Diary of a Bad Boy

by Quinn, Meghan

  “You make me happy too, Roark.”

  “Yeah?” he asks, a shy smile moving past his lips, a shadow of doubt in his eyes.

  “Yes. How could you doubt that?”

  He bites on his bottom lip and looks at the ceiling for a second. “I’ve never been in a relationship. I’ve never had experience with these overwhelming feelings to keep you close to me at all times, to protect you, to make sure I see that gorgeous smile of yours every day. It’s all new, and there are times I have this heavy weight building in the center of my chest, wondering if I’m doing it right, if I’m screwing anything up.” He cups my cheek. “I don’t want to screw anything up with you, Sutton.”

  “You’re not going to screw this up, Roark.”

  “I screw everything up.”

  I shake my head. “That’s not true, not even close. Have you ever screwed up a business contract?”

  “That’s different. That’s business. When it comes to personal relationships, I’m a goddamn fuck-up.”

  “Really? Because I just had dinner with two guys who think the world of you, who’ve been friends with you since college. And all your clients, they’ve stuck around because they don’t only like the money you bring in, but the relationship they have with you. That’s how your business started, through your ability to connect with others, to read their needs and anticipate their wants. The word relationship doesn’t only lend itself to romance, Roark. You’ve been in relationships with people for many years, but you haven’t understood how good you are at them. In them. It’s as though you’ve hidden behind a façade of indifference and assholery, as if you’ve doubted they’d actually like you. But your success, your business, proves otherwise. So, you have been in relationships, and it’s what makes you so good at ours.”

  He drags his hand over his face and blows out a long breath. As I look into his eyes, it’s pain I see there. “Then why the fuck doesn’t my family love me?”

  My sweet man. Their love? They don’t know what the word means. I hate how they’ve damaged his incredible heart and soul. I hate how their greed and ignorance still shapes how he sees himself. But I get it. If my dad didn’t love me so unconditionally, I wouldn’t be who I am today.

  “Roark, look at me.” I tip his chin with my finger so he’s forced to meet my eyes. When I have his attention, I say, “I wish I had an answer for you, an exact reason why your family treats you with anything less than unconditional love. I so desperately wish I had the answers, but I don’t. All I know is what I’ve seen ever since meeting you. You’re loving, caring, loyal, kind, and genuine, all attributes that make up an impressive man, one I want forever by my side. It hurts me that your family can’t see the same guy I do. It angers me that they’ve not bothered to know the man you’ve become, the friends you’ve made, the lasting relationships you’ve solidified. That’s their loss, not yours.” I soothingly drag my thumb over his bottom lip before bending down and pressing a soft kiss across his lips. He wants to further it by pressing his hand to the back of my head, but I lift up, not quite finished with what I have to say.

  Taking a deep breath, I continue, “I care for you, Roark, deeply.” The L word is on the tip of my tongue, but I hold back, not wanting to move too fast. “And because I care for you, I’m going to be frank. The way your family treats you—manipulates you—how they so horribly make you feel bad about yourself for wanting more, that’s not how a loving family acts. That’s not how parents should treat their children. And I know you feel this overwhelming guilt to help them out, and that’s something you’re going to have to combat in time, but I want you to know, it’s not okay for them to use you, to make you feel any less than you are, to guilt you into sending them money every month. That’s not okay, and as long as I’m in your life, I’m going to show you every damn day how you should be treated.”

  His face softens, his eyes glass over as he pulls me closer, our foreheads connecting. “You’ve changed me in all the best ways, Sutton. I doubt I’ll ever find the words to tell you how much you mean to me.”

  “Then show me,” I say, bringing my lips to his, where he takes them softly and rolls me to my back.

  Taking a moment, he studies me. His finger trails down the side of my jaw. His eyes search mine, and a wave of nerves flutter in my stomach. And then I see it in his eyes . . . love. It’s right there, unmistakable. He doesn’t need to say it, because in this moment, I can sense it. See it.

