Diary of a Bad Boy(7)

“Would it hurt you to say thank you?”

“No, but I’m not thankful, so it would be wasted words.”

She huffs. “You’re a jerk. I’m . . . I’m going to toss your phone in the trash can.”

“Suit yourself, I’m fine with using yours. Plus the selfies you took are an added bonus.”

“Stop looking at my pictures.” I smile to myself, but when I look up at Rath, his arms are crossed over his chest, and he shakes his head at me. “Can we please set up another meeting? I really need my phone back.”

“Sure thing, lass.” I scratch the stubble on my cheek. “How does next Tuesday work?”

“Next Tuesday?” she asks, outraged. “Next Tuesday does not work. How about in the next hour?”

“Ah, I’m naked and not decent. It’s going to take me at least two hours to put pants on. I do have a black eye, ya know. Hard to see.” She doesn’t need to know I’m already halfway dressed.

I have no idea why I’m being such a dick to this girl. Honestly, I kind of like the anger in her voice, the fiery sparks being flung my way.

“It’s not my fault you got in a fight over ketchup.”

“Don’t judge. I didn’t judge you and the duck-lip photos in your phone.”

“I’m going to kick you square in the balls.”

“You’re not making me want to meet up with you anytime soon.”

Blowing out a frustrated breath, she says, “Just tell me a freaking time . . . today. Not next Tuesday.”

I glance at my nightstand clock and think about it. “Tonight, eight, at Marlo.”

“Marlo, I don’t know—”

I hang up and toss the phone on the bed, exhausted.

“You’re a dick,” Rath says with a roll of his eyes.

I can’t stop the chuckle that bubbles out of me. “I know. But it’s my nature.”

Standing from the bed, I walk to the bathroom and peer into the mirror, checking my eye out again. It looks even worse now that I’m more awake.

“How many black eyes is that for you?” Rath asks, leaning on the doorway.

“Too many to count.”





Sutton: I can’t believe you just hung up on me.

Sutton: I have no idea what this Marlo place is.

Sutton: Hello? If you’re not going to answer my calls, at least text me back.

Sutton: Seriously, I will call the police for stealing phone.

Sutton: Why are you the worst human ever?

Roark: Some of us have to work and can’t spend our entire day taking selfies.

Sutton: I don’t take that many! Why did you hang up on me?

Roark: Had to take a piss and didn’t want you to listen in.

Sutton: You are so vulgar.

Roark: Because I said piss? I could say way worse.

Sutton: Spare me. Just tell me where this place is that we need to meet.

Roark: It’s called Google Maps.

Sutton: I tried, and I couldn’t find it.

Roark: Did you put in Marlowhit?

Sutton: What? No, you just said Marlo.

Roark: You’re exhausting. Marlowhit is a club. I put your name on the list as phone girl. Just tell the bouncer you have Roark’s phone, and he’ll show you in.

Sutton: Can’t you meet me outside?

Roark: I can, but I don’t want to. See you at eight. Don’t be late.

Sutton: You don’t be late!





Sutton: Sending a reminder, you’re supposed to meet me in an hour.

Sutton: Text me back to let me know you are good for eight.

Sutton: Are we still on for eight?

Sutton: Thirty minutes, please text me!

Roark: Something came up. Can’t meet tonight.

Sutton: What? You can’t be serious. The exchange will take ten seconds, what possibly could have come up?

Roark: My dick. Met a girl. Rain check.

Sutton: You can’t possibly be serious.

Roark: Sex is way more important.

Sutton: Pick up the phone.

Sutton: I will call you all night.

Sutton: You’re such a . . . ugh, you’re an asshole.





Chapter Three





Dear Terrance,

Terry. Can I call you Terry? What about T-dawg? Are you a fan?

I’m not.

It’s a work in progress.

I’m going to be honest with you, because that’s what this is about, right? Being honest with one another? Well, I had every intention of meeting up with that girl yesterday, I really did, but then Carmella came up to me with a sultry look on her face and intentions to make me come when she sat on my lap. I really had no choice.

There was no way I could deny my dick another missed opportunity, so I took it.

Do I feel a little bad?

Maybe.

But it’s not like the girl doesn’t have a phone to contact people for emergencies. She has mine. So one more day isn’t going to kill her.

That’s what I thought until I woke up to Carmella’s tit in my hand and twenty murderous text messages waiting for me from Miss Impatient.

Don’t worry, I soothed my terrified soul with Carmella’s tit in my mouth.

I feel much better.

Thanks, T-man.