Diary of a Bad Boy

by Quinn, Meghan

Foster is watching like a proud father, his steed galloping along the ring, his daughter expertly trained and encouraging the horse with soothing tones.

  Josh is standing in the middle of the pen, offering occasional guidance, a stupid black hat on his head, and a plaid shirt that looks doofy on him.

  And I’m over here, a pathetic motherfucker, eyes fixated on two things: the way Sutton’s tits bounce up and down in her black T-shirt, and the way her hips rock up and down on the horse.

  Cock fully erect, I lean against the fence, practically drooling. Who knew exercising a horse could be so hot? I swear to Satan himself, every time she glances my way, she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. Tormenting with her hips, puffing her chest out, that laugh, that smile. It’s like a goddamn dagger to my stomach, twisting and turning it.

  “She’s very astute,” I answer, not knowing what else to say to Foster that won’t get me into trouble. Because I’m pretty sure saying something like “I’m hoping your daughter’s tits spill out of that shirt at some point” isn’t really appropriate.

  We spent the morning working around the ranch, setting up some things for the camp, such as the cabins and the obstacles, and now, after lunch, we’re getting ready to go on a long ride with the horses. It’s supposed to be beautiful along the “range” but all I can think about is how I’m going to have to mount one of those beasts and not look like a fool in front of Sutton while doing it.

  Foster’s large hand grabs my shoulder and gives it a little shake. “You look nervous. No need to worry about the ride. It’s going to be fun.”

  Nervous, yeah. Hard-up, most definitely. Desperate for a drink and a smoke, one hundred percent.

  “Never ridden a horse. Not really nervous, but I don’t want to look like a dick, ya know?”

  Foster laughs. “Yeah, we have that pride we have to hold on to.”

  “Always.” I expected Foster to rip me a new asshole for how I arrived yesterday, but he didn’t. And I feel so pathetic and shamed regardless.

  “Don’t worry, I’m setting you up with my calmest, sweetest mare. Her name is Grammy, and she’ll take good care of you.”

  “Grammy, huh? What color is she?”

  “Black.”

  I nod in appreciation. “Just like my soul. We’ll get along nicely.”

  “All done?” Foster calls out.

  “Yup,” Sutton answers, bringing the horse to a stop. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and to my horror, I watch as Josh reaches out and grabs her by the waist, bringing her down to the ground. I stand taller, the hairs on the back of my neck at full attention. They stand for a few seconds, talking as his hands stay on her hips. The grip I have on the fence turns lethal as I count the seconds they stand there.

  What the hell are they saying?

  Do they have history?

  Is that why Sutton is so calm with me, because she knew she’d see this guy all along?

  Tossing her head back, she laughs and then pats Josh on the chest, and I nearly blow through the fence like a tornado and charge toward Josh, ready to buckle his knees with a piece of the fence.

  Finally, they part and carefree Sutton walks toward us, hands stuffed in her back pockets, a huge smile on her face. “That was so much fun. I can’t remember the last time I did that. Lady is such a smooth horse. Josh has been doing a great job with her.”

  Fucking Josh.

  “Josh has been a great attribute to the ranch, taking excellent care of the horses while I’m gone. He’s great,” Foster answers and then claps his hands. “Are we ready to go on a ride along the range?”

  “Can’t wait.” Sutton gives me a glance. “Are you going to go back to the house?”

  “No. I’m going with you.”

  A small smile peeks past her lips. “Have you ridden a horse before?”

  “No, but I feel confident in the quick bond I’ll develop with Grammy.”

  “You put him with Grammy?” Sutton gives her dad a look. What’s that look for? What do they know that I don’t?

  “She’s very tame.”

  “She also is very ornery,” Sutton counters.

  “He’ll be fine, right, Roark?” Foster asks with a grin.

  I don’t like the word ornery, but it’s not like I’m about to put up a fight about it either, so I hold steady with my confidence.

  “What are we talking about?” Josh asks, playfully bumping into Sutton who grants him with another one of her beautiful smiles.

  I’m going to fucking snap if she does that again.

  “We’re going for a ride on the range, want to join us?” Sutton asks.