  He loves me.

  And I love him.

  Without another word, Roark presses his lips against mine and for the first time since we met, we make love, slowly and sweetly. It’s not hurried, and there’s no need to play around and tease each other. Instead, we connect in the deepest way possible, with our hearts.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dear Ned,

  Holy.

  Fucking.

  Shit.

  I’m in love.

  I know, I’m just as shocked as you are. It’s taken me a few days to figure it out. After I took Sutton to meet the boys, we went back to my place and fucked hard. It was amazing, but then something happened, something changed in our relationship. Some people might call it a pivotal moment.

  I feel safe around her, which caused me to open up about the one thing that weighs heavily on my chest: my family. And even though what Sutton said to me all rang true, that my family doesn’t treat me the way I deserve, I know accepting that is going to take time, because there will always be the question in the back of my head, wondering why they can’t love me like Foster loves Sutton.

  If I were to reiterate what my pain-in-the-ass therapist told me yesterday—which pains me—living my life, searching for their love is only going to continue to frustrate me, because I can’t control their feelings or actions. But I can control my life and how I treat the positive people I have in my life.

  Deep, right? And normally I would have scoffed, mentally flipped her the bird, and then been on my way, but with Sutton in my life, I see what she’s talking about. I have an opportunity to be happy, the chance to feel love for the first time. That means I can make a choice. Instead of wallowing about what I can’t fix, I can take this opportunity to prove to myself that in fact, I am someone who deserves love. And, I can reciprocate the feeling.

  Sutton is everything I never knew I wanted in my life, and it’s about time I let myself feel, rather than live in a constant state of numbness.

  Sorry about the gushing, lad.

  Roark

  * * *

  ROARK

  I glance at my watch one more time, the hands barely moving around the dial. I’m being impatient.

  Really fucking impatient.

  It’s been two days since I’ve seen my girl because I was out of town on business, tending to one of my West Coast clients, and now that I’m back, all I want to do is wrap her up in my arms, take her back to my place, and press my lips all over her sweet body.

  But someone wanted to get dinner first . . .

  I guess eating is a necessity, but so is getting inside Sutton.

  Leaning against the wall of the restaurant, I scan the streets of New York, incessantly searching for a wave of bright blonde hair. I find it funny, that this is where I am in my life, desperate for one glimpse of the girl who’s captured my heart.

  And even though it’s out of the norm for me, it feels so right, like there has been this missing piece in my life and Sutton completes me

  Remember how I said I can be a goddamn gentleman sometimes and use words like besotted?

  Well I’m fucking besotted over Sutton.

  And I’m not ashamed to admit it . . . in my head.

  Growing irritated, I lift off the wall and pull on the back of my neck—the itch for a cigarette strong—and then I spot Sutton turning the corner in her bright pink wool jacket. Her hair is curled and bouncing by her shoulders and her wind-streaked cheeks are a pretty blush that matches her lip color.

  Stunning . . . And then she looks up, finds me,
and her face lights up. Fuck, yes. My girl. She races toward me, a feat given her killer heels and form-fitting pants.

  The minute she reaches me, I bring her into my arms and lift her up to my mouth where I place a desperate kiss on her lips. I melt into her touch, into the way her hand grazes over my beard and the soft demands from her mouth, looking for more.

  I hold on to her tightly, pulling her out of the center of the sidewalk and closer to the restaurant so we aren’t blocking New Yorkers from getting to where they need to go. Two days, that was it, we’ve been apart for two days and it’s felt like pure torture. That’s how far gone I am with this girl.

  Pulling away, I take a deep breath and rest my forehead against hers as my hands circle her waist. “I missed you so damn much.”

  “I missed you too,” she replies, in that sweet southern voice. “Why did it feel like a week?”

  “No idea, but how about we skip dinner and go straight to my place?”

