28. Callum
Callum
“If you haven’t seriously thought about killin’ a motherfucker, you ain’t been in love.” — Chris Rock
I ’m on my way back to the station from yet another bogus call when I see my wife entering Peace Out diner with her best friend and nearly crash into the car in front of me.
What the fuck is she wearing? Does she want me to end up on the other side of the bars with that fucking skirt?
Because I’m liable to kill every motherfucker who runs his eyes over her ass in it.
And there are a lot of motherfuckers around that she’s seemingly oblivious to as she chats away with Grace.
Like a creep I’m quickly becoming—thanks to her—I park across the street and watch them get seated at the booth right up against the window, still chatting. I don’t do this shit. Not with anyone. So what, she’s wearing a short skirt ?
Annoyed with myself I turn on the ignition and am about to pull out when the world around me turns fucking red.
A dead man is sliding into the booth next to her and she’s laughing at whatever he said. Laughing!
I’m already out of my car and across the street when the fucker dares to put his arm across the booth, his fingers grazing my wife’s shoulder lightly, and I. Fucking. Lose. It.
How fucking dare he touch what’s mine?
Blazing hot furry is trapped underneath my skin as I enter the diner and catch the last sentences he ever speaks in his short life. “No, please tell me you’re not. You’re like my dream girl! I saw you as soon you walked in and knew you were it! You’re not wearing a ring. You can’t be married.”
In a flash, my fist is on his shirt as I lift his surfer-boy body out of the booth, and sneer into his startled face. “My wife just told you she’s not fucking available. Need me to spell it out for you before or after I break the hand that touched her?”
“This is your husband?” The fucker still manages to turn to look at Sophie, against any better judgment.
“Yes, I fucking am.”
“Whoa, I’ll never take a pee break again,” Grace whispers excitedly from somewhere behind me, but I’m too busy here to pay attention to her. “Sophie, what in the Harry’s name is going on here?”
“Dude, I didn’t mean to overstep!” He shrugs off my hold.
“I saw the hottest girl ever walk in, saw that she didn’t have a ring on or a guy around her, and decided to take a shot.
But I’m leaving now, I got it.” With another wink that nearly snaps my control in half, he walks out of the diner.
My eyes tracking the guy the whole time.
“Clover, what the hell was that?” I turn around to find a pissed off Sophie out of the booth, hissing at me with her arms crossed in front of her chest.
I can feel my chest heaving with each hard, labored breath, my jaw ticks and grinds as I try to calm the fuck down. She wants to know what the hell this was? Well, I do too!
But I have no answers, only more questions about my sanity.
Somewhere in the far back of my mind, I realize how stupid I’m being.
Sophie wouldn’t go out with him. I saw her pull away from his touch, and fuck, even if she did give him her name and number or whatever it was he wanted from her, I wouldn't be able to say shit.
Sure, we’re married. But we’re not married, and there’s absolutely no reason for me to act like a territorial caveman.
With nothing to say to her or myself, I turn around and leave.
I need to get away from her. I need to keep staying away from her like I’ve been doing this week. I open the door of my car, determined to spend the rest of this year in the station to avoid my fake wife, when she walks out of the diner.
Alone and huffing. That perky ass in that fucking skirt swaying with each furious step, and the shit I just thought flies right the fuck out the window.
My car door slams shut so hard, I hear a small crack form on the window, but without giving a single shit about that, I storm after Sophie.
“What do you want, Callum?” she asks without looking back, but obviously knows I’m following her. Annoyance clear and evident in her voice. Well…join the club, wife.
“Callum,” I scoff. “And what have I done now?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Callum .”
“Stop calling me that.” I clench my teeth because Sophie doesn’t call me Callum.
“Isn’t that your name?” She doesn’t even bother to stop and just keeps walking.
“Yeah, but not to you.”
“Oh?”
“We had a deal,” I grit out through clenched teeth, my vision still hazy especially when I look down at that damn skirt taunting me.
“That is still intact.” The heels of her pink cowboy boots clink against the cobbled street.
“Then why the fuck where you flirting with that scrawny imbecile?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I wasn’t and I had it handled. ”
“Yeah,” I snort out humorlessly. “I saw how you were handling it with that sweet smile.”
