Crazy Heifer

by Vale, Lani Lynn

Whatever the reason for my newfound desire to spend time with the man, I was going to do it.

  I also found that him being hurt sent my nurturing instincts into overdrive.

  I hated that he was hurt.

  I hated even more when I walked out and felt his eyes on me, as if he wanted to go with me, but knew that he couldn’t.

  So I was going to get him a burger and fries—and me a salad because swear to God, I was starting to notice a difference, at least on the scale—and I was going to bring it back to him with crutches and an ice pack.

  I was also going to get him the other stuff he requested, and then I was going to try to keep myself from jumping his bones for the rest of the night.

  I wasn’t sure if I’d be successful or not, though, based on the look he gave me right before I’d left.

  Of course, my mind was so preoccupied with what I was thinking—and wanting to do—that I didn’t pay attention to what I was doing.

  Which was why I ran smack-dab into the man that I’d been mad at since this morning.

  “Mal,” I said, backing up.

  Mal’s hands went to my arms and squeezed. Not hard, but definitely not soft, either.

  “Dad told me he was buying the house,” he said, setting me back and letting me go.

  I juggled the ice pack, the milk, and the crutches.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “Dad also told me that you were moving out,” he continued.

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  Maybe one-word answers would relay that I really didn’t want to talk to him.

  “You’re still running that Spartan race?” he asked, looking concerned now.

  “Yes,” I replied, starting to inch around him.

  When I moved, he did, too, blocking me in.

  Shit.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked. “There’s no reason we can’t both live in the house.”

  I would’ve rolled my eyes had I thought that it would’ve done me any good. But swear to God, my emotions might as well have been nonexistent when it came to my ex-husband.

  “Dad said that he also helped you get a store,” he continued as if this was normal for us to be having a conversation in the middle of the drugstore. “That you’re going to start your own business.”

  “Yes.” I sighed.

  Really, what would it take for him to let me leave?

  I glanced at the aisle behind me and wondered if I could make it to the end and then back up, or if he’d just block me at the top of the next aisle.

  My guess was that he’d stop me.

  Goddangit.

  “Would you make mine and Margie’s wedding cake?” he asked. “Margie wanted me to ask you since she knows that you’re the best in town.”

  I bit my lip so hard that I tasted blood.

  This time I pushed past him, whacked him in the shin with the crutches, and used my milk to punch him in the stomach when he tried to stop me.

  I made it to the cashier and placed all my items on the counter, steadily counting to one hundred in my head to stop myself from turning around and smacking the shit out of him with the crutches.

  Seriously, the nerve of the man was astounding.

  I was so focused on counting that I hadn’t paid attention to the crowd that had gathered, or the fact that Mal had followed me and continued to plead with me to make the cake.

  “Why do you have Callum Valentine’s wallet?” he asked loudly.

  I clenched my hand around the wallet and said, “Because I’m going back to his house after I finish shopping He also refused to let me pay—unlike you—and kept my purse. Therefore, before you go saying I stole it, you need to check yourself before I punch you in the face.”

  Mal looked totally affronted that I would say such a thing.

  “You forget,” I said stiffly. “I know how you are when you’re pissed. You get petty, doing stupid shit that only a twelve-year-old would try.”

  Mal stiffened.

  “And you might want to talk to your father,” I suggested. “He’s not feeling well.”

  “My father’s fine.” He sniffed. “You’re just trying to change the subject.”

  I’d been thinking there was something wrong with Malloy for months. If Mal had one ounce of compassion in him and noticed stuff that didn’t pertain to himself, he would’ve noticed his father acting oddly.

  But, since Mal was only full of himself, there was no way that he had.

  Even with my urging him to check on Malloy, he probably wouldn’t.

  “He’s really not,” I insisted. “You should check on him. Get him to talk to you.”

  Mal rolled his eyes. “Dad’s always playing that card. Trust me when I say he’s fine.”

  God, sometimes I just wanted to smack the crap out of him.

  “You know,” he said, changing the subject all over again. “You’re really looking good lately.”

  I felt the pressure building in my head and decided that it was just best to walk away.

  Just get my shit, checkout, and walk away.

  I smiled at the checker.

  “Find everything all right?” she questioned me, looking at the man that still hadn’t left my side with a sideways glance before returning her gaze back to me.

  She knew something was up.

  I smiled painfully. “Yes, I did. Thank you.”

  She once again glanced at Mal before raising her eyebrows, asking silently if I needed help.

  I shook my head, hoping that she’d let it go.

  Mal, although annoying, was mostly harmless.

  And, unfortunately, I knew the way Mal’s brain worked.

  He didn’t like not getting what he wanted.

  In the beginning, that was me.

  I’d played hard to get, convinced that a man like Mal had no real interest in a girl like me.

  I mean come on, he was loaded, was well-known throughout the community, and had a killer body.

  But the moment that he ‘got me’ and I married him, he’d started to change. The challenge was no longer there for him, so he just moved on to the next challenge—which was keeping his cheating a secret from me.

  He’d done fairly well, too.

  Until he didn’t.

  Which brought us to now.

