderful to watch?” Foster asks, standing next to me as we both lean on the split-rail fence of the round pen.

  After two hours of shoveling shit and chasing chickens—don’t even ask—I now have the pleasure of watching Sutton exercise the horses with Josh.

  Who’s Josh? Oh, the horse trainer Sutton seems to be very chummy with. Every time he grants her a compliment, she gives him a blistering beautiful smile under her perfectly white hat. Josh is about to get his neck wrung by yours truly if he shouts she looks good one more time.

  Because she does look good, damn good.