She stops, turning around to face me. Fuck, I know I’m being an asshole right now but that burn inside me isn’t going down. No, it just keeps growing, making me angrier by the second. Angry at myself and at her. God, how angry she makes me.
“Oh, you…” She trails off, taking a deep, steadying breath. “I have no idea what’s got your panties in a twist.” Sophie huffs. “It’s not like we’re actually married and I was cheating on you.” The woman has the audacity to roll her eyes at me as she lets the door to the building slam in my face.
I didn’t even notice that we were here already.
I’m about to storm after her when the door jerks open again right in front of me.
“Oh, and for your knowledge, I wouldn’t give him my name or number anyway, because we have the stupid proposal pact between us,” she whisper-hisses. “I don’t know what that means to you, but I’d never cheat on you!”
Sophie slams the door shut again but something that has no business being there, eases in my chest. Yet I still storm after her and let out a long string of colorful cuss words.
White. White fucking thong. That’s what I see as her feet hit the top of the stairs while I’m still at the bottom.
I swear, I’ll burn that skirt, and every pair of sexy underwear that she owns alongside it. I should’ve bought her a mega-pack of granny panties on Amazon instead of all that lingerie.
See? No good deed goes unpunished!
“What else do you want from me, Clover?” Sophie sighs, angry and annoyed as she opens the front door to our apartment which I slam shut behind us.
“Don’t wear that skirt again.”
She stops and slowly turns around.
“ Vre? And why the heck not?” Great, she’s pissed off if she’s using Greek, but guess what? So am I!
“Because every motherfucker had his eyes on my wife in that damn skirt! ”
“And what are you gonna do about it?” She plants her hands on her hips. Whether she knows it or not, she’s playing with fire right now.
Rip it off your perky ass, turn it into ribbons right before I do the same with said ass. But I don’t say that. Instead, I walk out the door to the sound of her shouting, “That’s what I thought.”
That little…my palm itches to teach that brat a lesson. Fucking itches to mark her so hard not one soul in this hippy town will miss it.
But since I can’t do that, I decide on the next best thing.
Ten minutes later, I’m pushing open the door to one store I swore I’d never visit again. Unicorn Jems.
“Wow, Shrek, are you feeling feverish today?” Sophie asks, her small frame shaking as she mixes something vigorously in the kitchen when I walk back into the apartment about thirty minutes later.
“Don’t know about a fever but I should definitely invest in some blood pressure meds,” I mutter, but by the look of that sly smile, she hears me just fine and is quite pleased with herself for causing it.
Like I said, little brat.
In a few steps, I come up right to her, grab her left hand that was mixing guacamole. “What are you—” Her words cut off when she sees me slip a band on her finger.
“Wh-what is this, Clover?” Sophie gapes at her hand.
“A ring.”
“No way, really? I couldn’t tell.” She arches an eyebrow. “What is it doing on my finger?”
“What it’s supposed to.”
“I thought you didn’t want to get rings.”
“I still don’t.”
“Then why get this one?”
“For the motherfuckers,” I answer dryly, and catch Sophie rolling her amused lips to hide a smile. “You’ll wear it all the time. ”
It isn’t a question, but I can’t explain the relief I feel at her small nod and even a bigger one when she changes the subject and says, “A game’s about to start. I know you’re all busy, but wanna watch with me? I got chips and guac. Store bought, so don’t worry, you won’t get poisoned.”
My lips twitch with a faint smile. “Well, if it’s store bought. Sure.”
She rolls her eyes and mutters, “Asshole,” all while wearing a smile.
“Well, this game sucked big time.” Sophie falls back on the couch, huffing.
I’m surprised she can talk with the amount of yelling she did.
I’m also surprised her favorite Outlaws didn’t hear all her game tips with how loud she was yelling.
“You should’ve seen the one on Wednesday.
It was amazing! Outlaws won five to nothing.
What the hell was going on with Sava, their goalie, tonight? I have no idea.”
“Wait, you watched a game without me?” I sit up, feeling irrationally disappointed about that.
“Well, I didn’t see you home, did I?” She quirks an eyebrow at me, and shit, I got nothing to say to that because I was, indeed, avoiding her.
