Free CALLIE (The Naughty Ones Book 1) by Kristina Weaver Page B

steadily insulted the woman since you ‘met’ and just about let her know each and every flaw she possesses. Call me stupid, but that did not scream I want you .”
    “I get nervous around her!”
    I turn into the least suave man on earth when I really want to impress a woman. Fucking A. It galls that I have zero game when it comes to her, but I just can’t seem to help myself. When I try to pay her a compliment, it’s like my brain goes nuts and what ends up coming out of my mouth is the exact opposite of what I meant to say.
    Just yesterday I called her and wanted to tell her that I want her. What came out was more along the lines of “I always get what I want, even if it’s you.”
    Jesus.
    I got a screech and dial tone for that shit and another night of jacking off.
    “Nervous? You?” Freddie laughs, his eyes round with mockery.
    I have never been nervous or unsure of anything in my life. Call it the result of always being top dog and wanted by anyone who gets within my orbit.  Can’t help that shit. My parents gave me fantastic genes to work with and I happen to work hard for everything else.
    Just not women. Or love.
    Holy hell. Did I just say the L word?
                  I realize what it is about her that’s got me hooked. She must be the first woman ever, besides my mother, who hasn’t fallen all over herself to snag me.
    What has my balls drawing tight and tormenting my dick is her quiet disdain and lack of interest. Amazing.
    “Shit. I need an in, guys. I need it now before she gets it into her head that I’m not worth the light of day,” I mutter, ignoring the smirks they throw at me.
    “You’re already screwed then, man. Callie’s smart. I bet she already thinks you’re a dickwad.”
    Go with the flow.
    Fuck that. I think it may be time to dam the river and take back control.
    ***
    Callie
    “Stop it, Gruffy.”
    I’m going to hell for the murderous thoughts I’m having about my gran right now and I know it. I don’t think even confession and a hundred Hail Marys will get my ass out of the fire when I start picturing my woolly-haired tormentor hanging by her toes from my third-floor apartment window.
                  “No, you stop it. The boy is from good stock, you dunderheaded shrew. He made one mistake, the exact one you made, and he’s trying to make it up to you and all you can do is yell at the poor lamb.”
    I hate them all as I shove on a pair of flats and try in vain to smooth down my dress where it keeps gathering around my butterball belly. God, I’m getting huge and it’s only the fifth freaking month of this travesty. If I hadn’t have seen the scans and had the doctor count toes, fingers, and heads, I would have thought the baby was a two-headed demon like his dad.
    He’s growing fast, and the things that is doing to my body are not okay. “I will not get stretch marks,” I keep mumbling to myself.
    The boobs aren’t doing great, either. My nipples have morphed from pretty pink to a shade I will not name. Son of a bitch.
                  Now here I am, and I’m expecting the father of my baby and his whole clan for lunch and a day of getting to know each other.
    This is what I have to look forward to for at least the next three to four hours. And things are already hard for me. He calls me and says the most horrible things that make me mad and laugh at the same time.
    Yesterday’s nugget of pure gold was when he tried to tell me how sorry he is for being such a dick and how he’d really like to spend some time with me to get to know me. What came out was “I’m sorry, but you know, I need to know what to expect from your half of the gene pool. Just in case.”
    I don’t think he even realized he was insulting my ancestry or me, really, but that’s what I heard. I slammed the phone down in his ear and laughed my ass off for the next ten minutes while Dot giggled and gave me a pouty face for poor