crazy about CEO cowboy

child, I was always overweight. Throughout my childhood and adolescence, I looked like a blob of fat. However, when I turned eighteen, I tried hard to get the body I had always wanted. And in doing so, I created an unfair image of myself. I starved, worked hard and was a completely unhappy person. Then I met Mal and I had to keep forcing myself to eat well, or not eat at all, to please my husband. Then I got injured, was forced to slack off, and gained weight. Unable to work out, I had slacked off, and my husband had lost interest in me since I was no longer his perfect little wife.

It took me six weeks to get healthy enough to exercise again and two weeks later to realize my husband was cheating on me. Within a week, I filed for divorce, and if it weren't for Mal's father, Malloy, I would have drowned. Unfortunately for Mal, when the divorce happened, Malloy took my side. Meaning I had taken Mal's entire family away from him in one fell swoop. Not that I was trying to do that or anything. I would have gladly given this to Mal if he had just worked with me on the house payment, but he has turned into a raving lunatic, and a man I no longer recognize. "You look like you're having fun," Mal scoffs. "I can't wait for you to see the checks. Oh, and before I forget. My dad said something funny today." He continues as if he can't tell he's making me uncomfortable. "He said you're going to participate in the Spartan Texas Race. What is this foolish plan you have?" He is right. But what he doesn't know is that I made a promise last night. Today will be my last day of eating like garbage. It will be the last day I put anything in my body that is unhealthy for me for at least the next few months as I train my butt for the Texas Spartan Race, which I signed up for as a spur of the moment sport decision last night. I was lying in my bed, feeling sorry for myself, and had seen the announcement on my timeline on my social media page, as I scrolled through all my friends' happy lives. Since I baked cakes for a living and made a living pretty much by word of mouth through social media, I spent a lot of time there looking for ideas and promoting the hell out of myself. And when I saw this on my timeline, I remembered when I ran the race with Mal last year. We were already having problems at this point, so when I expressed interest in wanting to go for it, he practically laughed in my face and told me I couldn't do it. So when I saw him again last night, I made a snap decision and signed up, even though I knew it would probably take everything I had to give to even finish the race, let alone rock it. This was also why, when I saw the training camp just below, which takes place with two ex-military men helping to run it who were 'getting ready for the race', I signed up both myself and my best friend for it. However, she still doesn't know this fun fact. I have a plan to meet her after lunch to discuss this with her. However, she is applying for a job and is late. "Yes." I nodded. "I mentioned it to him." I know what his next words will be without even thinking outside the box. He's so predictable. What he tells me confirms my guess about what will come out of his mouth moments later. "You know, right, that you're not going to do well?" he asks bluntly. I want to punch him in the dick. "I signed up for a boot camp that will help me achieve my goal of finishing," I say patiently, not wanting to create a scene. This is my favorite restaurant, and I want to be able to go back to this place after all is said and done with the man and the bitch standing in front of me. "Well, good luck with that," Marjorie scoffs. "Me and Mal are working together this year. Can not wait." Wonderful. On one of the biggest days of my life, I would have to see them. Yay. "That's great." I take my chips and pop them in my mouth. "You won't get anywhere eating like this." He shakes his head. "I thought you told Dad you didn't have any money. If you don't have money, how exactly can you go out to eat and buy things like that?" Sigh. "I received a gift card." By dad, of course, but it's a gift card nonetheless. He got one from his clients and then gave it to me because a little hole in the wall wasn't Malloy's cup of tea. Malloy's tastes were more refined... and they leaned toward two-hundred-dollar steaks and not ten-dollar hamburgers. "Show the checks" whispers Marjorie. She grits her teeth at his unpleasant voice. "Yes." He smiled. "She'll really like them." There he goes again with the checks. Son of a bitch. God, what did I see in him? Seriously, I can't see an inch of the man I thought I fell in love with. Sigh. "How about you show me now and give the anticipation a rest." He takes pride in taking out his wallet, opening it, and showing me the new checks he will send me every month. They're a photo of Mal and Marjorie, kissing, with Marjorie holding her hand up to the camera with my ring on her finger. My. Ring. My. Son of a bitch. You cocksucker. Ring. A family heirloom. I'm literally going to kill him. Right there and there. Followed shortly by her. I look at the knife that was wrapped around my napkin with the fork and then at Marjorie's finger. The sad thing is, I seriously considered it. Seriously. If I didn't need my job, I would seriously consider cutting off her finger just to get it. "You do realize, correct," I say softly, "that was my grandmother's ring. This has been used by every woman in my family for the last four hundred and twenty years." I had lost my wedding ring in the confusion. However, I knew I hadn't lost it. I suspected Mal had done something with it when he moved in, and apparently he did. Apparently he had given it to his new wife. I seriously want to kill them both. My hand curls around the steak in my hand, and I have to have a constant 'don't kill him' mantra in my head as he smiles like he's pulled one on me. Someone sits next to me, but I'm so crazy I don't even register who it is. I'm too busy telling myself that the color orange isn't good for redheads. Chapter 2 According to Google, I can eat seven donuts a day if I don't drink a Coca-Cola. -Maybe you shouldn't always trust what you read on the internet. Callum I watch her from across the restaurant. I'm in the last thirty minutes. I noticed her the moment she walked through the door and have openly eyed her ever since. "Can I serve you something else?" The waitress, a cute little blonde

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

like this. Damn, that's going to cost us another hundred dollars." I find my mouth twitching. "I hate her," the woman growls. I hadn't cared much about her when she was my brother's girlfriend, and I certainly don't care about her now. "Me too." Chapter 3 Does refusing to do cardio count as resistance training? -Callum to Ace Callum "I don't know why we're doing this," my brother grumbles for the fifteenth time. "I barely work from home." I look at Banks and then back to the road.

