Doin' A Dime (Souls Chapel Revenants MC 4)

Because holy, holy hell.

The man had that deep V that made my mouth go dry.

A loud screeching from the other side of the van had me turning—reluctantly, might I add—away from Hunt and toward the man that was rounding the front of the van to come to the side.

“What the fuck, man?” the man asked of Hunt. “My wife’s in the car.”

He pointed at the van.

Hunt shrugged. “Had to change, man. And she didn’t see anything that wouldn’t have been seen had I been going to the pool.”

He had a very good point.

“Whatever.” The man took an aggressive step toward Hunt. Hunt who, might I add, didn’t look the least bit intimidated by the man’s aggressive posture. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Hunt, who’d been in the process of pulling his shirt on over his chest—the shame—came to a frozen halt when the man’s words met him.

“I’m sorry,” Hunt hesitated. “Excuse me if I’m wrong but you move the fuck on. I’m changing. You’re not doing anything.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “I was here first.”

Hunt shrugged. “I don’t give a flying fuck.”

I groaned. “Hunt.”

He didn’t even turn to look at me.

“You want some of this, bro?” The man slapped his chest.

That was when I got out of the car, my nerves starting to shoot sparks.

I didn’t know Hunt all that well.

What I did know was that his dogs loved him. He was rich beyond belief. He took care of everything so that I didn’t have to worry a single bit over the last few years. And that he’d gone to jail.

That was really all I knew about him.

But over the last few years and me visiting him once a month, I’d come to really like him as a person.

Not to mention he was hot as hell.

But I digress.

I didn’t know what Hunt would do in this situation.

He’d definitely gotten a little rougher around the edges since he’d gone to prison.

So there really was no telling what he would do in this position, but he got out of the car right after I did and moved to stand in front of me.

“Listen, you little twit. I could eat you for breakfast. I literally just got out of prison. I’m more than capable of handling my own. Do you really want to try me? Because your pressed white shirt and Dockers don’t give me the indication that you can handle yourself. So move. The fuck. On.”

The guy’s face blanched, then his eyes rolled down the length of Hunt’s body, settling on the orange jumpsuit that was puddled on the floor of the car that he could now see through the open door.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what it looks like,” he said. “So, I’m sorry if you’re delicate and can’t handle seeing a male body—which might I point out was not naked—but seriously, I needed to get the fuck out of those clothes.”

The guy backed away slowly.

Then, once he was far enough away he deemed himself safe, he tucked tail and ran back around to the other side of the van.

I grinned and tucked my chin, getting back into the car.

When Hunt turned around and faced me a few seconds later, fully clothed in the clothing that I’d picked out, he was not happy.

“Listen,” he said softly. “I’ve got a temper. I really, really don’t want to snap at you. Because you’re very nice and you’ve been doing me a favor all these years. But don’t put yourself in harm’s way. Please. That’s all that I ask.”

I side-eyed him.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I just didn’t want you to wind up right back where you started.”

He blew out a breath, then started the car back up and put it into gear.

Once he was in a good spot, the two of us walked back into Target together.

Not holding hands, but definitely close enough that we could if we wanted to.

“Now, show me where you found the clothes. I’m going to need more of them, and an idea of what size I am now so I can order some online when I get back home,” he urged.

I did take his hand then, but only long enough to lead him in the correct direction before dropping it again.

“This way.”

I didn’t know what I expected, but I hadn’t thought that he would buy everything in the store.

I mean, I knew that he’d gone in there for clothes.

What I hadn’t expected was that he’d buy everything that he could get his hands on.

It started with just clothes.

And at one point, when I realized that we wouldn’t be able to carry it all, I’d stolen a cart that was filled with underwear, placed all the underwear on the ground beside the rack, and then hustled it over to where Hunt was buying out the place.

From there he moved to the baby aisle where he picked up baby lotion—why, I wasn’t sure, but I was too afraid to ask. Or maybe too embarrassed.