Diary of a Bad Boy(48)

“You’re one of those people.”

“Huh?” I ask, hoping I wasn’t staring too much.

He sits down next to me on the bed and presses his hand on my thigh, looking down at me. “This is going to sound really cheesy—”

“I like cheesy.” I smile up at him.

“I figured, but you wake up looking gorgeous.” His hand glides up my thigh, and my breath hitches when he reaches my hip bone. “You know I wanted to go so much further with you last night, right?”

“I could feel that you did.” I glance at his crotch and he chuckles.

“Okay, I don’t want you thinking otherwise since I didn’t take it any further.”

“Yeah.” My teeth roll over my bottom lip. “You’re a tease.”

“Not on purpose. You’re just a temptress. You know where I stand.”

“Unfortunately.” I sigh, my hope cracking once again. “Can I ask you a question?”

“I don’t know, am I going to need coffee for it?” He rakes his hand through his unruly hair.

“Maybe.”

Standing from the bed, he walks to my “kitchen” and pulls on the back of his neck while he examines it. His bicep bulges, a boulder in the center of it as the little muscles above his ass tighten. I want to know what they feel like under my touch, how they ripple—

“Where are your other mugs?” he calls out, plugging in my tiny Keurig.

“I only have the one.”

He pauses what he’s doing and looks over his shoulder. “You only have one mug?” I nod. “Why?”

“It’s just me. Why would I need more?”

He picks up the plain white mug with a Gaining Goals logo on it. “You could have picked something with a little more personality.” He continues to make coffee as I talk.

“As if you have mugs with personality. I’m sure I would find a bunch of black mugs in your cupboard.”

“Yeah, but I’m not the guy with the personality that screams fun mugs.”

“And what kind of personality do I have?”

The coffee finishes and he looks around the little shelves for sugar, which he spots quickly and drops a little spoonful in the cup before stirring. There’s something about Roark finding his way around my kitchen with ease that’s so comforting and sexy.

Walking toward me, he answers, “Bubbly, cute, sweet.” He looks up. “You need those type of mugs. Pink ones with polka-dots. Something like that.”

“Pink with polka-dots?” I chuckle. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He motions for me to scoot over on the bed, so I do, and he doesn’t take long to slip under the sheets with me and put his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in close. He hands me the mug and says, “We can share.”

Share.

This all seems so domestic, like there is something brewing between us rather than simply sexual tension. I could’ve guessed that last night when he showed up at my apartment drunk and wanting to cuddle. Needing to hold me, touch me. There really is something brewing, I just want to know what.

I take the mug and give it a blow before looking up at him, a smile playing at my lips. “I usually add milk too.”

“You couldn’t have said that while I was up?” He takes the mug from me and goes to the kitchen.

“I didn’t know we were sharing.”

He splashes some milk in the coffee and gives it another quick stir. “What kind of dick would I be if I made myself coffee and not you? Now if you had more than one mug, there wouldn’t have been any confusion.”

“Aren’t you clever?” I ask just as he gets back into position, but this time, he keeps the mug for himself.

Arm around my shoulders, he pulls me into his side, his fresh scent warming my toes. “Okay, what was your question? Coffee in hand, I’m ready.”

Second-guessing myself, I say, “Umm, never mind.”

“No way.” He shakes his head. “I made coffee in the tiniest kitchen I’ve ever seen, so you’re asking me that question.”

Chuckling, I rest my head against his shoulder, feeling incredibly nervous, but also curious about his answer. “So, what’s going on between us?”

He’s silent for a second, and my breath hangs on his every word. Finally, “Hell if I know.” He scratches the side of his jaw. “I know I can’t have you, but I can’t seem to stay away either.”

“That makes no sense. You touch me like we’re together. You speak to me like there’s more than friendship, but when it comes to anything physical, you shy away.”

“I don’t shy away. I stop myself and for good reason.”

“Why?” I ask frustrated.

“You know why, Sutton.”

“So you’re allowed to basically turn me on whenever you’re around and then take off, leaving me yearning for your touch?” I push off his chest and turn to look him in the eyes, which are focused on the wall across from us.

Quietly, he says, “It’s not easy for me, Sutton. Don’t think this is something I enjoy. Okay?” He rubs his jaw. “Listen, I’m sorry I came over last night and confused things. I blurred the lines, and I shouldn’t have done that.”