A knowing smile crosses his face. “You really like her, don’t you?”
“I do. I really, really like her.” I blow out a long breath. “Fuck, listen to me being a dickhead in lust.”
“Just hearing you say the word lust makes me want to dry-heave.” He takes a swig of his drink and then sets it on the bar. “What’s happening to us? First Bram, now you. What happened to being bachelors?”
“Aren’t you seeing that Farrah girl?”
“Nah.” He waves me off. “She was just a good time, nothing serious there.”
“Still holding out for whom we shall not talk about?” I wiggle my eyebrows at him.
“When I say don’t talk about her, I mean, as a whole, don’t even mention that we don’t talk about her. Fuck, man.”
“Shit, you’re so touchy.” I poke his shoulder. “Loosen up.”
“When did this become about me? We were talking about your love life and the fact that you’re balls deep in a woman who’s one of your clients’ daughter. What are you going to do about that?”
“Nothing.” I shrug as my phone vibrates. “I’ll see where this goes. No use in making a big deal out of it while we’re figuring things out.” Part of me feels okay about Foster though. He’s the one man who’s shown faith in me as a person. But, we’ll see. I pull out my phone and see that it’s a text from Sutton. “Looks like I have to go.” I pat Rath on the back. “I’ll see you later.”
“Wait, you’re just going to leave me here?”
“Yup.”
I take off without a second glance, flag down a taxi, and give the guy my cross streets before pulling out my phone to read her text.
Sutton: I’m so tired.
Roark: Rough day at the office?
Sutton: Busy. We were down a person because he had to go coddle a grown-ass man.
Roark: Your dad really did fill you in.
Sutton: He showed me the video of Xavier crying in the dugout. I watched it three times and couldn’t stop laughing. And the world thought Kim Kardashian had an ugly cry face. They have no idea.
Roark: We tried to spin it as him being ultra-sensitive but couldn’t quite make it work.
Sutton: He sobbed over a pop-fly and then yelled into a towel.
Roark: Well aware. It’s been the one flaw in my career, unable to make better use of the situation. At least I could have gotten him a tissue sponsorship like your dad, but he wouldn’t glorify his emotions.
Sutton: It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.
Roark: Changing the subject, how was camp?
Sutton: It was great. You should have heard the cheers when my dad greeted them. I love seeing the looks on the children’s faces, the awe, the admiration. It’s so wonderful to see how the kids look up to him.
Roark: I’m sorry I missed it.
Sutton: Where are you?
Roark: Driving home. Went out with Rath. I didn’t have anything to drink.
Sutton: You don’t have to report to me, Roark.
Roark: I know, but I wanted you to know anyway. I wanted to be present when we talked tonight.
Sutton: Are you planning on calling me?
Roark: Just waiting until I get back to my apartment. Give me a few.
* * *
Roark: FaceTime?
Sutton: I don’t have headphones, and I don’t want my dad to hear.
I dial her number, and she answers on the first ring. “Forgot your headphones? Doesn’t seem like a very Sutton-like thing to do,” I tease as I slide into my bed and prop one of my hands under my head.
“It’s not, but then again, that morning this guy kind of broke my heart, so I was off my game.”
“Oh, okay, blaming me for your forgetfulness. I see how this is going to go.”
“And I see that you’re not taking responsibility.”
I smile, loving how she feels comfortable enough to spar with me. “You know I feel like shit about that morning.”
“I know,” she sighs. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“If you didn’t leave that morning, what do you think you would have done?”
Staring at the ceiling, I think about it. “I don’t know. Fleeing seems like the only thing I know to do. I don’t think I was ready at that moment to start something up with you. I probably would’ve said something really shitty and destroyed your spirit. Walking out was probably the best idea.”
“I wish you hadn’t.”
“Yeah, I know.” I sigh, hating that I can’t be the well-balanced person she deserves. “I won’t do it again, if that helps.”
“I know you won’t. What are you doing the rest of the week, finishing up on the contract negotiations?”
“Yeah, maybe buying some new sheets.”
“New sheets? That’s weird.” She chuckles. “Why?”
“I assume you’re going to want to stay the night when you get back to the city.”
“You don’t have to get new sheets for me,” she says.
With a smile, I say, “I do if I don’t want your gnarly toenails cutting up my nice ones.”
“What?” she asks. “I don’t have gnarly toenails.”
“I’ll put a label on them. These sheets only used when Sutton is over. I’ve marked up the guest sheets already from the brutal beating you’ve put them through.”
“I have not messed up your sheets.”
“Am I going to have to send you empirical evidence?”
“Yes,” she says, challenging me.
Pulling up Safari on my phone, I quickly search torn-up sheets, save a picture of tattered white ones, and send it to her in a text message.
“Evidence is on the way.”
She waits, and I know the minute the text comes in because she scoffs loudly. “Those are not your sheets.”
“I know it’s hard to tell from the massacre they’ve been through, but I can guarantee you, they used to be on my guest bed.”
“Are you trying to win me over? Because it’s not working.”
