Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 287(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 287(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
“I don’t think so. She looked very sweet in the photo he showed us.”
“Cal took a picture of a girl? On his phone?”
“Yeah. A couple.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t porn? Or a sex doll?”
I laughed and nodded.
“Yes, Becks. It was a candid photo of a real person.”
“Jesus, that sounds so mature of him. What’s he going to do about it?”
“Right now, he’s three sheets to the wind. I don’t think he’s going to give up though.”
“Good. I hope he settles down and has five babies. Then maybe he’ll stop trying to corrupt my husband.”
“He doesn’t try to corrupt me!”
“He doesn’t get shitfaced in our garage and try to keep you up all hours?”
I cleared my throat sheepishly. I didn’t go out to party anymore so Callaway tried to bring the party to me. He’d even offered to babysit, though he was almost always a little bit drunk as far as anyone could tell. Becky had wisely said no.
“What’s this girl’s name?”
“Molly something.”
She dug her spoon deep into the ice cream. I was pretty sure I heard her scrape the bottom. Good. The sooner she finished, the sooner I could take her to bed. My woman got cranky if I didn’t love on her at least once a day.
I got a little cranky too.
“Well, I sure hope Molly doesn’t get serenaded tonight. I know what you boys like to do when you’re drunk and heartbroken.”
I smiled and didn’t argue. If she left me again, I’d do more than serenade her. But knocked-up like she was, I didn’t have too much to worry about. Becks was mine, and she knew it.
“Come on, sweetheart. I’m taking you to bed.”
Chapter Seven
Callaway
“Ugh.”
I rubbed my face, wondering where the jackhammering was coming from. I realized it was just my head and opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling. I was home, though I had no idea how I’d gotten there. I looked up at my legs, which were somehow above me.
I turned my head and saw the legs of my coffee table beside me. I was on the floor with my legs up on the couch.
Click.
“What?”
I heard snickering as a flash filled the room. Then another. I covered my eyes, flailing with my hands to block the light.
“I need a picture of this shit.”
“Lucky, you motherfucker!”
He was above me, snapping pics on his phone. I growled, ready to tear his throat out. Well, metaphorically speaking. I wouldn’t actually murder the fucker, tempting as it was.
I was going to trash his phone, however.
That’s when I realized I was cuddling one of the couch pillows against my chest.
“You look so sweet with your woobie.” He chuckled to himself, still snapping pictures. “Or should I say, your Molly? You said her name about a thousand times last night.”
“That’s it!”
I jumped up and threw myself at him, fists flying. He was laughing when my fist connected with his jaw the first time. He stopped laughing when I hit him the second time. And the third time.
He fought me back, and we wrestled, finally breaking apart to lie on the floor a few feet apart. I stared at the ceiling, breathing heavily.
“You hit like a girl.”
I started laughing. Lucky was a fucking bastard, but he always made me laugh. I loved the sonofabitch, even though he was a pain in my ass.
“I’m hungover, even for me. You got off easy.”
He leaned up on one arm and wiggled his eyebrows at me.
“Oh, I am easy. Ask the ladies you turned down last night. I gave all of them a ride.”
I shook my head.
“I hope you wrapped your sausage.”
“’Course I did. I’m a Marine.”
He saluted me and leaned back against the TV stand. I forced myself to sit up and moaned, grabbing my head.
“Goddamn, why did I drink so much?”
“You were bitching about that girl, remember?”
I did remember. And if I wanted to do something about it, I was going to have to clean up my act.
“I need to shower. Make yourself useful and brew some coffee.”
He nodded.
“Two Bloody Marias coming right up.”
I shook my head and laughed. He really was a fucker. But he was my fucker.
Thirty minutes later, I was riding toward the other side of town. I was clean and looked slightly less hungover. I wanted to check on Molly before I headed to the clubhouse. Most likely, I’d work at the club a few hours if anyone wanted ink and then I’d drink myself into a stupor again.
But I needed to see her first, even if it was just at a distance.
Lucky had gone off to do whatever bastards did during the day. He was starting a job as a contractor next week, but for the moment, he was freewheeling. I was almost always freewheeling, though suddenly, that didn’t seem like a good thing.
Yeah, I made my own hours. Yeah, I was paid well for my skills with the tattoo gun. Yeah, I was even saving up to buy a house somewhere, hopefully in the woods with lots of room around it.