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Hard Target


There are a ton of reasons why falling for my tiny, adorkable best friend is a terrible idea—starting with the body in my trunk.

I have other reasons—he still mourns his late husband, I’m way older, he’s a foot shorter, my tattoo shop is a front, he’s an assistant professor at UT. 

Still, I can’t help but think we’d be perfect for each other if I didn’t kill people (very, very bad people) for a living.


How the f*ck did I not realize how hot my best friend is? Yeah, grief, or whatever, but were my eyes not working?

Silver fox, check. Tattooed hotness, check. Cuddles with me on Monday nights while we watch Australian melodramas, check. Says he’s not a good person, but totally is, check.

New goal: Get Everett to stop looking at me like a grieving widower, and start seeing me as someone he’d like to pin against the wall.


Now if I only knew what was behind the door marked Portal to Nowhere…

*Written in the same world as Scout and the Lavender Girl and Wrecked.

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