“Win you over? Pfft,” I playfully say. “Lass, I already got ya hooked. I’m trying to train you now.”
“Train me?” I swear to God, if she was here I’d be watching her eyeballs pop out of their sockets. “There’ll be no training me. I’m the one who trains you.”
“Why? I’m perfect already.”
“Not full of yourself at all.”
I chuckle. “Got to be a little full of yourself if you’re going to make it places.”
“Is that right?”
“Yup. Look at all the great athletes out there, like your dad. He doesn’t sit back and let everyone think he’s average. Even the most humble puff their chest from time to time. You have to. Try puffing your chest, Sutton.”
“If I puff my chest, you’d end up staring at my boobs.”
She couldn’t be more accurate. “And there’s a problem with that because?”
“Because I have eyes.”
“Aye, ya do. Pretty ones at that.”
She’s silent for a second and then says, “When your accent gets heavy like that, it’s really hot.”
“Yeah, your pussy getting wet?”
“Roark! Oh my God, don’t say that. What is wrong with you?”
A full-on belly laugh escapes me. Holding my stomach, I let the laughter fill the phone as I hear a small chuckle come from the other end. “Ya don’t like me talking about your wet pussy?”
“I mean . . . not like that.”
“And there’s the innocent girl I’ve been missing. For a second there, I thought she ran away and was replaced by a sex-crazed vixen.”
“I would hardly call me a sex-crazed vixen. Way to exaggerate.”
“Don’t you know, Sutton, that’s the way of the Irish? If we’re not over-exaggerating then we’re not telling a story correctly.”
“Now you have me questioning every story you’ve ever told me.”
“Never question an Irishman and his storie
s; it’s bad luck.” I shift in bed and put the phone on speaker so I can turn on my side and still talk to her.
“Is it really?”
“Nah, that was an exaggeration.”
She lets out a long sigh. “You’re exhausting.”
“Just wait until I get you naked. I’ll show you how exhausting I am.”
“What if we’re not compatible sexually? Man, what a letdown that would be.”
Brow pinched, I ask, “What do you mean? Of course we’ll be compatible.”
“I mean, we might not. My friend Stacey was dating this guy a year ago, and she swore he was the one. They were the cutest couple I ever saw. He was super hot, had this whole alpha male thing going on: huge pecs, biceps for days, the most handsome—”
“Move on.”
She chuckles and clears her throat. “Really attractive. Anyway, they held off for a month and a half before having sex, but the tension between them was ridiculous. Back and forth repartee, touching, kissing, but never fully engaging in the act. Whenever I was in the same room as them, I thought the air was going to implode from how tense it was being around them. The looks they gave each other . . . I have no idea why they waited so long, but it was torture for everyone around them. And then finally, after a tension-filled game night, they went back to Stacy’s apartment and banged like bunnies. At least, that’s what we thought happened. Stacy called the next day, told me she finally had sex with Harrison and broke up with him that morning. When I asked her why, she said it was everything she could have asked for when it came to sex: giant penis, great attention to her body, marked her up in all the right spots. The attraction was there, the pace was there, the grunting, the moaning, but when it came down to it, neither one of them could orgasm. It was like they were edging for hours, unable to find release. They wound up getting themselves off before going to bed. In the morning, they worked out they couldn’t sexually mingle, so they broke it off.”
What the hell is she talking about?
“So, you’re telling me, everything was great, they both were sexually attracted to each other and were doing all the right things but couldn’t get off?”
“Exactly. Isn’t that sad? What if that’s us?”
“It won’t be. I know how to make you come already. Remember?”
“But it was with your tongue. Your penis is entirely different. Stacy said Harrison had a huge penis, so compared to you, you could be even worse.”
“Wait.” I sit up in bed. “Are you saying you don’t think I have a huge penis?”
“Just giving you a little wiggle room for disappointment.”
I blink a few times, even though she can’t see me. I have no idea what’s going on right now but I don’t like it. She thinks we might not be sexually compatible, that I might not have a big enough penis for her. Who is this girl and what has she done with Sutton Green?
“I . . .” Hell, I don’t even know how to respond and before I can, she starts laughing. And if I wasn’t so disturbed, I might chuckle along with the infectious sound, but instead, I wait for her to stop.
“Oh, Roark . . . that’s how you exaggerate a story.” Motherfucker. I bite on my bottom lip, trying not to smile. “Got to go, early morning. I’ll talk to you later.”
And she hangs up before I can say bye. She bested me. Fuck did she best me, and I liked every goddamn second of it. Well, except when I thought she doubted my penis . . .
* * *
Roark: So . . . about last night.
Sutton: What about it? Good morning, by the way.
Roark: Morning, lass. When you were talking about being compatible, you were joking, right?
Sutton: Do you prefer that I was joking?
Roark: I prefer for you to stop yanking my dick.
Sutton: Oh, so you don’t want me to give you a hand job? **WINCES** That might be a sign of not being sexually compatible.
Roark: Sutton.
Sutton: Yes?
Roark: I’m being fucking serious.
