Diary of a Bad Boy(24)

“Are you still standing there?” Roark asks, hand poised at the knot of his towel.

“What?” My gaze snaps up. “Well,” I fidget under his stare, nervous as to what to say, “we, uh . . . we didn’t have a proper goodbye.”

Out of all the things to say . . .

“If you’re looking for someone to tuck you in or bid you farewell with a goodnight kiss, you’ve come to the wrong place.” Turning away, he whips his towel off and slips into bed.

It’s the second time I’ve seen his butt today and it still has the same effect on me, setting a ball of fire off in my stomach, warming up all my veins.

I chew on my lip, and he must notice because he sighs and says, “What?”

“You wouldn’t, uh, want to escort me to Brooklyn, would you?”

“Not even if you offered to suck my cock before we left. I’m naked, in bed, and about to go to sleep. You can either leave or you can go to the guest room. Either way, tell me now so I can set the security system.”

Oddly, that’s the reaction I expected from him. I guess I don’t have a choice in the matter. I’m not going out on the streets in this blizzard by myself, which means one thing: I’ll be shacking up with Roark McCool for the night.

Pointing my finger at him, I say, “No funny business, you hear me? I’ll be locking my door and I sleep very lightly, so any movement in my room and I’ll hear it. I will report you if you try anything.”

“Christ,” he mutters, dragging his hands over his face. “Trust me, lass. You don’t have to worry about me coming anywhere near you. Now get out of here. I’m tired.” Yup. Hearing you loud and clear.

I chew on the side of my mouth. “You know, you could be a little nicer. After all, we did spend the day together.”

“Not by my choosing.” He fluffs his pillow. Not really by my choice either, Mr. A-Hole.

I fiddle with my fingers. “Do you always sleep naked?”

Lifting up from the bed, he points at the door. “Go. Now.”

“Okay, yeah. Sure. Night, night.”

Night, night? Come on, Sutton. Try better to not look like a fool.

When I look back over my shoulder, all I can see is the slight shake of his head. Figures. I’ve humiliated myself enough today, why not end the entire day with a simple night, night?

Just perfect.





Chapter Seven





Dear Sebastian,

Who the fuck says night, night?

Who at the age of twenty-fucking-four says night, night to a grown-ass man?

Sutton Grace, that’s who.

Christ. What a goddamn day. I couldn’t shake her off me to save my life, and do you know what the really messed up in the goddamn head thing is? I liked it.

Yeah, I liked having her around. I liked her shock, her innocence, the way she grumbled whenever I did something she didn’t approve of. I liked every fucking second of it, and if that isn’t a red flag I don’t know what is.

So, I set out to get rid of her. I thought the nightclub would be her final straw, but instead she sat back on the couch, ate like a queen at her palace, and cutely tapped her foot to the music.

Tapped her goddamn foot.

What did I do with that? What every other idiotic man would do. I brought her back to my place and told her to sleep in the guest room. Mind you, the room is entirely too far away for me to even notice, but it’s like I can feel her breathing the same air. I know she’s there, and that’s why I’m up at three in the morning, writing to you like some agonized teen. Hell . . .

This entire time I thought I was writing to a talking crab, kind of cool, but not going to work for me. Sorry, Sebastian.

Roark





ROARK





Light sleeper… bullshit.

Fully dressed for the day and drinking a hot cup of coffee, I stare at Sutton, whose mouth is half open, drooling all over my goose-down pillow, ass high in the air, and arms strangely flanked at her side. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Honestly, it looks like she’s an ostrich with her head stuck in the ground. I don’t know what to make of it.

There is really only one thing I can do at this point . . .

To maintain my reputation, I might have taken a few pictures for emergency use later. Can’t pass up an opportunity like this.

I pocket my phone and walk closer to the bed, unsure how to wake her up. I could shout, scaring the shit out of her, or I could turn on a blaring alarm right next to her ear, guaranteeing a straight piss to my Egyptian cotton sheets. I could poke her with a broom—if I knew where one was. Smack her in the ass like she’s a newborn baby. Gently rock her back and forth until her eyelids flutter open or soothingly rub her back. Maybe let the sun shine through the curtains.

Nah, I’m not that nice.

Instead, I pick up a pillow from the ground and toss it at her. Hair scattered all over her face, she lifts up and looks around, trying to gain her bearings. Brushing her hair out of her face with her hand, she makes eye contact with me and yelps, startling backward on the bed.

I sip my coffee casually. “Morning.”

She pats down her body, clearly checking for clothes and then sighs in audible relief. “We didn’t have sex.”

“Thank fuck, right?” I press my hand to my chest. “What a relief. I can’t afford to get pregnant right now.”