Diary of a Bad Boy(9)

I press my hand to my head and take a deep breath.

“I also snipped at the girl at Starbucks when she asked what my name was for the order and then she called out Sully instead of Sutton. I snagged the cup from her with great force and almost popped the lid right off with my grip. In the wake of my wrath, I plowed through the store, still phoneless.”

I pop a snap pea into my mouth.

“And you know what? I think I was rude to the librarian today too. When I asked where the Kendra Elliot books were and she had no idea what I was talking about, I huffed and told her I would find them myself. That was rude. I knew it at the time, but I couldn’t help it. This Irish bloke has me questioning my sanity.”

I pick up my water and take a sip. “Jealous. Is he insane? How on earth could he think I was jealous of the naked women on his phone? I’m more skivvied out that he’s a manwhore, and there must be a million diseases on the phone I’ve been carting around the last few days.”

Louise rubs her head against my hand.

“And would it kill him to be a little more polite? He must know how to say please and thank you, given all the women that seem to pop in and out of his life.”

I slouch on my bed in my small studio apartment and stare at the exquisitely carved white ceilings. When I found this apartment in Park Slope, I knew I had to have it because of all the old New York City architecture and history. Even though my kitchen, bedroom, dining room, and living room are all within a two-foot radius, I still had to have it. And it’s done well for Louise and me. Two girls, living it up in Brooklyn, chasing our dreams of snap peas and water on a Friday night. Look out, world.

Who am I kidding? This guy is not going to contact me tonight when it’s a prime partying night. Midnight on a Friday? He’s probably knee-deep in booze, with a girl sitting on each of his legs.

Very accurate.

I pop another green bean in my mouth.

Probably has a V-neck T-shirt on. All douchebags wear V-necks.

I wince.

That wasn’t a very nice thought. My dad taught me better than that.

But . . . he’s probably wearing a V-neck and showing off his man chest. That’s what douchebags do, show off their man-cleave.

Okay, that is the last time I’ll call him that.

Sighing, I lean my head against Louise, her purr growing louder. “You know—”

The phone buzzes next to me and I see my number flash across the screen. Gah, miracles do happen. Maybe he wants to meet up. That would just tickle me pink.

But then again . . . I glance at my kitty jam-jams. Oy, I’m not dressed for a phone switch, although, who really cares at this point. All I’m worried about is getting my phone back and shedding myself of this irritating man.

Roark: What are you wearing?

Is he freaking serious right now?

Did I read that correctly?

The nerve of this man.

An abundance of anger lights up my veins, sending a furious blush straight to my cheeks as I pound out a response.

Sutton: How dare you ask me that? You’ve been nothing but a complete jerk to me, holding my phone hostage, and skipping meeting after meeting. You can’t act like we’re friends now, you pompous idiot.

There.

That should do it. With a smile, I set the phone down, satisfied with my response.

Until he texts back.

Roark: I’m going to take that as you’re wearing a full-on onesie with kittens chasing yarn on it.

Mouth dropping, I scan my pajamas, wondering how on earth he knew . . .

My freaking photos.

Sutton: Stop looking through my phone. That’s so rude.

Roark: Ah, just perusing, lass. I might have sent a few to my friend for safe keeping.

Sutton: That is a huge invasion of privacy and I will sue. **Pounds fist** I will sue.

Roark: If you were good at text messaging, you wouldn’t have to put asterisk around your actions. You would be able to convey it using just your words.

Sutton: Are you really giving me text messaging lessons right now? Do you really think that’s a smart idea?

Roark: I mean . . . I can call you if that’s more convenient. Really dive deep. You can take notes.

Sutton: Give me my phone back!!!!!!!!!

Roark: One exclamation would have sufficed, but you would know that if you let me teach you proper texting protocol.

Sutton: I hate you.

Roark: Whoa, that’s a strong statement.

Sutton: And I mean it.

Roark: You know what happens when you throw words like that out in the universe, right?

Sutton: Oh, so you’re going to get all philosophical on me?

Steaming, I sink into my bed, spanning out on the length. Louise hops up on my stomach and makes herself comfortable. In my head, I like to believe she’s trying to comfort me, when in reality I know she’s only seeking warmth on this chilly February night. I love my apartment so much, but it’s old, which means there are chilly drafts seeping through the cracks and crevices of the windows and doors.

Roark: So much hostility. Maybe if you actually relaxed, you would be able to enjoy life.

Sutton: I enjoy life just fine. Thank you.

Roark: Yeah? When was the last time you had sex?

I blink a few times, reading his question over and over. Well . . . that’s none of his damn business. Even though it’s been so freaking long.

Two years I think. Yeah . . . two. With Kent my senior year of college, the same night he broke up with me. What a gentleman. After he got what he wanted—and I mean he only got what he wanted—he up and left, saying he was leaving the country and didn’t plan on keeping a long-distance relationship. A month later, I saw him working at a Starbucks.