Diary of a Bad Boy Page 3

  “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.

  Roark

  * * *

  SUTTON

  “I hate life.” I flop down on the table, my little backpack crashing onto the table top.

  “Hey, watch it,” Maddie says, picking up her coffee and holding it away as she studies me. “I’m guessing you didn’t get your phone back?”

  “No, he cancelled on me last night as I was trying to battle the bouncer to get into the club.”

  “What do you mean?” She sips from her cup, peering at me.

  “The d-bag said I would be on the list to get in, but when I got there, the bouncer said there was no one on the list under ‘phone girl’ and if I was going to try to sneak in, I should be more creative with my name, because no one would believe me otherwise.”

  Maddie snorts and then covers her mouth. “That’s kind of funny.”

  “It wasn’t.” I angrily slam the table. “It wasn’t funny, especially once the line behind me started mocking me as I made the walk of shame down the sidewalk. I don’t think I’ve ever met a bigger jerk in my entire life.”

  “What about Joseph Aphern? Remember him from freshman year? He kept stealing your pens in that British lit class.”

  “This guy is way worse than Joseph. It’s like he takes joy in keeping my phone away from me. What happened to Good Samaritans? Are we so jaded as a society that we can’t simply return a girl’s phone?”

  “To be fair,” Maddie says with a tilt of her head, “he is attempting to give it back, just in his own time.”

  “In his time, exactly.” I toss his phone on the table, multiple missed calls gone unanswered, texts from random women plugged into his phone under descriptions rather than names. “It’s so rude, and look at all these missed correspondences.” I scoot the phone toward Maddie who picks it up.

  “Who says correspondence?” Maddie scrunches her nose and then thumbs through the home screen, taking in all the notifications. “My, my, my. I wonder who Brunette Mole Tit is. Oh, and look at this—Redhead Screams Loud.”

  “There’s also Redhead Long Tits, Blonde Crazy Eyes, and Green Eyes Sucks Hard.”

  Maddie chuckles. “Green Eyes Sucks Hard sounds like a good time.”

  “They’re all labeled like that in his phone. Can’t he get their names? Is that too much trouble?”

  “Well, after the trouble you’ve gone through with him, I’m going to assume gathering a name might very well be too difficult for him.”

  I slouch on the table and let out a long breath. “I can’t stand the guy, and I don’t even know him. But don’t worry, he said if I needed something to look at, I could paw through the naked pics on his phone.”

  Maddie’s eyes go wide as she fumbles with the phone. “He has naked pics on here? Does he have a big penis? I feel like he would.”

  “Not naked pics of himself.” Although I can’t be sure. “Naked selfies from girls.”

  “What? Seriously?” Maddie lays the phone on the table and opens the photo album.

  “What are you doing?” I try to take the phone away but she swats at my hand.

  “I’m just checking . . . Oh my God, he does have naked pics in here.” Her head springs up and a wicked gleam crosses her face. “Do you know what you should do?”

  “Am I going to like this?”

  “I think you will. Let’s send your friend a little threatening text. Really get his attention.”

  I prop my chin on my hand. “Do you really think we can get his attention?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  She types away and then holds the phone out to me to read her already sent text message.

  Sutton: [Picture of naked blonde] You have two options, either meet me at the Starbucks on 58th at noon today, or all your precious pics are going to be deleted from your phone.

  I laugh and look up at Maddie. “Oh, that’s good. Do you think it’s going to work?”

  “One hundred percent.” She sits back with her cup of coffee. “He’s going to be putty in your hands.”

  * * *

  Sutton: Did you see my text message?

  Sutton: It’s 11, an hour away from deleting every naked picture on your phone.

  Sutton: Don’t think I won’t do it. Because I will. I will delete it all.

  Sutton: Hello???

  Roark: Christ, woman. Just delete it. I have everything backed up in the cloud. But if it makes you feel vengeful, go ahead and delete.

  Sutton: You’re so infuriating! Why won’t you just meet me?

