Page 9 of How To Catch A Killer … And Date His Best Friend

Dean blanches while Marcus shakes his head, getting back to work and focusing on the long line of people wanting to get into my bar.

“I’ll let you stew on that,” I tell Dean, stepping closer into Hunter’s side, a silent message that we can get going. However, as we make our way down the sidewalk, he huffs beside me, the sound suspiciously close to a laugh, and I pause.

I glance up at him, my brow arched. “You laugh?”

Hunter smirks and shakes his head in amusement, and once again, my heart rate picks up. “Occasionally.”

“Wow. I feel special.”

His grip tightens around my lower back, pulling me in closer until my chest is pressed right up against his. Then he takes my chin between his first finger and thumb and lifts. I suck in a breath, unsure why I’m suddenly flooded by nerves. “You shouldn’t.”

What is it about this guy? His deadpan delivery makes me grin, and as I’m trying to work out a smart response, his gaze slowly shifts back to Marcus and Dean. Dean’s attention is still fully on us, a deep suspicion in his stare.

“What’s the deal here?” Hunter asks. “Am I cutting someone’s turf by taking you out?”

“No,” I laugh. “They’re just overprotective. They take their jobs very seriously, and because Onyx Heights is full of drunk creeps and assholes, such as yourself, and my bar is staffed by only women, they like to walk us to our cars and make sure we’re safe. I suppose you can look at them like protective older brothers.”

Marcus rolls his eyes at the endearment, and honestly, I hadn’t realized he was still listening. “Get out of here already,” he says, looking over a woman’s ID before glancing back up at Hunter. “Be a fucking gentleman and treat her like a queen. If I hear anything less, I will help her hunt you down and watch her pull your intestines from your body like tangled Christmas lights.”

Hunter smiles as though we’re finally speaking his language. It’s slow, sharp, and dangerous enough to make my stomach flip. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Jesus Christ. Why does this feel like a pissing match?” I scold, before pointing at both of my bouncers. “Behave yourselves,” I say, allowing Hunter to finally pull me away.

“No promises,” Dean laughs as he calls after me. “Have a good night.”

“Oh, yeah. That motherfucker is definitely into you.”

I scoff. He’s definitely not, but I don’t need to defend that to Hunter. Instead, I just grin. “That wouldn’t be a hint of jealousy I detect, is it?”

Hunter’s lips press into a tight line as his sharp gaze shifts back to mine. He brings us to a stop on the sidewalk, his arm snaking around my waist and pulling me in so hard against his chest that the breath escapes my lungs. My heart races, and I stare up at him, hanging on his every word. “Look at you, Savage. You clench your thighs every time you look at me. The pulse at the base of your throat speeds up, and every time I touch you, you’re breathless. I’ve got nothing to be jealous about. That fucker can spend his nights jerking off to the thought of you on top of him, but at the end of the night, I’ll be the one making you scream.” He pauses, a sly grin creeping across his lips as that dark gaze seems to eat me alive. “When I’m fucking jealous, Savage, you’ll know.”

Well, fuck me. Why is it suddenly so hard to breathe?

I don’t respond, but it’s not needed. We both know damn well what effect he’s just had over me. His hold on my waist loosens, and his hand drops to the small of my back once again as we carry on down the street as though he didn’t just turn me into a puddle of overstimulated mush on the sidewalk.

The city air is cool against my thighs as we walk, neon lights reflecting off wet pavement from the rain earlier in the evening. Hunter doesn’t say much, but the silence feels intentional. Everything about this man feels intentional.

“You always this quiet?” I ask after a minute.

“You always talk this much?”

I grin to myself. “Only when I’m trying to thoroughly annoy someone.”

“And is it working?”

I glance sideways at him. “You tell me.”

His mouth twitches slightly, playing into the joke and easing something inside of me. “Victory!” I cheer, loving a man who doesn’t hold back when it comes to playful teasing.

We stop outside a small bar tucked between a tattoo studio and an old record store, and it’s everything that Black Velvet isn’t. It’s quaint. No giant line. No flashing lights. Just low amber light spilling through dark windows while soft music drifts out onto the street.

I blink. “Okay. Unexpected.”

Hunter opens the door for me. “That a good thing?”

“Undecided,” I tease. “I figured you’d take me somewhere that I’d collect at least three felony charges.”

“That comes later,” he says with a wink.