  She chuckles and tugs on my hand. “Nice try. Remember our relationship isn’t just about sex. There is more to us. We have substance, and we don’t have to spend every moment in bed.” Female brains are such a mystery.

  “Why the hell not? I don’t remember agreeing to that theory. We can have substance in bed.” I follow her into the restaurant and speak close to her ear. “How about we try it? I’ll bury myself deep inside of you, and we can discuss where we want to go on vacation while your tight pussy convulses around my cock” Ooof.

  Sutton elbows me in the stomach and speaks from the side of her mouth. “Can you please control yourself? We’re in public.”

  I move my hand over her ass unapologetically. “This is what you get when you force me to go to dinner after not seeing you for two days. You’re tempting fire, Sutton.”

  Glancing up at me, a seductive look in her eyes, she says, “If you really want to play that game, I have no problem turning you on while we eat dinner. Is that what you really want, McCool? A boner with your burger?”

  A smirk pulls at my lips. Damn her and her sassy mouth. “I can’t think of a better way to eat my dinner.”

  She lifts a brow in my direction. “Oh yeah?” Carefully and very nonchalantly, she backs into me and moves her hand behind her back and cups me, as if her hand is a magnet to my cock. She gives it a light squeeze, sending my libido through the roof as I jolt backward. The small chuckle playing off her lips tells me she’s completely satisfied with my reaction. “Watch it, Roark. I learned from the master on how not to play fair.”

  Gripping her shoulders now, I lean into her ear and say, “You’re going to pay for that, lass.”

  Before she can respond, the hostess greets us and Sutton gives her our name.

  “It will be about fifteen minutes. Would you like to have a seat at the bar while you wait?”

  Sutton looks up at me and then nods. “That would be lovely.”

  The hostess gestures to the left. “Right through the archway. I’ll come get you when your table is ready.”

  “Thank you.” Sutton takes my hand in hers and makes her way to the bar.

  “You know, fifteen minutes is a long time, maybe we should just order in.”

  When she faces me, I catch a giant eye-roll. “We’re going to be a civilized couple and have a dinner date.” She takes a seat on a bar stool and I block her in, trapping her with my large body.

  The bartender sets a napkin on the counter in front of Sutton and asks, “Can I get you anything?”

  Keeping my eyes on Sutton, I say, “Jameson for me and a Shirley Temple for the lady.”

  The bartender nods and starts tending to our drinks. “Shirley Temple?”

  I give a lock of her hair a quick tug and smile. “Seemed right. And I can’t remember the last time I had a drink. If I’m going to get through this meal, I’m going to need some liquid encouragement.”

  “You act as if it’s a chore to have a meal with me.”

  “It’s not a chore, Miss Green. It’s torture, especially when you’re dressed in those sexy tight pants and rocking high-as-shit heels.”

  She coyly smiles. “I might have spiced up my outfit tonight.”

  I rest my hand on her thigh, the other on the back of her chair. She’s sitting sideways so I have a good grip on her seat. “Spiced up your outfit? You’re torturing me on purpose?”

  “No.” She shakes her head and fingers the lapel of my suit jacket. She knows my normal casual meeting wardrobe, so I might have dressed up for her as well. Thinking my girl appreciates it too. “I just wanted to look good for my man.”

  “You look really fucking good.” My hand slides up her thigh. “Too good, lass.”

  The bartender pushes our drinks toward us and I reach into my wallet to pull out a fifty, when he holds up his hand. “I’ll add it to your tab, Mr. McCool.”

  When he retreats, Sutton brings her drink to her sexy lips and says, “Mr. McCool? Friends with the bartender?”

  I shrug. “They might know me here, probably not for the best of reasons. But they do have amazing burgers, and you said that’s what you were feeling. I’m surprised they don’t have a table already set up for us.”

  She pats my cheek. “Oh, how terrible, the rich man has to wait with the commoners.”

  “Keep teasing me, lass, see where it gets you.”