  “Doesn’t he have shit to do?” I ask, the words slipping from my mouth before I can stop them. Everyone turns toward me, and I have an oh shit moment, so I quickly try to recover. “I mean, do you have shit to scoop before you go? I can help.”

  “That would be awesome,” Josh answers, the jolly fucker that he is. “You can scoop up the pen and I’ll saddle up the horses with Foster. How does that sound?”

  Sounds like I just gave myself shit duty.

  “Yeah, sure,” I mumble, walking away to the wheelbarrow and shovel as everyone else heads to the tackle barn.

  How did this become my life? Not long ago I was in the city, having a good time at nightclubs, hanging with my boys, getting my job done with my expected expertise. All that was thrown out when this undersized bombshell appeared in my life, overturning my contentment for habitual debauchery with her smile and mettle. One taste of her mouth and I was driving my tongue up and down said beauty’s clit. Now I’m shoveling horse shit into a rusty old wheelbarrow while Sutton is getting all buddy-buddy with Josh, the horse whisperer.

  Where did I go wrong?

  I know the exact moment I went wrong, though. When I left Sutton’s bed like a fucking spineless gobshite. That was the turning point for me, the worst decision I’ve made in a very long time, because instead of hanging out on a beautiful farm with Sutton under my arm, smiling up at me, I get to watch her sway her hips all over this godforsaken place while every man who works here watches.

  I roll the wheelbarrow over to the first pile and start scooping a load of horse droppings into it.

  Fucking ridiculous.

  I continue moving the wheelbarrow around until I scoop up the last of it. That’s when I turn to find Sutton sitting on the fence, hands braced at her side, watching me. “You’re good at that.”

  “Great.” I roll my eyes and put the wheelbarrow back with the shovel. “Something to add to my list of accomplishments. Can shovel horse shit.”

  “You never know when it’ll come in handy.” When I reach her, she hops down from the fence and dusts off her butt. Sure, she can hop down from the fence all by herself, but she needs Josh’s help when she’s getting off the horse. “Grammy’s all ready. Want to mount her?”

  There’s someone else I’d rather be mounting.

  “Sure.” I dust my hands off on my jeans and ignore the fact that they are once again covered in dust.

  “Didn’t my dad tell you black doesn’t do well out here? We should get you fitted in some cowboy gear.”

  “I’d rather drop dead.”

  “You don’t think you can pull off cowboy boots?”

  “I can pull them off, easily. I just don’t want to.”

  She shakes her head while giving me a once-over. “I don’t know. I don’t think you can pull them off, but then again, not everyone can look as good as Josh in a pair.”

  She knows exactly what she’s doing.

  She tries to walk away, but I snag her wrist before she can get too far and pull her back. Growing serious, I lift her chin and look her square in the eyes. “Tempt me all you want. Flaunt your cute little ass in those jeans, wear the lowest-cut shirt while riding a horse, I don’t give a fuck—well I do, but do it all you want. But I swear to God, Sutton, do not throw another man in my face. Don’t play those fucking games.”

  She studies me. “I’m not throwing him in
your face.”

  “Bullshit. Why else would you talk about him like that and let him touch you all over? You’re trying to make me jealous.”

  “You made your choice about me when you left my apartment yesterday morning. This is my home. There is no point throwing another man in your face, Roark. You left.”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Sutton.” She’s right. She’s so fucking right. I don’t deserve to feel jealous. But, unfortunately, I can’t hide that I’m so pissed.

  She rolls her eyes, clearly not taking me seriously. “And what are you going to do? Ignore me? Leave me alone? Never talk to me again? You’re pretty much already doing that, so what’s the difference?”

  “Don’t fuck with me,” I repeat. “Or else you’re not going to like what happens.”

  “Try me, Roark. I can handle pretty much anything you throw my way at this point.”

  My jaw moves back and forth as I chew on that information. Honestly, what would I do? I’m just tossing empty threats her way, unsure how to handle the entire situation. And she knows that.

  Am I jealous? Fuck yeah. I don’t want anyone even looking at Sutton, let alone touching her. And yeah, I have no claim to her whatsoever but that still doesn’t mean I want to see other guys throw their dicks in her direction.

