Page 96 of The Proposal Pact
“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’mbeing. 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 notmarried,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.