  Callum had thrown down a challenge, telling him to stay away from me. Which triggered some dormant part of Mal’s brain that told him he had to compete, no matter what. Even if the other people in the situation weren’t competing.

  And, he likely told himself, that the price was winning me back.

  Which he wasn’t, under any circumstances, going to get.

  Sure, if I’d been dumb enough to allow him back inside my house, he would’ve tried to seduce me. Tried to get back inside my good graces. Then, like the jerk he is, he would leave me again and still go get married to Margie.

  Yeah, I was not dumb, though. Nor was I born yesterday.

  Also, I had Callum sitting on his couch at his home, waiting on me to get back with a burger.

  So needless to say, now that I had better waiting on me, I saw Mal for what he truly was.

  Second fiddle.

  “That’ll be forty-eight fifty,” the cashier said.

  “I got this.” Mal pushed me aside.

  And before I could elbow him back, he was swiping his card and paying.

  I rolled my eyes and gathered my bags.

  “I’ll make sure that Callum knows that you bought his things,” I said sweetly. “Have a good one.”

  That last part was aimed at the cashier and not Mal.

  Mal who was looking pissed all over again.

  “That’s not for you?” he called out, hurrying to catch up to me.

  I rolled my eyes. “Does it look like I need crutches right now, dipshit?”

  I snickered inwardly at my use of ‘dipshit.’

  God, sometimes I really did crack myself up.r />
  “Desi, wait up!” He caught my arm.

  I pulled away and leveled him with a glare.

  “Listen,” I said stiffly. “Leave me alone. I don’t want anything to do with you. I want to go home, to Callum, and make sure that he’s all right. Please, for the love of God, let me go.”

  Mal opened his mouth to argue, but a darker, more sinister voice interrupted him.

  “I’d do what the lady says,” Banks Valentine suggested. “She’s already asked you quite a few times to leave her be. Now, I’m going to make sure that it happens.”

  Mal turned to Banks and froze.

  I took that moment to retreat.

  With Banks occupying Mal behind me, I chose to pull over the small speed bump that separated this parking spot from the one in front of it.

  My car made a loud bump-bump sound, but I didn’t slow. Not until I reached the parking lot that formed into Whataburger.

  And, like the good girl that I was, I ordered myself a salad and a hamburger patty.

  I ordered Callum everything that he asked for and then added an extra vanilla shake to be sure.

  I hated that he felt bad.

  And even more, I wanted to lick the taste of the shake straight off his tongue.

  But I’d settle for just smelling it on him.

  Because I highly doubted that, despite my now rampant libido, Callum was likely in no way up for what my mind had conjured up over the last couple of days.

  After making sure everything was settled in the seat next to me, I once again drove back over to the Valentine house and let myself back in the door.

  Callum had moved while I was gone.

  Instead of being in his jeans and a t-shirt, he was now in sweats and nothing else.

  Let me repeat.

  Sweatpants and nothing else. Nothing. Else.

  Jesus Christ on a cracker.

  Taking one look at the man shirtless, I knew exactly why he was always kicking my ass at the workouts.

  There wasn’t a single ounce of fat on the man. Not anywhere.

  He had abs. He had the side cuts that made it look like he had more abs. He also had those little notches in his groin area that formed into a V and showcased a very nice bulge beneath those sweatpants that I couldn’t stop myself from admiring.

  “You made it back,” he said, unaware that I was having an out-of-body experience.

  I smiled stiffly.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” I admitted. “Mal was at the drugstore.”

  Callum sighed.

  “I should’ve gone with my gut instinct and kicked his ass instead of warning him off,” he admitted. “Now I’ll have to wait until I can walk to do it.”

  I snickered and walked closer to him, trying to keep my eyes off of his very fine abs.

  “If it makes you feel better, he decided to pay for your stuff,” I teased.

  Callum stared at me like I’d just spoken in tongues.

  “What?” I asked, fiddling with the zipper on my jacket.

  He watched me run it up and down the length of my jacket twice before he said, “You let him pay for my crutches?”

  I let my hands fall free of my jacket and threw them up in the air.

  “I honestly don’t know what I was supposed to do. I had your card out ready to pay and everything. I was about to put it in when he pushed me out of the way and put his card in. I honestly think he thought it was all mine. But he saw your wallet and kind of got offended.”

  Callum shook his head in annoyance.

  “There was this one time when we were all over at his house when we were kids. It happened to be Banks and my birthday. His dad found out and ended up making us homemade ice cream and a cake from scratch.”

  “Uh-oh,” I said, knowing where he was going. “He hates not being the center of attention.”

  Callum snorted.

  “Anyhow, cake gets done. Malloy puts it on the rack to cool and gets started on the ice cream. He has the ice cream going, we turn around to get the cake frosted, and Mal purposefully fake sneezes all over it. Spit and popcorn bits go all over. And Malloy gets pissed. Sends him to his room. Makes another cake. We eat ice cream and cake. All the while, Mal stays in his room.”

  “And let me guess,” I said, feeling like this is about to get good. “He throws the biggest bitch fit of his life.”

