Diary of a Bad Boy(76)

“Oh, okay, blaming me for your forgetfulness. I see how this is going to go.”

“And I see that you’re not taking responsibility.”

I smile, loving how she feels comfortable enough to spar with me. “You know I feel like shit about that morning.”

“I know,” she sighs. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“If you didn’t leave that morning, what do you think you would have done?”

Staring at the ceiling, I think about it. “I don’t know. Fleeing seems like the only thing I know to do. I don’t think I was ready at that moment to start something up with you. I probably would’ve said something really shitty and destroyed your spirit. Walking out was probably the best idea.”

“I wish you hadn’t.”

“Yeah, I know.” I sigh, hating that I can’t be the well-balanced person she deserves. “I won’t do it again, if that helps.”

“I know you won’t. What are you doing the rest of the week, finishing up on the contract negotiations?”

“Yeah, maybe buying some new sheets.”

“New sheets? That’s weird.” She chuckles. “Why?”

“I assume you’re going to want to stay the night when you get back to the city.”

“You don’t have to get new sheets for me,” she says.

With a smile, I say, “I do if I don’t want your gnarly toenails cutting up my nice ones.”

“What?” she asks. “I don’t have gnarly toenails.”

“I’ll put a label on them. These sheets only used when Sutton is over. I’ve marked up the guest sheets already from the brutal beating you’ve put them through.”

“I have not messed up your sheets.”

“Am I going to have to send you empirical evidence?”

“Yes,” she says, challenging me.

Pulling up Safari on my phone, I quickly search torn-up sheets, save a picture of tattered white ones, and send it to her in a text message.

“Evidence is on the way.”

She waits, and I know the minute the text comes in because she scoffs loudly. “Those are not your sheets.”

“I know it’s hard to tell from the massacre they’ve been through, but I can guarantee you, they used to be on my guest bed.”

“Are you trying to win me over? Because it’s not working.”

“Win you over? Pfft,” I playfully say. “Lass, I already got ya hooked. I’m trying to train you now.”

“Train me?” I swear to God, if she was here I’d be watching her eyeballs pop out of their sockets. “There’ll be no training me. I’m the one who trains you.”

“Why? I’m perfect already.”

“Not full of yourself at all.”

I chuckle. “Got to be a little full of yourself if you’re going to make it places.”

“Is that right?”

“Yup. Look at all the great athletes out there, like your dad. He doesn’t sit back and let everyone think he’s average. Even the most humble puff their chest from time to time. You have to. Try puffing your chest, Sutton.”

“If I puff my chest, you’d end up staring at my boobs.”

She couldn’t be more accurate. “And there’s a problem with that because?”

“Because I have eyes.”

“Aye, ya do. Pretty ones at that.”

She’s silent for a second and then says, “When your accent gets heavy like that, it’s really hot.”

“Yeah, your pussy getting wet?”

“Roark! Oh my God, don’t say that. What is wrong with you?”

A full-on belly laugh escapes me. Holding my stomach, I let the laughter fill the phone as I hear a small chuckle come from the other end. “Ya don’t like me talking about your wet pussy?”

“I mean . . . not like that.”

“And there’s the innocent girl I’ve been missing. For a second there, I thought she ran away and was replaced by a sex-crazed vixen.”

“I would hardly call me a sex-crazed vixen. Way to exaggerate.”

“Don’t you know, Sutton, that’s the way of the Irish? If we’re not over-exaggerating then we’re not telling a story correctly.”

“Now you have me questioning every story you’ve ever told me.”

“Never question an Irishman and his stories; it’s bad luck.” I shift in bed and put the phone on speaker so I can turn on my side and still talk to her.

“Is it really?”

“Nah, that was an exaggeration.”

She lets out a long sigh. “You’re exhausting.”

“Just wait until I get you naked. I’ll show you how exhausting I am.”

“What if we’re not compatible sexually? Man, what a letdown that would be.”

Brow pinched, I ask, “What do you mean? Of course we’ll be compatible.”

“I mean, we might not. My friend Stacey was dating this guy a year ago, and she swore he was the one. They were the cutest couple I ever saw. He was super hot, had this whole alpha male thing going on: huge pecs, biceps for days, the most handsome—”