When we’re handed our bags, Whitney stops me and asks, “Is this something I need to be worried about?”
I have no idea what that means, so I shrug.
She gives Roark another once-over before turning back to me. “He’s here for you, is he not?”
I swallow hard, feeling like I got caught by my dad. “He is.” I tell the truth because I can’t seem to convince myself to lie to the woman, not when she’s been so wonderful to me for so many years.
“Is he being kind to you?”
“Yes,” I answer, my throat tightening up. “Very.”
She nods and presses her hand to my arm before saying, “Be careful. I like Roark, but he has a dark side to him, and I’d hate to see you get hurt.”
“I know,” I answer, my mouth going dry. “But I can’t stay away.”
Whitney chuckles under her breath. “I understand that feeling more than you know.”
Chewing on the side of my cheek, I say, “Please don’t say anything to my dad. Let me tell him when the time is right.”
Patting my hand, Whitney says, “I don’t know anything.” She glances at Roark one last time. “Careful with that Irish accent, it’s lethal.”
I laugh. “Tell me about it. Thank you, Whitney. I appreciate your sensitivity.”
“Anytime.” She gives me a brief smile before walking in the opposite direction to another waiting vehicle.
Before moving toward Roark, I give Whitney a second to get in her car so I can have more of a private moment with the man I’ve been pining after.
As Whitney’s car disappears, I make my way to Roark, who hasn’t moved a muscle since sticking his hands in his pockets. A few feet from me, he smiles softly and reaches his hand out. I take it immediately and let him pull me into his strong body. His grip falls to my hip as I loop my hands around his neck, my suitcase abandoned behind me.
“Hi,” I say shyly.
“Hey lass.” With his free hand, he strokes my cheek while staring into my eyes. “I didn’t think Whitney would be on the plane.”
“Me neither.”
Worry in his mossy eyes, he asks, “Everything okay?”
I nod. “She said she wouldn’t say anything and I should be careful of your Irish accent. Said it could be lethal.”
“Yeah?” He smiles. “I think she’s a smart woman. It is lethal.”
“I know.” Standing on my toes, I thread my fingers through his hair and push up toward him. “Kiss me,” I whisper, so close to his lips.
Smiling, he closes the rest of the space between us and presses a sweet kiss to my lips, melting me in his arms. Even though it’s only been a week, it feels like it’s been forever since I’ve seen him, since I’ve been able to taste his mouth on mine, and now that we’re together again, I want nothing more than to spend the next three days lounging in his apartment—or mine—naked and doing nothing but exploring one another.
I like the idea so much that when he pulls away, I say, “What are you doing over the next three days?”
He smiles and runs his hand up my back. “You.”
Giddy, I pull him to the car before grabbing my suitcase and say, “My place or yours?”
He taps his chin and says, “Tuna can or luxury suite? Hmm . . .”
“My place is not a tuna can.”
“I can make it from your bed to the bathroom in four steps.”
“Your legs are long.”
“Your apartment is tiny,” he counters. “We’re going to my place, end of story. Plus, we need to try out those new sheets. They were put on the bed today.” He helps me into the car and presses a kiss to my forehead before pulling me into his side and holding on to me, not once letting me go as we make our way through the city to his apartment. Excitement and anticipation bubbles inside me.
* * *
“Are you sure you didn’t want to stop at your place to pick up any of your things?” Roark asks as we make our way up the elevator to his apartment.
“Anything I need is in my bag, plus I don’t plan on wearing many of my clothes.”
He raises his brows. “Are you planning a sex-a-thon in that pretty head of yours?”
“Maybe.” I bite on my bottom lip. “Isn’t that what you were planning?”
The elevator doors part, and he rolls my bag behind us as we make our way into his apartment. “You don’t even want to know what I’ve been planning.”
Once in the living room, he turns toward me, sweeping me off my feet into his arms . . . as someone pops up from the couch and scares the crap out of both of us.
“I fucked up everything,” he shouts, arms flying out to the side.