  I take a step back and drag my hand over my face, irritated with myself, irritated with the entire situation. “Let’s just get the horses and get this over with.”

  “If you’re going to act sour, you might as well not go.”

  “I’m sure that’s exactly what you want, for me not to go so you can hang out with Josh some more.” When did I become so petulant?

  “Why does it matter?” she counters. “It’s not like I belong to you.”

  “You sure as fuck do,” I say before I can stop myself. Anger seeps from my pores as my hands twitch at my side, the realization that I want her more than anything hitting me square in the chest. I close the distance between us and talk through my teeth. “The moment ya came on my tongue was the moment ya became mine. Don’t fook with me.”

  Not even flinching, she says, “In order for me to be yours, I have to want it too and honestly, Roark, I’m over it.”

  “If you were over it, you wouldn’t be flaunting your tits every chance you get.”

  She gives me a once-over. “Who said it was for you?”

  “I swear to Christ, Sutton.” But before I can toss her another empty threat, she walks away.

  Fuck.

  * * *

  Grammy is a temperamental bitch.

  You know what else? Riding a horse isn’t great on the old balls.

  My sack is numb.

  My back is tight from not wanting to startle Grammy.

  And I can’t feel my goddamn thighs.

  How do people find this enjoyable? Yeah, sure the scenery is nice and all, but nice enough to endure this torture? No fucking way.

  And then there’s Josh and Sutton having a little laugh fest up ahead, sharing jokes, and riding in sync while I’m back here with Grammy trying to make sure she doesn’t kick me off again.

  Yeah . . . again.

  When I first mounted the crotchety wench, she wanted nothing to do with me and bucked me off. Thankfully I’m agile and landed on my feet. It was an impressive landing, and if I had been drunk there is no doubt in my mind I would have thrown my arms up in the air like a gymnast, waiting for my scores. Instead, I gave the old lass a pat on the arse and mounted her again, holding on tight, silently pleading with the mammal to work with me.

  And since then, she has.

  “What do you think?” Foster asks, maneuvering his horse next to mine like a pro. It’s odd, seeing him in this element, where he looks like an oversized quarterback on a horse. I’m so used to seeing him in a suit or football gear but seeing him like this—a cowboy hat on his head, chaps on his legs, reins in his hands—seems so strange but also natural. This is home to him.

  “You have a great property, Foster.”

  “Thank you. I love it here.” He looks toward his property as we make our way to the barn. He seems content. “This last season will be hard, saying goodbye to the many people who’ve played a huge part in my career, but there is promise of a new beginning at the end.” He gestures toward the barn. “Peace . . . and lots and lots of baths.”

  I chuckle as Grammy slows down. “Are you thinking about settling down?” Foster gives me a look and I roll my eyes. “Come on, who are you kidding? I know you have a thing going on with Whitney.”

  His eyes narrow and he slows down his horse as well. “Quiet down,” he whispers, his eyes flashing to Sutton, who’s in a deep conversation with Josh.

  Fucking Josh.

  “She can’t hear you and even if she could, she’s twenty-four. I’m sure she’d like to see you with someone so you’re not alone for the rest of your life.”

  He tugs on his hat and keeps his voice down so I can barely hear him. “I would love to settle down, put a ring on Whitney’s finger, but there’s a lot stopping me. She’s six years younger than I am, for one.”

  I hide my cringe. “Age difference doesn’t really mean anything these days.”

  “She also works with me.”

  Christ. “You know, office romances are in right now.”

  “And what about Sutton?”

  I wave him off. “She probably has her own things she’s dealing with. Just from getting to know her through this camp project, I’d say she’d be cool with it.”

  “I don’t know.”

  I shrug. “Fine, be a lonely bastard for all I care. Just show up for your obligations so I get paid.”

  He chuckles and then grows serious. “And what about you?”

  “What about me?” I ask, knowing exactly what he’s talking about but wanting to stall the conversation.

  “When are you going to settle?” I notice he doesn’t say settling down, but again, I want to ignore that jibe. He’s not being cruel.

