Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
My. Ring.
My.
Motherfucking.
Cocksucking.
Ring.
A family heirloom.
I was literally going to kill him.
Right then and there.
Followed shortly by her.
I eyed the steak knife that’d been rolled up in my napkin with my fork, then Marjorie’s finger.
The sad thing was, I seriously considered it.
Seriously.
If I didn’t need my job, I’d seriously consider chopping her finger off just to get it.
“You do realize, correct,” I said softly, “that that was my grandmother’s ring. That was worn by every single female in my family for the last four hundred and twenty years.”
I’d lost the wedding ring in the shuffle.
Though, I knew I didn’t lose it.
I had suspected Mal had done something with it when he’d moved out, and apparently, he had.
Apparently, he’d given it to his new woman.
I wanted to seriously kill them both.
My hand curled around the steak knife in my hand, and I had to have a constant ‘don’t kill him’ mantra in my head as he smiled as if he’d pulled one over on me.
Someone slipped into the seat beside me, but I was so freakin’ mad that I didn’t even register who it was.
I was too busy telling myself that the color orange wasn’t a good look on redheads.
Chapter 2
According to Google, I can eat seven donuts a day if I don’t drink a Coke.
-Maybe you shouldn’t always trust what you read on the internet.
Callum
I watched her from across the restaurant. I had been for the last thirty minutes.
I’d clocked her the moment she walked in the door and had been openly staring at her ever since.
“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress, a cute little blonde that couldn’t be more than eighteen, asked.
I glanced at her and shook my head. “No.”
Her smile dimmed, and I remembered to tack on a, “Thanks, though.”
Her smile renewed, she walked away, heading straight for the table with the beautiful redhead.
I had a special thing for redheads. My sister was a redhead when she was a baby. Not that I had a thing for my sister or anything like that, but she held a special place in my heart, and I’d always found myself gravitating toward them. In fact, my first girlfriend in eighth grade had been a redhead.
The rest of them had been blondes with big tits, but that didn’t negate the fact that my heart always wanted to go for the fiery ones. The ones that were trouble. Big, big trouble.
And the one sitting in the booth all by herself three tables down from mine?
She really looked like she was trouble.
The kind of trouble that made you fall in love with them and you lived happily ever after with kind of trouble.
I dropped my eyes back down to the paperback I was reading and waited patiently for my food to come out. And while I did that, I certainly did not look up and find myself staring at a certain redhead.
Nope. No. Nuh-uh.
I managed to stick to my guns, too.
At least until my brother’s ex-girlfriend and his ex-best friend spotted her.
At first, I was going to leave it alone. Really, I was.
But then they started giving her shit about her weight, at least in their snarky comments without outright calling her fat, and I lost a little bit of my composure.
See, here’s my thing. I want my woman to actually look like a woman. I want them to have curves. I want them to have thighs and ass. I want them to have tits that overflow my hands. I want them to have a soft lap for my head to rest in. Honestly, I like them pillowy. And the redhead? God, she was everything I ever wanted all rolled into one beautiful, boob and asstastic perfect package.
Malon? Mail? Mal? I couldn’t remember his name off the top of my head. But whatever his fuckin’ name was, reached into his pocket and pulled something out, tossing it onto the table right next to the woman’s appetizer.
Her face went ashen, and her eyes went wide.
That’s when I heard her say, “Mal, you told me that you couldn’t find the ring. That’s seriously the only thing I asked for back! It was my mom’s! My grandmother’s!”
I stood up then, catching the waitress before she could set down the food at my table.
“Take it to her table,” I ordered as I grabbed my glass. “I’ve decided to move. But don’t bring it until hers is ready, please.”
The waitress blinked. Then turned with my food in her hands.
I walked up to the table and sat next to the really pissed off woman that barely even acknowledged that I’d blocked her in.
“Hey, Malfo,” I said, grinning. “Whatcha doin’ here?”
Mal blinked. “It’s Mal.”
I shrugged. “You’re interrupting our dinner. Do you mind?”
Mal nodded his head and went to pick up his checkbook that I could now see out on the middle of the table, and I ‘accidentally’ knocked my half-filled drink over, soaking the checkbook.