“Jesus, Bram,” Roark says, gripping me tightly. “What the hell are you doing here?”
A blond-haired man in torn red sweatpants and a soft, cashmere sweater approaches, looking a little crazy, despite his incredibly handsome face and piercing blue-green eyes.
He pulls on his hair that looks like it’s been through a wrestling match with his hand. “I messed it up, man, everything. All my hard work went straight down the shitter.” He glances my way and plasters a kind smile on his face, as if he isn’t about to jump off a cliff. “Bram Scott, you must be Sutton.”
Roark sets me down. I take Bram’s hand in mine and say, “Nice to meet you.”
He shakes my hand and then turns back to Roark, panic in his eyes. “What the fuck do I do?”
Annoyed, Roark answers, “Well since I have no clue what the fook you’re talking about, I don’t know.”
“The proposal, I messed up the proposal.”
Ooo . . . if he’s talking about a marriage proposal—from the sight of him, I’m going to guess that’s what it is—that can’t be good.
Taking a step back, I say, “You know, I think I’ll give you guys some time to yourselves.” Roark’s grip on me tightens.
“You’re not going anywhere. Bram can leave.”
“I need your help,” Bram pleads, and I actually feel really bad for him.
“Go see Rath. He’s her brother, after all. What better person to help you than her brother?”
“I did, but he’s with a girl.”
Roark gestures to me. “What the fuck do you think I’m doing right now?”
Giving me a soft smile of acknowledgement, he says, “But you’re still fully dressed, so in my head, it’s fair game.”
Chuckling, I say, “He has a good point.”
Roark shoots a look in my direction. “Don’t agree with him.”
“You know, I like you, Sutton,” Bram says. “I think she should stay. She might have good input.”
“Of course, she’s staying, but you’re leaving.” Roark reaches for Bram but he sidesteps out of his reach.
Holding up his hands, he says, “Don’t get handsy with me.”
“Christ, Bram, will you just fooking leave?”
“No. I need help.”
Tense and irritated, Roark says, “Here’s some help, tell her you’re a dumb-arse and then hand her the ring. Solved.” He points to the elevator. “Now get out of here.”
Poor Bram.
Resting my hand on Roark’s arm, I gently say, “Why don’t we order some food, sit down with Bram, help him, and then we can have a nice evening?”
“Yes, that’s a great plan.” Bram walks over toward the kitchen, pulling his phone from his pocket. “And because I’m a nice guy, dinner is on me.”
“You’re fucking right it’s on you,” Roark says, exasperated, before taking my suitcase to his room.
He is so not happy. Oddly, it makes me giggle. I like angry Roark, because it only leads to good things for me.
* * *
“So, are you going to keep stuffing your face or are you going to tell us why the hell you’re in my apartment right now?” Roark asks, sitting back on the couch, his arm draped behind me.
Mid-bite of Thai noodles, Bram sets his bowl down and dabs a napkin across his face. “Looks like my welcome has expired.”
> “Your welcome expired the minute I got home, so get on with it already.”
Brows pinching together, he says, “You know, I’m in dire need of a best friend right now, it would be nice if you weren’t a dick for a second.”
I rest my hand on Roark’s thigh and try to soothe the anger that’s building inside him. His gaze snaps to my hand and I realize maybe my placement wasn’t the best, maybe a little too high. I retract my hand, and before he can yell at Bram again, I lean over and whisper into Roark’s ear.
“I know you want nothing more than to be alone with me right now, but if you show a little compassion to your best friend, I’ll put on that little shirt for you tonight.”
Eyebrows raised, a smirk on his face, he says, “Is that a promise?” I nod and like the desperate man he is, he brings his attention to Bram. “All right, spill.”
Bram eyes me, a thankful look on his face. “Whatever you whispered to him, I appreciate it.”