  The sun starts to descend behind the horizon, casting the sky in an orange bliss, the clouds bordered in purple. I can see why Foster loves it out here. Calm and peaceful, away from it all. It reminds me of Killarney a bit, yet it’s not as lush. I could possibly see myself relaxing in a place like this one day, minus all the horse shit.

  “Settling down isn’t for me. Fast-paced life, that’s me.”

  “It’s not, and I didn’t say settling down. I said settle.” He stops his horse, so I pull on Grammy’s reins, and thankfully she listens. “In order to settle down, you need to find what it is that brings you calm. It’s in you, and for a week or so, I saw it. And now it’s gone. You like to think fast-paced is the life you need, but you’re covering up for the life you really want.”

  “Oh yeah?” I chuckle. “And what life do I really want?”

  “The one you never had as a kid.”

  Hell, I’ll give it to Foster, he sure knows how to identify someone’s weak spot. He should be my therapist, because in one sentence he virtually wrapped up my entire life in a nutshell.

  “Yeah, well, not everyone can have the white picket fence.”

  “You can, you just choose not to.”

  I glance at Sutton, who dismounts her horse minus Josh this time. Damn right. “It’s easier that way.”

  “To not let yourself feel?” Foster presses.

  “Exactly. The minute you allow yourself to feel is the minute it gets thrown back in your face. I prefer to be numb, which has been pretty damn hard to do since I got here. Thanks for that.”

  He doesn’t answer right away, but instead stares at the sunset, looking regal as fuck on his steed. “I’ve worked with a lot of young boys who’ve had that attitude. I’ve seen some grow into men who find their way through the murk of this world, and I’ve seen some not make it.” Foster turns to me. “You’re not a boy, but you’re not a man either, Roark. You’re somewhere between. A man takes his life into his hands and makes the most of it. You’re a damn fine agent, and I’m g
rateful for you, but you’re also riding a thin line of losing everything you’ve ever worked for. Don’t be a fuck-up, be a man.” Looking me dead in the eyes, he says, “There comes a time in a man’s life when he has to decide whether he’s going to take action and make something of himself, or if he’s going to sit idly and never reach his full potential.” He clasps my shoulder. My mouth is dry, and my stomach is flipping in knots. “You have a lot to give, allow yourself to hand it out. You’d be surprised by how happiness can change your entire outlook on life.”

  Smiling crookedly at me, he gives me one more pat before taking off toward the barn. I should dislike what he said to me, but instead I’m caught by his words.

  “. . . you’re also riding a thin line of losing everything you’ve ever worked for. Don’t be a fuck-up, be a man.”

  Be a man.

  Don’t be a fuck-up.

  That’s a fucking blow to hear, yet, somehow it resonates with me unexpectedly. My mind is whirling with possibilities.

  Don’t be a fuck-up.

  Be a man.

  * * *

  Two days later Foster’s words are still bouncing around in my head.

  I know we’ve worked together for a while, but he was able to pick me apart in seconds. There are reasons I don’t want to allow myself to truly feel beyond lust. Lust is easy. Safe. Never leads to disappointment, either in me or the other person. Love is conditional. Limited. “You’ve always been ungrateful for everything I’ve given you. At this point it would be easier if you were dead. At least I could mourn the loss of my oldest son and move on.” Move on. My own ma would prefer I was dead. What does that say about love? The people who are supposed to love me unconditionally only give a shit about the green I have in the bank. Wish I was dead. What does that say about me?

  Fuck, I need a drink. I need something to rid this blooming feeling of inadequacy inside of me. Drinking makes it easy to quickly forget. It’s why I live on a whiskey diet, so I don’t lie awake at night, thinking of all the things I could have but am too goddamn scared to attempt to have.

  Like Sutton.

  I want her, but not only physically. I want her brain, her heart, her soul. I want to know what it’s like to stay up all night and talk to her about nothing. I want to know what it’s like to comfort her when she’s upset. I want to feel her tears on my fingers, knowing I’m the only person in the world who can console her. I want to know what it feels like to be completely addicted to someone to the point that when we part in the morning, I miss her ten seconds later. I want all of that, the good, the bad, and the ugly that comes with being in love.