  Callum shook his head. “Actually, no. He does his time. Everyone forgets all about it. Or, at least, we did. He for sure didn’t. He holds this grudge for months. Then when it’s his birthday, he invites us all over, Malloy goes all out, and every last one of us that went over there had diarrhea for six hours after we got home. We can only assume that Mal spiked our food with laxatives or something. Never ate anything over there ever again.”

  “How’s that burger?” I questioned, salivating at the smell of the French fries.

  “Great,” he answered. “Why didn’t you get one?”

  I sighed.

  “Mal was very convincing when I saw him at the pharmacy,” I admitted. “He only helped hammer the point home that I really want to be able to do this Spartan race in a couple of months. I want to rock it. I want to finish it before he does, even. And I’m going to get healthy. I’m going to eat right. And I’m not going to cheat.”

  He made a grunting sound around a mouthful of burger.

  “I fucking hate Mal,” he said. “And I hate that you think you have to prove something. But, saying that, I know you’re going to rock that race. When I run it with you, you’re going to be blowing through those obstacles. I just know it.”

  Pleasure at his words started to course through me.

  “I like the faith you have in me,” I admitted. “It feels good and is weird all at the same time. I can’t even come up with a time where Mal said one thing that even remotely resembled a compliment in the last year.”

  He set his burger down.

  “The fact that you say that makes me want to punch him in the face.” He paused. “Though it really doesn’t take much. And unless you really want me to consider kicking his ass, I’d suggest changing the subject.”

  “Your brother was at the pharmacy,” I told him, realizing that he was right. We’d spent entirely way too much time talking about the jackass that used to hold the title of my husband. “He looked kind of scary.”

  “Scary seems to work for him,” Callum admitted. “We all have tempers, though. He’s just the worst at hiding it.”

  “You have a temper?” I asked curiously.

  His lips tipped up at the corner as he shoved a couple of fries into his mouth.

  My stomach grumbled, and he grinned around the fries.

  “I hate you,” I lied.

  He winked at me and finished chewing.

  “I have a temper,” he confirmed. “It just takes a lot to get it going. Ace likes to say that I’m a gentle giant until you screw me over one too many times. Then I turn into a raving lunatic. His words, not mine.”

  I snickered.

  “If Mal can’t set you off, I really don’t see you as getting pissed enough for that to happen. Mal is a pro at finding that one button to push… shit. I’m sorry. I just can’t help myself.”

  Callum’s mouth quirked. “He’s easy to complain about.”

  That he was.

  But I vowed then and there not to bring him up again that night.

  “What were you watching when I came in?” I asked, picking my ranch up and dumping it on my salad.

  I wish I could have more, because what I got wasn’t nearly enough, but unfortunately ranch was the most fattening part of my dinner. So reduced fat, and one package only, it was.

  “A show about serial killers,” he answered. “You want to watch it?”

  I shrugged. “Sounds good.”

  Chapter 9

  I clean and jerk, and have a nice snatch.

  -Things not to say to a woman

  Callum


  She liked watching shows about serial killers. Duly noted.

  “How do none of his friends and family notice that he’s so weird?” she asked curiously, chewing absently on a straw.

  I repositioned my ankle on the pillow and moved slightly so that she was more comfortably tucked into my side.

  She’d started out beside me, but not touching. And as the night had gone on, we’d gotten closer and closer until we ended up how we were now.

  I was leaning into the arm of the couch, and she was leaning into me. My arm was around her shoulder, and her head was resting on my pectoral.

  Normally, I didn’t like to be touched. I was a hot-natured person, and it was inevitable. Cuddling led to sweating, and according to my last girlfriend, it was gross.

  But today, it was cool in the house and the ice pack on my ankle was keeping me in a perpetual state of cold. Having a very hot, very cuddly Desi cuddled up next to me was just the amount of heat I needed to stay comfortable.

  “I imagine that he’s always been weird,” I admitted. “And that was just how he was to them. Weird. To any other person, I’m sure he came off as freakin’ fucked up.”

  She shivered. “It’s hard to imagine that people like that walk around in our society. Interact with us, and we don’t even know it.”

  “There was a serial killer in Houston when Banks and I were a couple of weeks from graduating,” I told her. “It was super freaky because all the women that he targeted looked just like Georgia. I was super freaked out the week she came down to watch us graduate. Banks and I made sure that she never went anywhere alone.”

  “I saw her at the grocery store last week,” she said quietly. “Her kids were giving her hell.”

  I snorted.

  “That’s an understatement, I’m sure,” I said. “Because those kids are pretty awful. I love ‘em, but Jesus Christ, they’re a handful.”

  “They were begging her to give them snacks and toys at the checkout.” She snickered. “I’m honestly not sure whether supermarkets are geniuses or assholes. I’m leaning toward assholes seeing as they damn well know that those kids are going to beg to have whatever toy they see while they’re standing in line for a long amount of time.”

  “Assholes for sure,” I agreed. “And they’re not even good toys, either. They’re shitty toys. Ones that break within five minutes of buying them. Then they bank on you not bothering to bring it back seeing as it was only a two-dollar toy.”