I smile and link my hand with Roark’s, resting my head on his shoulder, enjoying the comfort of being close to him. Did I want to fall into bed the minute we arrived here? Yes. But seeing one of Roark’s best friends is good as well. Seeing him relate to a friend, not a client, and not someone he’s trying to bed, gives me more insight into who he is as a man. Bram trusts him. Trusts in him. That speaks volumes.
“I had everything planned out, dinner, wine, her favorite cheesecake from a bakery downtown. It was all set up and perfect. She came home from work, I was dressed like a goddamn GQ model, apron around my waist. What woman doesn’t want to come home to that?”
“Sounds like a nice image to walk home to,” I say, trying to ease the worry etched all over Bram’s face.
“It was and everything was going great. The ring was in my pocket, we were eating my dinner, talking about our days, and when the time came . . . I choked.”
“Were you scared?”
He shakes his head. “No, I physically choked, on a Brussels sprout.”
“Oh God, are you okay?” I ask.
He shakes his head, his hand rubbing his forehead. “I mean, obviously I’m still alive, but in the midst of Julia giving me the Heimlich and freaking out, I”—he pauses, twisting his hands together—“I might have peed my pants a little.”
“What?” Roark lifts off the couch and busts out in laughter, clearly not worried about making his friend feel better. “You fucking pissed yourself?” Bram’s face doesn’t move as Roark slaps his knee and continues to laugh. I try to hold it together, but Roark’s laughter is too infectious. I cover my mouth, not wanting to be rude. “She squeezed the piss out of you.”
Okay, I snort.
Sitting there, lips pursed, Bram waits until Roark calms himself, wiping the tears from under his eyes. “Oh shite, that’s great. You pissed yourself during your proposal. You really fucked it up.”
“That wasn’t even the bad part.”
“Wait? There’s more?” Now truly invested in the story, Roark sits up, hand on my thigh. Poor, poor Bram. “What happened next?”
“After she dislodged the Brussels sprout—thanks for the concern by the way—I stood there, unable to move because I had pee in my pants. She asked if I was okay and instead of answering her, I waddled to our bedroom.”
“Fucking waddled. Oh, that’s great. You know what? I’m glad you stayed, this is one of the best stories I’ve ever heard.”
“What did I say about not being a dick?”
Another wipe under his eyes. “Sorry. Continue . . . please continue.”
Exhaling, nostrils flaring, Bram says, “I went to the closet to change for obvious reasons. It wasn’t a lot of pee, but just enough to warrant a new pair of boxers and therefore jeans too, just to be safe. When I was bare-assed, bent over, nut sac on full display, looking for another pair of jeans, Julia walked up and gathered my pants, asking if everything was okay.”
“Oh no, did she feel the ring?”
He slowly nods. “Yup. There I was, limp dick and sore throat, watching my girlfriend juggle my pee pants and the ring I bought her.” Roark lets out another bout of laughter but Bram talks over it this time, only engaging with me now. “When she asked what it was, I freaked, grabbed the closest pair of pants I had and fled to Rath’s place.” In despair, Bram rubs his thighs up and down. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know why I ran, maybe because I was so nervous she was going to say no after she squeezed pee out of me, I have no clue, but now it’s going to be awkward. She knows I was going to propose, so do I act like I wasn’t going to or do I suck up my pride and ask if she wants to marry the guy who chokes and pees his pants?”
Still chuckling, Roark says, “That’s a great question. I mean, if I were you I’d be in a bar right now, trying to forget the entire night. And then when I went home and she asked about it, I’d pass out on her tits and call it a night.”
“Roark.” I slap his arm. “That’s awful advice.” He shrugs as if he doesn’t care. I turn to Bram. “Don’t listen to him. Alcohol doesn’t solve problems.”
“It sure hides them,” Roark interjects and leans back on the couch, pulling me with him, but I shrug him off.
“First of all, if I were Julia right now, I’d be worried and want to know if you’re okay. Do you have your phone with you?”
Bram shakes his head. “I was in such a hurry, I didn’t bother grabbing it. She’s probably tried calling a few times by now.”
