Eve Dangerfield

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He wasn’t a pretty boy, his nose was crooked and his grin lopsided, but he had that square-jawed, salt-of-the-earth handsome look that made a girl think of loose-hipped cowboys and demanding Scottish Lairds. And speaking of Scottish Lairds, old mate was a redhead. Usually gingers weren’t her scene but this guy’s hair was the rich coppery-auburn of a fox's pelt. It gleamed like rose gold under the floodlights, his short beard the exact colour as the stuff on his head. Big Red was doing it for her. Big time. And apparently, the feeling was mutual

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They’d tried to diagnose him but there was no apparent medical explanation for his behaviour. He was just what his mum called ‘away with the fairies’ and Max called ‘a bit of a lost cunt

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You’re my dream girl, Ash. No one even comes close