Diary of a Bad Boy

by Quinn, Meghan

  Cautiously, I approach the father and daughter duo. He holds out his hand, and we shake. “Roark.” I go to answer him, trying to find my footing amidst this awkwardness, when Foster looks over my shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting to see you two here.”

  Sutton nervously laughs. “Small world, huh? I was getting a drink after work and ran into Roark.”

  Okay, guess we won’t be telling the truth tonight.

  I run my tongue over the front of my teeth, as a faint pang of hurt radiates in the pit of my stomach. I know she wouldn’t simply up and tell her dad, but this could have been the perfect lead-in. We haven’t really talked about how we’re going to tell him because every time I try to bring it up, Sutton changes the subject, and now that I think about it, I wonder if there’s a deep-rooted reason why.

  My mind battles with my heart as I try to convince myself that the worry starting to imprint my mind is just that . . . worry. Unfounded worry.

  “Were you two going to eat alone?” Foster asks, glancing over my shoulder again.

  “Uh, I was supposed to meet Maddie,” Sutton says. The lies keep spinning off her tongue. “But she cancelled. Roark got me this Shirley Temple. Wasn’t that nice of him?”

  “It was.” Foster glances at the drink and then at mine. “How have you been, Roark? I haven’t seen you in a bit.”

  I hold my drink down at my side, not wanting him to think I was at the bar drinking by myself. “Good.” I nod awkwardly.

  “That’s good,” Foster answers, looking distracted. “I’m sorry Maddie cancelled on you. I was going to grab a bite to eat, we could invite John over there to join us if you like.” Winking, Foster adds, “He can’t be bad if he’s a fan of your old man’s, I guess.”

  How about the old man’s agent? The words almost slip past my lips, but I hold them back.

  “What do you think? He’s a good-looking guy,” Foster continues, looking a little uncomfortable at trying to play matchmaker. He’s not as fucking uncomfortable as I am right now.

  From over my shoulder, Sutton takes a look at John, for God knows what reason, and says, “Yeah, he is.”

  Uh . . .

  What the fuck?

  Is she trying to blow my gasket? Because I’m about to lose my shit if she looks at that douche one more time.

  “Unless, you’re still caught up on that guy we talked about? Did you meet up with him when you got back to the city?”

  I hang on her answer, knowing fully well that Foster is talking about me. Sutton takes that moment to sip from her drink, avoiding all eye contact in my direction. Talk about the perfect opportunity to open up the conversation about us dating. However, she says, “Things are complicated with him.”

  When she quickly glances at me, my brow quirks up. Complicated, huh? Last I knew, we were anything but complicated, but I get it, we’re in a public place and she’s nervous.

  But, fuck. I know her intention is not to treat me as her dirty little secret, but it feels like she is. It fucking hurts.

  “Well then, should I bring that guy over here, introduce him to my beautiful daughter?”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Roark is here, and I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.”

  Foster laughs and grips my shoulder. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind, he can help me scope out the guy.”

  Over my dead body.

  Why is he pushing this? She said no, for fuck’s sake.

  I send death beams over to Sutton, trying to communicate with my eyes that she needs to deter her father from his terrible idea and quickly.

  “I’m really not ready, Dad,” she says with more force, cluing Foster in to drop it.

  “Right. Good.” I’ve never seen Foster like this—uncomfortable. Awkward. He clears his throat. “You could get his number—”

  “Dad,” Sutton groans, which causes him to laugh.

  He pulls Sutton into a hug and kisses the top of her head while glancing toward the door again. His eyes have been dodgy this entire time, which makes me wonder . . .

  “Oh my gosh. Look, it’s Whitney,” Sutton says when she pulls away from Foster.

  No wonder he’s been one foot out of our conversation the entire time. Foster was meeting Whitney here. His distance makes so much sense now. And it looks like things are about to get interesting. “Hey Whitney, over here.” Sutton waves to her.

