Chapter 2 my food

with big breasts, but that doesn't negate the fact that my heart always wanted to go to the hot ones. Those that are problems. Big, big problem. And the one sitting in the booth alone three tables below mine? She really looks like she's trouble. The kind of problems that make you fall in love with them and you live happily ever after with that kind of problem. I lower my eyes back to the brochure I'm reading and patiently wait for my food to come out. And while I do that, I certainly don't look up and find myself staring at a certain redhead. No. No. No-no. I can also keep my hunts. At least until my brother's ex-girlfriend and her ex-best friend spotted her. At first, I leave it alone. Seriously, I'll let you. But then they started giving her shit about her weight, at least in their sarcastic comments without calling her fat, and I lost some of my composure. See, here's my thing. I want my wife to really look like a woman. I want them to have curves. I want them to have thighs and an ass. I want them to have breasts that overflow my hands. I want them to have a soft lap for my head to rest on. Honestly, I like them as a pillow. And the redhead? God, she is everything I ever wanted, rolled into one perfect, beautiful, perfect package. Malon? Mail? Bad? I can't remember his name in my head. But whatever his name is, he reaches into his pocket and takes out something, throwing it on the table next to the woman's appetizer. Her face turns pale and her eyes widen. That’s when I hear her say, “Mal, you told me you couldn’t find the ring. That's the only thing I asked for back! It was my mother's! My grandmother! “ I then get up, catch the waitress before she can put the food on my table. “Take her to her table,” I order as I grab my glass. “I decided to move. But don’t bring it until hers is ready, please.” The waitress blinks. Then she turns around with my food in her hands. I walk over to the table and sit down next to the really angry woman who barely recognizes that I've blocked her. “Hey, Malfo,” I say, smiling. "What are you doing here?" Barely blinks. "And bad." I shrug. “You are interrupting our dinner. Do you mind?" Mal nods and goes to grab his checkbook which I can now see in the middle of the table, and I 'accidentally' drop my half-full drink, soaking the checkbook. "Oh shit." I manage to look sorry. "I'm very sorry." The woman next to me finally lets go and places the napkin over the spill. I do the same and restrain him before he starts to roll off the table. "Nothing else." Mal smiles as if I hadn't done it on purpose. We both know I had it. “If you don’t mind,” I say as the waitress finally places my food in front of me, as well as the woman’s. "We are hungry." Mal leaves, pulling Marjorie behind him before anything else can be said. I think I still had it. Mal has never liked me and the feeling is mutual. “Thank you,” the woman whispers, looking at her food as if she's trying not to cry. “Mal was always a piece of shit,” I say as I pick up my burger. “Everything he does or says has a vengeful touch. Fuck him and everything that comes out of his mouth.” I take a big bite of my burger and hope she does the same with her salad. I generally don't like it when women have salads. However, this particular salad actually looks really good. So good, in fact, that I consider eating it alone. “Mal is my ex-husband,” she murmurs. “He gave him my wedding ring, the one that used to belong to my mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, to this woman.” “Was she using it?” I ask between bites. “Yes,” she whispers. "OK." And when I get up and go to the table where Mal and Marjorie had resumed their seats. Eating the same way they just beat their wife for eating. Mal's eyes meet mine before I can get there. I'm still chewing on my piece of burger when I stop at their table. I extend my hand to Marjorie, which she does. “Marjorie, right?” I ask as I place my other hand over hers. Slip of the hand, and it's done. “Yes,” she says. "You do not remember me?" I curl my lip as I put my hand in my pocket. "Yes. That's why I'm only going to say this once to everyone. Leave her alone or deal with me.” They both blink. “You don’t know me anymore, Callum. So don’t pretend.” Mal growls. My head tilts and I look at him with cold, dead eyes. “You don’t know me anymore either,” I say calmly. “Think about it before you decide to hurt her again. And if I see you disrespect her in any way in public again... well, let's just say I know a lot of people in this town, one of which is your father.” Mal's eyes narrow, and I wish I could give him a good punch before I left. Unfortunately, I like being on the outside of a cell rather than inside. That, and there's a very pretty lady sitting next to my burger. A pretty girl who is staring at me curiously when I return to her. The moment I sit down next to her, her face burns. “What did you just do?” she asks curiously. I lean toward her, reach into my pocket, and pull out the ring. Holding it in the palm of my hand, making sure to hide it by holding it lightly under the table, her face becomes cheerful. "Oh my God!" she screams. Then she throws herself at me. Desperate for his display of happiness, I almost drop the ring and barely close my hand around it before it falls to the floor. “Calm down,” I say in surprise, closing my arms around her. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she whispers fiercely. “I would be devastated if I never got it back.” “Do you plan on using it for your next wedding?” I provoke. She shakes her head, suddenly looking sad. "No. I plan on putting it in my jewelry box and never wearing it again. But that doesn't mean I don't still want him... it was never really for marriage anyway. It was for me... something that represented my mother and grandmother. When they died, I thought I would die with them. It’s one of the only things I have left of them.” “Good thing I have it for you then.” I reluctantly let her go. When she sits down, her face once again red, I hold out the ring to her. She takes it, carefully picks it up and puts it on her ring finger. The right ring finger. “You hate him, don’t you?” I ask. Her eyes turn to mine. "You have no idea." “Try me,” I suggest. Her smile is soft. “I hate him enough to run a Spartan race that I know I'll fail spectacularly,” she whispers. "What do you think about this?" That seems pretty hateful there. I like. “Well then, that makes two of us, because I manage that too,” I tease. Or it will be now. I just have to convince my brother that he's doing this to me. The dick bag and its wet blanket pass us by, the wet blanket talking loud enough to hear it as they pass. “We’re going to have to get