Diary of a Bad Boy(95)

“Let’s call him over.”

“Are you insane?” Sutton asks, her eyes wide. “This is not the time nor place to tell my dad we’re dating.”

“He’s a cool guy, Sutton. I’m sure he’ll be okay with it.”

“You don’t know him like I do.”

Ouch.

She might be right, but still, my relationship with Foster is one I respect tremendously. I think highly of the man, almost as if he was the father figure I’ve been searching for.

I’m about to respond, when a man bumps into me, throwing me off balance. When I turn to look at him, he smirks and sits next to Sutton, his eyes trained on her chest.

He holds his hand out to her and says, “Hey, I’m John.”

Sutton glances in my direction and kindly takes the guy’s hand in hers. Anger billows up inside me only for steam to blow through my ears when she smiles at him. In my head, I know she’s being polite—it’s in her nature—but it doesn’t mean I’m not fucking pissed about it.

“Sutton, nice to—”

“She’s with me, lad,” I say with a stern voice, taking a step forward, but not too close in case Foster does turn in our direction.

John looks me up and down and shakes his head. “I watched her push you away, so I don’t think she wants anything to do with you, lad.”

I grind my teeth together, trying to remain as calm as possible, remembering the idiotic breathing technique my therapist spouted off at one of my sessions. What was it? Breathe in and out for a count of ten?

Yeah, that shit isn’t working right now.

The hand that isn’t holding my tumbler of whiskey clenches at my side, itching to set an example for every other guy in the restaurant.

Sutton is mine.

“She wasn’t pushing me away,” I grind out.

“Dude, settle down. Her hand was on your chest, she doesn’t want you near her.”

Anytime Sutton wants to step in here would be fucking great.

“Listen up, you thick foo—”

“Sutton?” Foster’s voice questions behind me, and then he steps closer to the bar.

Sutton’s eyes widen and her hand fidgets on her lap.

“Foster Green, holy shit,” John says, as he stands and holds out his hand. “I can’t believe you’re heading into your last season. You’re my idol.”

Being the nice man that Foster is, he smiles at John and shakes his hand. “Thank you, but the old man has to hang up his pads at some point. Hoping to finish on a high note.”

“Hopefully the front office can pull off some good drafts this year, help you out a bit on the field.”

“I have confidence they’ll be able to.” Giving John one last smile, he excuses us, tugs on Sutton’s hand, and gives me a look. I follow them to the corner of the bar, my heart beating in my throat. Why did he give me that look? Is he pissed? Does he know?

I hope he doesn’t know, because I really wanted to be able to tell him myself. I think he would appreciate it coming from me.

Cautiously, I approach the father and daughter duo. He holds out his hand, and we shake. “Roark.” I go to answer him, trying to find my footing amidst this awkwardness, when Foster looks over my shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting to see you two here.”

Sutton nervously laughs. “Small world, huh? I was getting a drink after work and ran into Roark.”

Okay, guess we won’t be telling the truth tonight.

I run my tongue over the front of my teeth, as a faint pang of hurt radiates in the pit of my stomach. I know she wouldn’t simply up and tell her dad, but this could have been the perfect lead-in. We haven’t really talked about how we’re going to tell him because every time I try to bring it up, Sutton changes the subject, and now that I think about it, I wonder if there’s a deep-rooted reason why.

My mind battles with my heart as I try to convince myself that the worry starting to imprint my mind is just that . . . worry. Unfounded worry.

“Were you two going to eat alone?” Foster asks, glancing over my shoulder again.

“Uh, I was supposed to meet Maddie,” Sutton says. The lies keep spinning off her tongue. “But she cancelled. Roark got me this Shirley Temple. Wasn’t that nice of him?”

“It was.” Foster glances at the drink and then at mine. “How have you been, Roark? I haven’t seen you in a bit.”

I hold my drink down at my side, not wanting him to think I was at the bar drinking by myself. “Good.” I nod awkwardly.

“That’s good,” Foster answers, looking distracted. “I’m sorry Maddie cancelled on you. I was going to grab a bite to eat, we could invite John over there to join us if you like.” Winking, Foster adds, “He can’t be bad if he’s a fan of your old man’s, I guess.”

How about the old man’s agent? The words almost slip past my lips, but I hold them back.

“What do you think? He’s a good-looking guy,” Foster continues, looking a little uncomfortable at trying to play matchmaker. He’s not as fucking uncomfortable as I am right now.

From over my shoulder, Sutton takes a look at John, for God knows what reason, and says, “Yeah, he is.”

Uh . . .

What the fuck?

Is she trying to blow my gasket? Because I’m about to lose my shit if she looks at that douche one more time.