  Foster tenses next to Sutton and quickly glances in my direction as if begging for help. Even if I knew what to do, I don’t think I’d help out because honestly, Sutton is an adult, and if her dad is dating someone, she should know.

  And vice versa, but I’m not going to go there again.

  Whitney cautiously approaches, looking stunning in a fitted red dress and black heels. Her hair is curled in waves cascading over her shoulders, and her lips match the hue of her dress. I glance over at Foster, who has a searing look of appreciation on his face.

  Christ. If it isn’t obvious now, the look on Foster’s face bellows that he’s in love.

  “Hey, you guys.” She avoids all eye contact with Foster—not obvious at all.

  “Wow, Whitney. You look amazing,” Sutton says. “That color is gorgeous on you.”

  “Thank you.” Whitney fidgets with her clutch and tries to smile, but it looks incredibly forced.

  Still oblivious, Sutton says, “What are the odds we’re all here together at the same time? Kind of weird, huh?” She gives her dad a once-over. “You look like you’re here for a date, and Whitney, what’s the occasion? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so dressed up besides at a work event.”

  Foster and Whitney glance at each other, a worried look in their eyes.

  Now if I were Sutton’s boyfriend in this moment, rather than being hidden, I’d step up next to her and explain what’s unfolding in front of her. Instead, I lean back on my heels and take a sip from my tumbler, watching the wheels start to spin in Sutton’s head.

  “You’re both here, looking really nice.” She twists her lips to the side, thinking. “There was nothing important on the calendar for tonight.” She looks up at her dad and then to Whitney. Back to her dad. “Are you . . .” I think she’s almost there; she’s putting the puzzle pieces together. “Are you two seeing each other?”

  Whitney bites her bottom lip and looks like she’s about to throw up, while Foster stuffs his hands in his pockets and thinks over his answer.

  “I didn’t want you to find out like this, sweetie. I wanted to sit down and tell you, but with your new job and everything going on in your life, I didn’t want to make things weird.” Straightening up, he wraps his arm around Whitney’s waist, who quickly melts into his side and says, “But since it’s kind of obvious, Whitney and I have been dating for a while now. We’re, uh . . . we’re in love.”

  Slowly, I turn toward Sutton, a squint in my eyes as I wait for her reaction.

  She blinks a few times as her mind processes, but once it does, a small tear slides down her cheek, and it takes everything in me not to reach out and wipe it away for her.

  “Dad, that’s . . . that’s so amazing. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner.” Sutton reaches out and pulls Whitney into a hug. “Gosh, I’m so happy for you two.”

  And if I wasn’t in love with the girl already, I would be right now. This could have gone so many ways, but instead of freaking out, she instantly accepts the new information with open arms, making her dad and Whitney both look at ease.

  Sutton’s not only beautiful on the outside, but she’s absolutely gorgeous on the inside.

  “Thank you,” Whitney says, looking quite relieved. “I wasn’t sure how you’d take it since I’m your boss, but I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’re okay with this.”

  “As long as you’re happy, that’s all I care about.” Sutton gives her dad a hug as well, one that lasts much longer than expected. She says something into his chest, but I can’t quite make it out with all the background noise. T
his could be our moment though. Seeing he understands being in love, I’m certain he’ll see the same look in my eyes for Sutton that he has for Whitney.

  Awkwardly I turn to Whitney and say, “Congrats.”

  “Thank you.” She laughs and nods. “And congrats to you as well.”

  Oh.

  Shit.

  I squeeze my eyes shut as Foster says, “Congrats?”

  Christ. This is so not how things were supposed to go down.

  I look at Sutton who pales immediately, panic racing through her eyes. Normally quick on my feet, I feel tongue-tied, unsure what to say, unsure what Sutton wants me to say. We must be silent for too long because Foster starts to look between the two of us. This is it. This is where he sees my love for his daughter. We shouldn’t have to spell it out either.