"You're doing this because I asked you to, and your stomach is starting to look a little saggy in the middle," I tease. Ace, my older brother, snorts from his seat next to me. Banks, my twin brother and older brother by two and three-quarters of a minute, looks at me from the backseat like I'm smoking meth right in front of him. "Look who's talking," he jokes. "Wasn't it you who I saw had to buy more jeans because yours didn't button?" "That was because Darby did the laundry and ruined everything," I reply. "Not because I gained weight." "Seems like a convenient excuse to me. Why else would you want to go to the gym?" he questions. Sigh. "I met a girl at the restaurant yesterday," I say. "Ace, did you know Mal was married?" Ace shrugs. "Yes." He pauses. "But I also heard that he also got divorced. That the girl was a job." I start to get angry, which isn't rational since I've known the girl for five minutes. After the two skates left last night, so did she. She didn't even say thank you or anything like that. Not that she needed to since she had already said it once. But I expected a smile or a 'good job' or something. However, I had achieved nothing. "Actually, it wasn't a job. It was him being one. The girl is super sweet... and she happens to be friends with your Codie." Ace looks at me in surprise. "How do you know that?" "I went to the feed store on the way home to eat yesterday," I respond when Ace turns around a little too much. "Asked about her. I found out that Desi and her were best friends then and still are now." Ace makes a sound in his throat that I know actually sounds like interest. "And it turns out they're going to train for the Spartan race that Colt is teaching at training camp at the gym," I continue. "Did you know that?" Ace says nothing. "Anyway, I thought we could run it too. And just show up when they're there" I continue when there is still silence in the truck's cabin. "Why am I here?" Banks asks. I roll my eyes. Banks and her lonely self never surprise me. "Because I want you to go." I shrug. "And why did I think you might want to run the race with us?" Banks shakes his head. "If it's all the same to you, while you guys work out, I'll get in the truck and run to Newsome. I need a haircut. And I like working out alone, not with a bunch of women at the gym to distract me. I'm going to run the race, but I'm not doing all the social shit." When Ace stops in front of the gym, we all jump and Ace hands over his keys. "Right?" Banks responds by getting into the truck and leaves without saying anything else. "What's up with him lately?" Ace asks, watching the truck practically pull out of the parking lot. He's acting even worse than he normally does. 1 What am I saying, since Banks didn't have PTSD from when we were kids, but he also picked up some pretty nasty scars from when we were in the army. "I don't know, but I intend to find out," I reply. "I just have to get him in the right frame of mind to talk." Ace snorts. "Then it will be during the day." It will, in fact. It has to be during the day, because there's no way to talk to him at night. His nightmares always seem to get worse when the sun goes down. "I'll talk to him tomorrow," I say. "But I have to do it after talking to Darby." "Darby?" Ace asks as he walks towards the front door, his training bag over his shoulder. "Darby." Sigh. Darby is our little brother, and the biggest pain in the ass on the planet. 1 Post-traumatic stress disorder. Well, he used to be. He's getting better, slowly but surely. I wouldn't have thought the same of him a few years ago, though. When he was younger, Darby had gone deep into shit. He hung around some nasty people, and those nasty people took him down a dark path that nearly landed his ass in jail when he assaulted a police officer. This same police officer being the love interest of our older sister, Georgia. Well, so did the old love interest, seeing as they had been in love since they were little. There were many ways Nico could deal with Darby, but in the end, he straightened him out instead of sending him to jail. For which we are all grateful. But he also scared him and did what none of his brothers were able to do, that is, take him on a path that did not lead to prison. "What did he do this time?" Ace asks as he holds the gym door open for me. I walk in, catch the door before it can slam in my face, and say, "I caught him trying to steal a few dollars from my wallet." "Why is this bad?" Ace asks. "Because I told him I needed the money and he couldn't have it," I say. "But I think he was just trying to confirm that I only had what I said I had. He thought I was lying about not having a lot of money on me. Thinking I wasn't giving it to him, because I still think he's a bit of a liar." "Well, he is," says Ace. "And even though he's done better lately, much better, I still don't trust him like I trust all of you." "True," I agree. "But I need to find out why he needed the money so badly. He's working, he should have it himself." Ace shrugs as he stops right in the middle of the door, taking a look around. "This place is packed as hell," he mutters, taking a look too. "Colt is going to hate this." Colt, one of Ace's best friends, as well as mine, and one of the group of kids we met through the foster system, had just gotten out of the military. He was also struggling to reintegrate into society. The VA counselor had suggested that he find a place that made him comfortable, but also pushed him out of his comfort zone, to try to get some human interaction. And he chose this place, as a coach, of all things. Not that I don't think he'll do a great job, but I also didn't expect him to anticipate that kind of crowd. Although the Spartan race is a big thing here. All proceeds from the race go to a local charity, Second Chance, which helps find jobs for disabled veterans. Charity organizer Mercy Spurlock is the wife of a SWAT team member with the Kilgore Police Department. Miller Spurlock also worked with Nico, who brought the opportunity to Colt and I at lunch last week. And he, wanting to find a way to overcome his struggles, thought doing so might help. But I doubt he had any idea how popular