  “Hopefully beneath you.” She winks while sipping from her straw, the suck of her cheeks driving me crazy.

  “You’re going to make this as hard as possible, aren’t you?”

  She glances down at my crotch and smiles. “Yup. As hard as possible is always how I like it.”

  I take a swig of my whiskey and swish it slowly around my mouth for a second before swallowing. “You’re getting fucked hard tonight, Sutton.” I move in and lower my head to her ear. “I’m going to rip those pants off you, push you over the side of my couch, spread your legs and—"

  “Oh God, oh crap.” Sutton pushes at my chest, shoving me back while saying, “Get away from me.”

  “What?” I ask, completely confused by the panic in her eyes.

  “My dad,” she mutters, straightening up. “He just walked into the restaurant.”

  Oh fuck.

  “Hide.”

  I glance behind me. “I can’t hide, Sutton.”

  “Well, then take your hand off my thigh.”

  Okay, that’s a valid point. Despite not wanting to, I take a step back and put a few feet between us, a small part of me wishing Foster caught me with my hand on her thigh so we could get the announcement over with. It’s not like we’ve been lying to Foster; we’ve simply kept things quiet. But over the last week or so, I’ve felt this need to tell him, to have his approval, and now seems like a great time to get that over with.

  “Let’s call him over.”

  “Are you insane?” Sutton asks, her eyes wide. “This is not the time nor place to tell my dad we’re dating.”

  “He’s a cool guy, Sutton. I’m sure he’ll be okay with it.”

  “You don’t know him like I do.”

  Ouch.

  She might be right, but still, my relationship with Foster is one I respect tremendously. I think highly of the man, almost as if he was the father figure I’ve been searching for.

  I’m about to respond, when a man bumps into me, throwing me off balance. When I turn to look at him, he smirks and sits next to Sutton, his eyes trained on her chest.

  He holds his hand out to her and says, “Hey, I’m John.”

  Sutton glances in my direction and kindly takes the guy’s hand in hers. Anger billows up inside me only for steam to blow through my ears when she smiles at him. In my head, I know she’s being polite—it’s in her nature—but it doesn’t mean I’m not fucking pissed about it.

  “Sutton, nice to—”

  “She’s with me, lad,” I say with a stern voice, taking a step forward, but not too close in case Foster does turn in our direction.

  John looks me up and down and shakes his head. “I wa
tched her push you away, so I don’t think she wants anything to do with you, lad.”

  I grind my teeth together, trying to remain as calm as possible, remembering the idiotic breathing technique my therapist spouted off at one of my sessions. What was it? Breathe in and out for a count of ten?

  Yeah, that shit isn’t working right now.

  The hand that isn’t holding my tumbler of whiskey clenches at my side, itching to set an example for every other guy in the restaurant.

  Sutton is mine.

  “She wasn’t pushing me away,” I grind out.

  “Dude, settle down. Her hand was on your chest, she doesn’t want you near her.”

  Anytime Sutton wants to step in here would be fucking great.

  “Listen up, you thick foo—”

  “Sutton?” Foster’s voice questions behind me, and then he steps closer to the bar.

  Sutton’s eyes widen and her hand fidgets on her lap.

  “Foster Green, holy shit,” John says, as he stands and holds out his hand. “I can’t believe you’re heading into your last season. You’re my idol.”

  Being the nice man that Foster is, he smiles at John and shakes his hand. “Thank you, but the old man has to hang up his pads at some point. Hoping to finish on a high note.”

  “Hopefully the front office can pull off some good drafts this year, help you out a bit on the field.”

  “I have confidence they’ll be able to.” Giving John one last smile, he excuses us, tugs on Sutton’s hand, and gives me a look. I follow them to the corner of the bar, my heart beating in my throat. Why did he give me that look? Is he pissed? Does he know?

  I hope he doesn’t know, because I really wanted to be able to tell him myself. I think he would appreciate it coming from me.