  “Sutton,” his voice grows serious, “is there something you need to tell me?” When Foster glances in my direction, he doesn’t look happy. A lesser man would wilt under his stare but instead, I hold my position and don’t break eye contact.

  “I, uh . . . I was going to tell you—”

  “Mr. Green, your table is ready,” the hostess says, breaking the tension in our little circle.

  Foster rolls his teeth over his lip, looking between the two of us before nodding his head—not in a happy way—and taking Whitney’s hand in his. Without another word, he follows the hostess toward the dining room as Whitney apologetically whispers to us “sorry.”

  Not a single comment. Nothing.

  I expected him to have something to say, but silence?

  Fuck. I don’t think I can take silence.

  Once out of the room, Sutton presses her hand to her forehead as tears start to well up in her eyes. I’m at her side immediately, but again she pushes me away.

  “That was so bad,” she says, her voice shaking. “He’s so mad.”

  “Sutton”—I take a step forward, but she takes another step back—“can we go to my place and figure this out?”

  “What’s there to figure out, Roark?” She gestures toward her retreating dad. “He’s clearly angry.”

  “He’s processing.”

  She shakes her head. “That’s not processing, that’s seething.”

  “Let’s just go back to my place—”

  “Hey, she clearly doesn’t want to go anywhere with you.” My shoulder is pulled back, flinging me around to find John, once again. This wanker.

  Taking a calming breath, I say, “If you were smart, you’d mind your own business.”

  “If you were smart, you’d take a hint,” John replies, side-stepping me and taking Sutton’s hand in his. “Come with me.”

  Sutton’s face says it all.

  Help me.

  “Drop her hand, now,” I say, giving him a fair warning.

  Instead, the idiot weaves Sutton through the throng of people even as she says, “That’s my boyfriend.”

  “If he is, he’s treating you like shit,” I hear him say before they move out of earshot.

  I want to toss the motherfucker into the wall, but I can’t. It’s a grand restaurant, and I can’t afford to get into another fight. Even though a douche named John thinks he can play superhero. Where the hell did this guy come from?

  So instead, I set my tumbler down on a high-top table and follow them . . . calmly. But when I round the corner to the hallway that leads to the bathrooms, all I see is red.

  John has Sutton pressed up against the wall, trapping her as she tries to push him away, but he doesn’t budge.

  Fuck. No.

  This motherfucker has messed with the wrong person. No one takes my girl from me or traps her against her will. Fury. That’s where I’m at now.

  “Get away,” I hear her screech, right before I rip the guy’s shoulder back and plow my fist right across his jaw.

  He stumbles backward a few steps and blinks before he looks up at me and charges, bulldozing into my body and ramming me against the wall. He gets a few punches into my side before I knee him in the gut and get free of his grasp.

  In the background, I hear the shrill cries of women as I charge after John, my fist connecting with his side right before his crosses my eye, sending a thrilling pain through my skull.

  “Roark, stop,” Sutton yells.

  I can’t stop. He had his hands on my girl. But before I can cock back my arm again, a pair of strong hands pulls me back by the collar of my shirt and pulls me through the entryway and into the streets where I’m thrust forward.

  I turn to find Foster, standing boldly, hands on his hips, a look of fierce anger in his eyes. I’m still bristling with rage from what that motherfucker did to my girl. Sutton moves toward me, but before she can touch me, Foster gestures his arm to the side. “Get out of here, Roark.”

  I catch my balance, leaning forward as blood drips from my nose to the ground. I swipe my hand across my face and look up at the man I respect more than any other male figure in my life. “Foster, it’s not like it seems.”

  “It seems like you haven’t changed. I stuck my neck out for you and slapped my name on yours as a sponsor.” He pushes his hand through his hair. “I expected more from you.”

  “Dad.” Sutton tries to pull his arm but Foster moves forward, closing the space between us.