I needed to avoid her and her infectious personality, her teasing smile, her sharp wit, her mint scent, her sweet lips, her…anddd I need to go back to avoiding this woman. I don’t know what is it about Sophie that makes me burn but it’s not something I can allow.
It’s not like I like her or anything. I just don’t need things to get complicated or confusing for her sake because I’m not the one she needs.
Sophie gets up from the couch without waiting for my response, drops the empty bowl from chips at the sink, and looks at the clock.
“Okay, I need to go change,” she says, more to herself than me.
It’s not that late yet, but maybe she goes to sleep earlier on normal days. I wouldn’t know now, would I?
Absentmindedly, I start scrolling through channels and then freeze, eyeing the closed bedroom door.
Sophie’s been there for a while now, so she must really be getting ready for bed and…
Hell, if she comes out in one of her huge T-shirts she sleeps in right now…
and then what? There’s a reason I come home late at night when I’m sure she’s no longer awake.
Suddenly, feeling as nervous as a sixteen-year-old boy who’s around the girl for the first time, I freak out because no, I can’t be here for that.
I chose Sophie for this because I thought she’d be the safe bet.
But there’s nothing safe about the woman.
She’s like a still water that makes you believe there’s no danger underneath and then the Loch Ness monster drags you under with no hope for escape.
Hell, I’m not sure I’d even fight all that hard.
Jumping off the couch, I slip my shoes on, pull the jacket I forgot earlier on and try to convince myself that I’m not a chicken-shit.
Another peek at the door. Nope , fuck it, I’m totally a chicken-shit when it comes to that five-foot-nothing little menace.
“I’m heading back to work,” I shout, rubbing the back of my neck, watching that closed bedroom door for a beat too long. Am I hoping she does come out or not?
Fucking hell. I squeeze my neck. I’m losing it.
There’s no answer from her so, deciding she most likely heard me and doesn't care, I turn, my hand already on the handle to open it, when the door behind me squeaks open. It’s just a T-shirt, man, keep it together and turn the fuck around .
It is not just a fucking T-shirt…
My fake wife from my personal hell is striding up to me in one of the black lace bodysuits I got for her at Grace’s boutique.
The one that sticks to her like second skin and makes her tits pop up like they are on fucking Fourth of July parade, which she paired with an even shorter and red leather skirt.
If you think that’s all, wait a fucking minute.
There are fishnet stockings on her legs and her favorite old Converse.
Her hair parted off to the side. Those sweet lips of hers are bloody red and glistening like she just spent the whole evening with them wrapped around my cock. Exactly like I’m imagining them right now. And she’s putting large hoop-ring earrings through her ears .
“Have a good night at work,” she says sweetly.
“Wh-where are you going? Looking like that,” I stutter, unable to form normal words as I haphazardly point in her general direction before my hands ball at my sides.
My jaw clenching so hard, I hear yet another tooth crack.
But the biggest problem right now is my cock.
My hard as fuck cock and the thundering heart in my chest.
Forget a simmering sizzle…I’ve got an untamable fire raging inside me.
“To the bar with friends, where else?” The vixen shrugs.
She. Fucking. Shrugs.
“Don’t worry, I got the ring on.” She smiles sweetly yet again, wiggling her fingers at me as she completely ignores my twitching eye.
A ring. She’s got the ring on! I’m not sure words “I’m married” tattooed on her forehead would keep the motherfuckers away when she’s looking like that.
“You’re not wearing that,” I deadpan. Uncompromisingly.
“Why? Do I look bad?” She looks down at herself as if she doesn’t already know that she dressed to kill.
Me.
She dressed to fucking kill me.
“No,” I grit out. “You look too good to be true.”
“Ah, it’s perfect then.” She looks up, those chocolate eyes full of mischief.
“No, it is not! Who is it perfect for, hmm?” I’m aware that I’m losing any semblance of chill, but ask me if I give a shit right-about-fucking-now.
“Me, of course. Who else?” She proceeds to take one of her knit cardigans, putting it on as if she can’t see me fuming over here.
“Sophie!”
“Clover!” she mimics me.
“Jesus…” I mutter under my breath, silently praying. “You’re not going to the bar alone like that.”
“Well, I am going.” The little menace points at her chest, drawing my eyes to her perfect tits. “Now, you have two options.”