Shakedown (Souls Chapel Revenants MC 8)

I was ready to go home.

Today had been long, and my fucking knuckles were aching.

Even worse, I think my back was acting up again.

I’d have to make another appointment at the chiropractor. The one that was scared of me.

Yay.

“Ohhh.” One of the ladies laughed, catching my attention.

“Oh, here’s one for you.” Six dissolved into laughter, turning the computer screen my way.

Wanted: Man to feed me Doritos so my fingers don’t get orange. No weirdos.

My ideal match: No animals, no kids, no annoying voices, doesn’t like beaches, can deal with me not talking, and doesn’t mind when I talk down to you or that I’m smarter than you. Also, it’d be ideal if you don’t like to cuddle, because my body temperature runs hot, and I don’t generally like people touching me skin to skin. Is blunt and doesn’t try to use sarcasm. Won’t try to get me to go out to places where there is a large group setting.

Again, no weirdos.

“This chick sounds like she’s perfect for you.” Six clicked on the photo, but she didn’t need to.

I’d seen the photo.

The woman was gorgeous.

Though I couldn’t see her height, I could make out other things.

She was curled up in a chair that looked like a cocoon of sorts. One with really tall sides, big, poofy cushions, and it was all hanging from a contraption from the ceiling.

She had her knees crisscrossed in front of her, and she was wearing a baggy white t-shirt, black horn-rimmed glasses, and had a book partially in front of her face.

That book happened to be one of my favorites.

Captain’s Fury by Jim Butcher.

In all honesty, that was the very first thing to catch my eye.

Her hair, which was so fuckin’ curly that I knew if I tried to run my fingers through it, they’d get caught at least a dozen times.

“She’s perfect,” Crockett declared. “Message her. But don’t make it weird. Make it… sweet.”

“Bruno’s not sweet,” one of the boys, likely Sin, called out. “Don’t make him come off as sweet. The chick will definitely know that it wasn’t him that wrote it.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Messaged her. Let’s see what she says.” Six squealed, clapping her hands.

I sighed.

“Oh, she already messaged back. Oh my God. She said, ‘Hell no.’”

My brows lifted at that.

“Oh, she’s perfect. I just know it.” Six snickered.

“Oh my God. I knew she looked familiar! That’s Belle Pena! One of my good friends! Sorry, Bruno. But there’s no way in hell that she’s going to agree to date you. She has a type,” Beckham said as she settled her son, Hiro, more firmly on her shoulder.

She looked like she was lagging, though.