  “When I first met you, Roark, I knew you’d bring my business and image to the next level. You lift athletes up and help portray a positive image around them and yet, here you are, still drinking, still getting in fights, hiding goddamn secrets.” He takes another step closer, getting in my face. “Dating my daughter and not saying anything to me.” He shakes his head. “I thought you had more respect for me than that.”

  “Dad, please. Don’t—”

  “No, Sutton. Not now,” he says to her, causing her to step back with a sob.

  Foster focuses his barely contained fury back on me. “You’re not the man I thought you were, and you’ll probably never be the man I believed you had the potential to be.” He looks me up and down. “There is no way I’ll let my daughter date anyone less than what she deserves. And you, Roark, you’re nowhere near her level.”

  Retreating, he takes Sutton by the shoulder and guides her back to the restaurant. “Sutton,” I call out. But it’s not love I see in her tear-filled eyes when she briefly looks over her shoulder. Is she angry too? Disappointed? She turns and follows her father into the restaurant, leaving me alone on the streets.

  Fuck.

  I wipe at my nose again and then look up at the sky, wondering what the hell just happened. How did I go from teasing and joking with my girl to being kicked out of a high-end restaurant with bloody knuckles and nothing to show for it? What the fuck? I’m itching to punch something . . . someone. That fucker better not show his face outside.

  You are nowhere near her level.

  Words I never wanted to hear validated. But there they are, falling from Foster’s lips. They ring truer than anything I’ve ever heard.

  There’s at least one thing I know for sure, despite everything Sutton said to me, wanting to be by my side, thinking I’m the man she wanted, she was pretty quick to retreat once her dad voiced his thoughts.

  * * *

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  I look over my shoulder to find Rath with a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair in disarray.

  “Pouring myself a drink. What does it look like?”

  He steps closer and switches on a light, burning my retinas with the brightness. I try to cover up my eyes as I wobble on my feet.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “What didn’t happen?” I ask, topping my cup to the brim with whiskey. I turn around and lean against the bar counter, giving Rath my best smile over my filled glass.

  “Christ.” Rath looks behind him and adjusts the knot on his towel. “Guessing you’re not going anywhere too soon.”

  “Nope,” I answer, popping the P.

  “And Bram wasn’t available?”

  �
��Bram is all about that love shit right now. Couldn’t take it, so I came here.”

  “Lucky me,” Rath says while blowing out a long breath. “Have a seat in the living room while I take care of something.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” I answer, strutting toward the couch, the room spinning around me. After being tossed out of the restaurant, I went to the first bar I found and drank until I was drunk enough to grab a cab to Rath’s apartment.

  Why here?

  Simple, I can’t be at my place, not right now. Not when Sutton keeps calling and texting me. I turned my phone off, not able to take it anymore.

  I read some of her texts.

  She was sorry, she needs to talk to me. Please be careful, shit like that. But it means nothing to me. It can’t mean anything to me.

  Not after what Foster said to me.

  Not after the look she gave me as she walked away.

  I saw it in her eyes, almost as if she agreed with her dad.

  From the hallway, Rath appears in a pair of sweatpants and holding a girl’s hand as he walks her to the elevator. I hear him whisper something while pressing the down button, but can’t quite make it out.

  Feeling a little guilty, I wave my hand in their direction and shout out, “Sorry about the cockblock.”

  Rath shoots me a death glare and then presses a quick kiss on the girl’s lips before sending her on her way. Once the doors are closed, he lets out a long breath and grabs himself a tumbler of whiskey as well before joining me on the couch.

  “She seemed nice,” I say, trying to fill in the silence.

  “Yeah.”

  I shrug. “She had good legs.”

  “That she did,” Rath says, leaning back and looking to the ceiling.

  “But she isn’t the girl we don’t talk about, is she?”

  “We’re not here to pick apart my love life,” he growls at me. “Now tell me what the fuck happened so I can go to bed.”

  “Where should I start?” I scratch the side of my jaw. “Foster found out about me and Sutton.”

  “Shit, did he punch you?” Rath asks, sitting up and facing me now.