“Of course, because she loves you, and she’s worried. Your best bet is to go home, show her that you’re okay, and then suck up your pride. Tell her you had these big plans for making the moment perfect, but sometimes being perfect isn’t what life is all about.” Scooting a little closer, I continue, “I would touch her sweetly and then bend down on one knee, tell her how much she means to you, how grateful you are that she’s in your life, for life-saving moments as well—it’s always good to add some humor—and then ask her if she’ll spend the rest of her life by your side. No doubt in my mind that she’ll say yes.”
“Even after everything that went down tonight? You don’t think she’s running for the hills trying to get as far away from me as possible?”
I shake my head, attempting to put Bram at ease. “I don’t think so. I think she’ll be grateful that you’re okay and excited that the man she loves is proposing.”
Bram’s eyes start to light up, his chest starts to puff out, as his shoulders straighten. “I think you’re right. Okay”—he stands and claps his hands together loudly—“I’m going to do this. I’m going to propose to my girlfriend.” Bram holds out his hand for a high five that I give a quick snap. “You’re a lifesaver, Sutton. Thank you so much.”
“Not a problem.” I stand as well. “I’ll walk you out. Let me get my suitcase.”
“Wait, what?” Roark says, standing as well. I quickly retrieve my suitcase, the wheels echoing down the hall. “Where are you going?”
I slip on my jacket and drape my purse over my shoulder. “I’m going home. I think it’s best we call it an evening.”
“Uh . . . what happened to your promise?” Roark asks as Bram watches with humor over the exchange.
“You lost that privilege when you gave your friend crappy advice. It wouldn’t have hurt you to try.”
“Yeah, it wouldn’t have hurt you to try,” Bram adds with a confident head nod.
Roark points his finger at Bram. “You stay out of this.”
Slinking away, Bram heads toward the elevator and presses the down button. I follow closely behind. The doors slide open and I step in after Bram. Roark blocks the door and looks me in the eyes. “Are you really leaving right now?”
“Yes. I am.” I push his chest out of the elevator doorway and let the doors close on a very fuming Roark.
When the elevator starts to descend, Bram says, “That’s not going to go over well.”
“Not so much,” I answer, a smile pulling at my lips.
“Why did you do it?”
“He’
s sexiest when he’s angry.”
Bram chuckles. “You’re evil, woman, but I like you.”
“Thank you. He’ll be at my place within the hour.”
Bram leans against the elevator wall, studying me. “Oh, he will and you’re going to have one hell of a time explaining yourself.”
“No explanation needed for what I have planned.”
Bram lifts a brow. “Are you going to make good on that promise you made him?”
“It was never my intention to break it.” I give him a big smile that causes him to roar with laughter.
“Shit, Roark is in way over his head with you.”
* * *
Roark: What the fuck was that?
Sutton: Are you yelling at me through text?
Roark: Yeah, I fucking am. Why did you leave?
Sutton: I don’t respond well to yelling. Once you tone it down, I’ll speak with you.
Roark: Sutton, I swear to Christ.
Sutton: That’s not toning it down.
Roark: *Takes deep breath* What the fuck was that? *Said while holding a butterfly*
Sutton: I just snorted.
Roark: Where are you?
Sutton: I told you, I went home.
Roark: Why?
Sutton: Felt like you needed a second.
Roark: Well, I’ve taken a second, now open your door.
Sutton: Are you outside?
Roark: Yes, so open your goddamn door right now.
Swallowing hard, but filled with excitement, I adjust my top, fluff my hair, and prepare myself as I open the door to find Roark, hand on the wall, looking down at his phone, his hair a mess. He’s fuming. I think I woke up a beast. And I am so not sorry.
Chapter Eighteen
Dear Ralph,
Bram pissed himself while proposing. Holy shit, that’s the best thing I’ve heard all year. Well, that’s not entirely true, the best thing I heard all year was Sutton’s moans while I flicked her with my tongue.
Diary of a Bad Boy Page 24
