Diary of a Bad Boy(71)
For some reason, that doesn’t settle well with me. “Is there not enough passion between us for you to sweep me off my feet?”
“The complete opposite,” he answers. “I would get way too lost to be able to stop if your dad came out here . . . or that douche Josh.”
I chuckle and play with the collar of his shirt, the fire lighting up the lines in his brow. “You really don’t like him, do you?”
“Not even a little. He’s been checking you out way too much, and he’s been really fucking handsy. I was insulted for you.”
“Josh is a nice—”
“Josh is a douche, end of story.”
“Is that how this is going to be? You’re going to be a jealous fool?”
He nods . . . unapologetically. “And you have the right to be jealous too. You know, Miss Angelica was flirting with me the other day, trying to get me to eat her biscuit.”
I roll my eyes. “Miss Angelica is seventy-five years old, and she was trying to get you to eat her biscuits, plural. Don’t be a pervert.”
“I don’t know, there was a certain glint in her eye that told me, if I followed her back to the kitchen, she’d show me her cupboard, if you know what I mean.”
“You’re stupid.” I chuckle.
He laughs too and moves his hands up my bare back. “And yet you still want to be with me.”
“Yeah, I must be crazy.” I playfully grip his cheeks and plant a kiss on his lips. When I go to pull away, he keeps me in place and once again, his mouth locks with mine. I sigh into his hold and let him take over.
Blanket laid out across the meadow, the fire put out, I lie next to Roark and stare at the sky, enjoying the stars glittering above us as he keeps me warm with his arm wrapped around me. I dance my hand over his chest and snuggle in close, still a little shocked that he’s here, next to me, after the back and forth we’ve been through.
“Do you ever see yourself moving back here?” he asks, his voice rumbling over me.
“Maybe one day, but right now I’m focused on my career.”
“You could really do that anywhere, so if you had to choose a place to live, where would it be?”
I press my lips together and give it some thought. “You know, I don’t think I’m really cut out for New York City. I love the atmosphere, but a lot of time I feel out of place.”
“You’re a country girl. You look like you’re in your element out here. The smile on your face when exercising your horses nearly brought me to my knees.”
“Are you trying to get me to move back here?”
“Hell no, but I can see you doing it at some point and I don’t blame you. It’s gorgeous here. I can see why your dad is excited about retirement. Life seems to slow down in the country.”
“It’s why he loves it so much, because he feels like he has time to sit back and breathe in the fresh air. I’m excited for him to have a break from the tough schedule he’s been keeping.”
“He’ll wear retirement well.”
Lifting up on my elbow, I meet Roark’s eyes. “This is going to sound stupid but thank you for taking care of him for the last few years, making sure he gets good deals that represent his brand and foundation.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Sutton. It’s my job.”
“A job you do well.”
His brow quirks up. “Is that so? I thought I was the most unprofessional person you know.”
“You are, but shockingly you’re still able to do your job. I don’t get it, but it works for you.”
“I got lucky,” he answers, tugging on a strand of hair and then wrapping it around his finger. “When I first got to the States and was attending classes at Yale, I was slightly wild with the partying.”
“You? No way. I don’t believe that for a second,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my lips.
He squeezes my side, a smile on his handsome lips. “I was excited to be free from my parents, so I drank and partied a lot. That’s how I ended up in the same fraternity as my two best friends, Bram and Rath. From then on, I saw opportunities, schmoozed with the right people, and it wasn’t long before I gained credibility amongst friends—despite my partying. For some fucking reason, they trusted me with their careers, which was how I became their manager. I have no idea how to explain the way I got into this business besides pure Irish luck, but I take the job seriously, even if at times it doesn’t seem like I do.”
“It shows. Are all your clients happy?”
“Eh, not all of them. I’ve lost a few, but I think it’s because our personalities haven’t meshed. I really can’t work with the pompous, uptight athletes. Too needy, and I don’t deal with that crap.”
“You don’t want to deal with people who are needy, and yet you’re the neediest man I’ve ever met.”
“What? I’m not fucking needy.”
“You came to my apartment one night because you needed to hold me.”
“That was different.” His voice turns soft. “It was a bad fucking night for me, and you were the only person I knew who would take that pain away.”
And now I feel like a jerk for joking about it.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”