Sutton: Are you having stage fright? Maybe try role-play when you’re home by yourself. You might not be so nervous when it first happens.
Roark: I’m not fucking nervous.
Sutton: Sounds like you’re nervous.
Roark: How can you tell? I didn’t use your coveted asterisk.
Sutton: It’s because I can read your texts well. It’s okay, big daddy, you can perform all the orgasms.
Roark: Your sarcastic encouragement is not appreciated.
Sutton: Poor baby. Come to my bosom. *Holds arms out*
Roark: I want my innocent, sweet girl back.
Sutton: I think she was left behind in New York.
* * *
Roark: Can I ask you something?
Sutton: If it’s about the size of your penis . . . no.
Roark: I’ll send you a dick pic.
Sutton: Spare me. No girl in their right mind wants a close-up of a guy’s dick.
Roark: How do you know? You’ve never seen mine, and you might really like it.
Sutton: It’s a stick of flesh. I’m good.
Roark: You make my penis sound so lackluster.
Sutton: Women don’t idolize the male genitals like men do.
Roark: Cleary you haven’t seen a good penis before. I’ll change that for you.
Sutton: Don’t hold your breath.
* * *
Sutton: Two more days and I get to see your face.
Roark: I’m flying to China for a week to meet up with a clothing brand.
Sutton: What? Are you serious?
Roark: No, just wanted to sense your disappointment.
Sutton: You jerk. I was really upset.
Roark: Good, just means you’re excited to see me.
Sutton: You know I am.
Roark: I don’t know, not with all this lack of sexual compatibility talk.
Sutton: Stop. You know I want to see you.
Roark: I want to see you too.
Sutton: When you say things like that, it makes my entire body heat up.
Roark: Yeah?
Sutton: Yeah. Can I ask you something?
Roark: Always.
Sutton: This is really stupid, so feel free to tell me no.
Roark: Spit it out, lass.
Sutton: Will you pick me up from the airport?
Roark: Already planned on it.
Chapter Seventeen
Dear Tommy,
This is going to be quick because I have three meetings to tackle before I go to pick up Sutton from the airport.
You heard that right, I’m picking a girl up from the airport.
Out of sheer will, too.
I know what you’re thinking, you’re trying to impress her with your attentiveness.
Not even close, smart ass. I truly want to see her, and I don’t think I can wait for her to make her way through the city by herself. I want to see her as soon as I can.
And what does that make me?
A lust-struck man.
I blame it on the lack of alcohol in my system . . . that or those big blues eyes I can’t seem to knock out of my head.
Fuck, I can’t wait to see my girl.
Roark
* * *
SUTTON
What a long freaking week, but so rewarding. Yesterday, I watched all the kids personally thank my dad for the opportunity to attend his camp. Cards and letters were placed in his hand as he took countless pics with each child, making their year. I watched in admiration as he took the time this past week to learn every kid’s name, something special about them, as well as their strengths and weaknesses on and off the field. I’ve never been prouder nor loved my dad more than I have this week.
I told him that when he dropped me off at the airport. He wouldn’t let me fly home on a commercial flight, of course—taking a private jet is always weird, but at least I get to fly back with Whitney.
“You must be exhausted,” Whitney says, one leg crossed over the other, wearing a crisp all-
white suit, looking as beautiful as ever.
“I am. It was a long two weeks but well worth it.”
“You impressed me, Sutton. Seeing you care so much for every camper. You stepped up whenever we needed an extra set of hands, even if it was the dirty work. Someone else in your position might not have done the same thing, and that shows me you have great character, just like your dad.”
“Learned from the best. Just because there might be more money in my bank account than someone else’s, doesn’t mean I’m better than they are. Dad instilled that in me.”
“He’s a smart man,” Whitney says with a soft smile while looking out the window. “We have a few short months to hammer out the details of your dad’s final season, so are you up to jumping back into work on Monday?”
“Am I not going into the office tomorrow?”
She shakes her head. “Take tomorrow off, have a nice little three-day weekend, and then come back refreshed to start moving on all the details of your dad’s retirement. Your input is going to be vital.”
“That means a lot, thank you.”
She winks at me. “You earned it.”
Staring out the window again, I watch at how poised she stays, always so confident and fair. It’s why I like Whitney so much. She might expect a lot from me and demand that I work hard, but if anything, she’s fair, and I appreciate that more, especially since I’m the boss’s daughter. She never gives me special treatment, and I couldn’t be happier about that.
The rest of the flight we make casual small talk, but eventually we both end up shutting our eyes until we land, the small plane coming to a stop on the tarmac next to a hangar. I gather my bags and follow Whitney out of the plane and down the steps, where I see Roark, arms crossed, leaning against a black town car.
Crap.
The minute Whitney spots him, she stutters for a second and then turns to me. Wincing, I give her a small smile and hope and pray she understands. She looks back at Roark, who unfolds his arms and sticks his hands in his pockets, his stance widening slightly. He looks so good, and all I want to do is drop everything in my hands and run to him, but with Whitney’s mind churning, I hold back.
Diary of a Bad Boy Page 23
