Page 9 of With Spite

His arms. His wrists. His hands. Heck, I could even see tattoos peeking up from his shirt collar.

Just how many tattoos did this man have?

“Ahh, it’s about time,” Hampton drawled.

The tattooed brother slammed a bottle down in front of Hampton and said, “You’re welcome.”

“What is it?” Heidi asked.

“Costco-sized cough syrup,” Hampton said, fishing the big orange bottle out of the bag.

“Costco doesn’t have bags,” Heidi said.

“Why are you going to Costco?” Vera sounded confused. “I have cough syrup on aisle five.”

“You have cough syrup that costs an arm and a leg,” the tattooed hottie grumbled. “I got that for half the price and four times as much product.”

Vera’s eyes were dangerous as she said, “Are you telling me I’m overpriced?”

“If the shoe fits.” The tattooed man turned to survey me, but didn’t say a word.

I’m sure that he took in the heavy sweater and thick leggings and instantly made his decision about me.

Most people did.

But I also did a little looking of my own.

Tall with tattoos as far as the eye could see. Worn-out jeans that looked like they were soft as butter. A white long-sleeved tee that was pushed up to his elbows. A plain black ball cap covered what looked to be black hair.

No beard, though.

What he had was arguably better.

Dimples.

My god.

Did the dimples really do it for me.

His eyes were the most ordinary thing about him. A simple light brown, but still very beautiful.

“Who’s this?” he asked.

I’d seen him before, of course.

I’d even met him before, too.

Which had me slinking into myself slightly.

“I’m Bernice. Creed’s sister.” I held out my hand to him.

He shook it, barely holding on to it for a second before dropping it. “Oh, yeah.”

Oh, yeah.

Like I wasn’t important enough to be remembered.

Great.