There’s something going on behind his eyes. Something intense.
And I’m irritated that I don’t know his expressions well enough to know what it means.
But Hans doesn’t say anything, just reaches past me to grab the backpacks, lifting them easily up and over me.
As he flings his door open, I shift and slide out after him.
Of course he doesn’t let me just drop down to the ground—he catches me around the waist, lowering me slowly.
I expect him to start walking toward the hotel, but Hans moves to the rear door and opens it.
I’m on the other side of the door, so I don’t see what he’s doing until he slams it shut.
And then my jaw slackens.
Because he’s pulling on a worn leather jacket. Mixed with his boots, long hair, and shirt that’s not buttoned all the way to the top, he looks like a literal rockstar.
Unaware of my throbbing libido, Hans slings a backpack over each shoulder—which somehow doesn’t look out of place, then gestures for me to go.
I stop in front of the truck and hold my hand out for Hans.
His eyes snap down to my hand, and I watch him swallow before he grips my fingers with his own.
His hold is tight, like he’s worried I might say just kidding and pull my hand back.
I glance up at his profile.
He really is stupidly handsome. And vigilante killer or not, I can’t believe he didn’t have a woman in his life already.
But thank fuck he didn’t. If I’d had to witness a girlfriend coming and going from his place, I’d probably have moved.
Together, we step off the parking ramp and turn down the sidewalk.
The historic hotel is only a dozen yards away, and that’s when I remember what I’m wearing.
I halt, pulling Hans to a stop with me.
He looks down at me, but I just hold up a finger.
I use the toe of one shoe to pull off the other, then lift my foot and pull off the oversized sock I stole from Hans’s basement bunker. Shoving my bare foot back into my tennis shoe, I repeat the process with the other.
With both socks off, I shove them into the hoodie pocket and tug the sides of the hoodie down even more, ensuring it covers my sleep shorts entirely.
“What are you doing?”
Not dropping his hand, I step back to let him see. “I’m your drunk hookup for the night.”
He lifts a brow. “Huh?”
“You picked me up at your club.” I smirk. “But my high heels were killing me, so I switched into these.” I point at my feet. Without the bulky socks bunched at the top of my shoes, I look much less memorable. “And I got too cold in my skimpy outfit, so you gave me your hoodie. Because you’re a gentleman.” I bat my eyes.
“Because I’m a gentleman,” Hans repeats.
“Yep.” I start walking, pulling him along with me. “Until we get to the room, of course. Then you’re going to fuck me like the brat I am.”
