Diary of a Bad Boy(45)

“You’re drunk.”

“I know.”

“This isn’t a booty call.”

His brow frowns. “You’d never be a booty call to me, Sutton.”

God, it melts my heart when he says things like that. I should tell him to go home, but my body reacts differently as I step aside and let him in. When he starts to pass me, he reaches out and takes my hand in his, clutching tightly as he walks through the threshold of my apartment. It’s nothing compared to his. It’s two rooms—living space and bathroom—but it’s perfect for me. All I need.

I flip the nightstand light on, providing some light to the space as Roark looks around. He doesn’t say anything, just observes. What’s he thinking? Is he even thinking about anything? He’s a pretty lucid drunk, even when he’s wobbly in the legs.

Finally, he turns toward me and asks, “Can I use your bathroom and toothbrush?”

“Bathroom, yes, toothbrush, no. I have a spare under the sink though. Toothpaste is in the medicine cabinet.”

“Thanks, lass.” He glances around and asks, “Uh, is there a bathroom?”

I chuckle and point behind him. “The only door on the right over there.”

Nodding, he releases my hand and takes off. Unsure what to do, I get back in bed. He came all the way to Brooklyn when most likely he was drinking close to his apartment. If he’s not here for a booty call, why is he here? And what caused him to get so drunk?

I glance at my shirt, the way my nipples are puckered against the fabric, something that happens whenever he’s around. My body begs for him, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Picking my phone back up, I finish reading the texts he sent, hoping for a clue why he’s here.

Roark: Have I told you I want to fuck you? I think I have.

I re-read the text above the last, reminding myself of how he wants me to sit on his lap. Well, if this isn’t a booty call, I don’t know what it is. From the texts he sent, it seems like there’s only one thing on his mind.

I turn back to the texts.

Roark: I don’t want to be at this nightclub anymore. I want to see you. Are you sleeping or are you ignoring me?

Roark: Why is Brooklyn so far away?

Roark: I need to hire a car service so I can transport you safely.

That makes my heart swell. Even drunk, he can be thoughtful. Thoughtful but confusing. He doesn’t want to start anything with me, and yet, he wants to protect me, he’s constantly texting, and he’s here in the dark of night, apparently not for a booty call.

I don’t think I could be more confused.

The bathroom door opens, and Roark steps out into my tiny studio apartment wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs. The light from the bathroom lights up every contour of his chest and his chiseled arms. Reaching back, he flips the light off and then struts toward me. Swallowing hard, my skin prickling with need, I watch him close the distance between us. When he reaches me, I hold my breath, wondering where this is going.

He nods at the mattress. “Scoot over, lass.” He must see uncertainty in my eyes because he says, “We’re just sleeping, now scoot over.”

Okay with that, I turn the light off on my nightstand then move over on the bed. He slips in right behind me. Unsure of what to do, I sit up and awkwardly watch him get comfortable. Once he’s settled, lying flat, one hand propped behind his head, his gaze lulls to the side. “Are ya going to lie down, Sutton?”

“Do you want me to lie down?”

“I sure as hell don’t want you hovering over me while I sleep.” He tugs on my hand. “Come here.”

He turns on his side and guides me down onto the bed so we’re facing each other, both our hands tucked under a pillow. Lazily, he smiles at me and pushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “Thanks for answering your door.”

“Why are you here, Roark?”

He shrugs and swipes his thumb across my cheek, our bodies only a foot away from touching. “I didn’t want to go home, and none of the girls at the nightclub interested me.”

That makes me pull away. “Were you with any of them?” That would make me sick, if he had girls hanging all over him then comes to my place. I might be desperate for his touch, but I’m not that desperate. I have my standards, and being second fiddle to other women isn’t one of them.

“How could I be?” he asks. “Not when you’re the only goddamn thing I think about.”

Smiling, I lean back into his touch, melting at his answer. “You think about me, but you won’t be with me.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t deserve you, Sutton. You’re the type of girl you take home to meet your parents, and I’m not the guy who takes women home.”

And just like that, he shatters the ounce of hope brewing inside me. He could be that guy. I can see it in him, in the little acts of thoughtfulness he shows, the sincerity in his eyes whenever he sees me, but for some reason, he refuses to accept it.

“Then why are you here?” I ask quietly, unable to look him in the eyes.

“Because I needed you.” His hand moves down my body to my hip where it rests. “Rough day, Sutton. I needed you.”

The rhythm of my heart skips a beat. “Do you . . . do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head and yawns. “No, I just want you in my arms.” He nods behind me. “Turn the other way.”