  Roark: Some of us have to work.

  Sutton: I work! And how can you possibly work when I have your phone?

  Roark: I have an office. My life isn’t all in one device.

  Sutton: You have an o
ffice? That’s hard to believe. What do you do? Pimp out all the girls on your phone?

  Roark: I’m detecting a hint of jealousy.

  Sutton: You wish.

  Roark: Nah, couldn’t really care less.

  Sutton: Will you just tell me when we can meet?

  Sutton: Hello?

  * * *

  “I really don’t think there are any more decent men in this city.” I stroke Louise, my cat, on the back. “Because if there were, I wouldn’t have to deal with the constant buzzing of this godforsaken phone, and I would have mine back. He’s making me lose my mind. Really lose it, Louise. I yelled at a taxi driver today, and I never do that, but I was so fed up I took my anger out on the poor man and told him he needed to wash his seats. Granted, they were very dirty seats and could stand a rinse down, but I didn’t have to embarrass the man like that, call him out on the hygiene of his ride.”

  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.

  Turning back to the phone, unsure why I’m still engaging with this man—maybe because I’m worried if I don’t, he’ll never give me back my phone.

  Sutton: I don’t see how any of that is your business.

  Roark: It’s not.

  Well, at least he’s honest—that’s a little refreshing.

  Roark: But I still want to know.

  Of course.

  Sutton: We are getting off topic. When can I get my phone?

  The dots that were bouncing back and forth on the screen, indicating he was typing a response, stop.

  And then there is silence.

  Why? Why is this something he’s avoiding? I don’t get it. Does he enjoy tormenting women? Is it a favorite pastime of his? What could he possibly want with my phone?

  “Louise, I very well might lose my mind. And then what happens to you? I would say you can go live with my dad on his ranch, but I don’t think he’ll treat you like the princess you are. He would stick you outside with the rest of the cats, and you would have to fend for yourself.” I scratch the side of her head. “You’re too pretty to be a barn cat.”

  Blowing out a long sigh, I swing toward the light on my nightstand and turn it off just as my phone rings. I look down, seeing my number.

  He better be calling about a location—and h
e better be serious about it—or I might punch something.

  “Hello?”

  He sighs. “Hey, lass.” I hate to admit it, I really don’t want to admit it at all, but his Irish accent . . . it’s sexy. Okay, there, it’s out in the open. There is no denying it, hearing his voice over the phone does something to my insides, lighting them up in a weird way that sends shivers down my spine.

  All from one word . . . lass.

  “What do you want?”

  He chuckles. “Ya seem a little uptight.”

  “Maybe because you still have my phone.”

  “Is that all you want to talk about?”

  I drape my arm over my eyes, counting to five. What does my father always say to me? You can catch more flies with honey, something like that. Maybe I’m going about this all wrong. This guy seems to be someone who gets what he wants when it comes to women, so maybe I need to flirt a little to get my phone back.

  The only problem with that? I really don’t know how to flirt.

  Even when Kent and I were dating, he said I was terrible at it. But at this point, I will do just about anything, so if it means flirting, then so be it.

  “I guess not,” I swallow hard, hating myself. “What do you want to talk about, big boy?” I ask in what I like to believe is my best sultry voice.

  And instead of a response, there is silence, and not the good kind of silence. I weirded him out, I know it. Heck, I weirded myself out. Big boy? Where did that come from?

  I blame Maddie.

  Oh God. If Maddie heard what I said she’d have choked on her own saliva from laughing too hard.

  “Did you just call me big boy?” he finally asks after letting my words awkwardly settle between us.

  “I mean . . . do you not like that?” I wince. Kill me now. Put me out of my misery. Maybe Louise could shift and smother me.

  “Just from the pics and texting you back and forth, you don’t seem to be one to get high but . . . are you high?”

  “No,” I groan. “Just forget it. I was trying to be nice so I could get my phone. And since you seem to be a ladies’ man, I thought maybe you wanted to be called that. But it was stupid. Forget it happened.”