Wanted: someone to hand feed me Doritos so my hands don’t get orange. No weirdos.

Belle Pena was an editor. Not a writer.

When her brothers challenge her to create a dating profile, she makes up the most random biography she can think of. She never, not ever, thought she’d find anybody to respond. But she was sorely mistaken.

Sadly, she finds that she has way more interest than she ever could’ve imagined.

But only one profile catches her eye.

Bruno never meant to take the dating app seriously. Being the last single man in his band of misfits, he’s happy being the odd man out. Women spelled trouble, and he had enough trouble in his life to last him through the next decade.

Only his newfound family doesn’t feel the same. One innocent ‘sure’ has the women of the Souls Chapel Revenants MC creating him a dating profile that is too spot on to be comfortable. And just when he decides to delete the app entirely, a particular face catches his eye.

One innocent question of ‘Belle is that you? Do you remember punching me in the throat in high school?’ has him stepping into trouble neck deep, and he doesn’t even realize it until it’s too late.

Bruno

“Why Farmers Only?” I asked, wincing when I read the website’s name.

“Bruno, you have pigs. You’re a farmer. This is perfect,” Six assured me. “It’ll work out great. You can invite your date out to meet you at your farm. Y’all can go feed all of the animals. Then you can cook her dinner.”

I looked at Six.

“I don’t want to do this,” I told her bluntly.

“If you do this, I’ll never bring up you leaving me behind again,” Six declared.

I stared at her, wondering if her words were true.

I’d do just about anything for her to never bring that up again.

A long time ago, when we were in high school, her father had given me an ultimatum.

Leave Six alone, and never contact her again, or he’d make Six’s life a living hell.

The bad thing was, I knew that he could do it.

So like any dumbass seventeen-year-old, I’d done it.

I’d left her behind, gone my own way, and had never looked back.

At least, for appearance’s sake anyway, that was what I did.

In reality, I kept an eye on her from a distance, making sure that she was always okay.

At least, until Lynn, the man that might as well be my very own father, had taken a liking to her.

Then Six had come back into my life with a vengeance, and ever since she and Lynn had married, I’d found it almost impossible to get back into her good graces.

Which, might I add, was bullshit.

I’d done it for her.

Sure, once I’d ‘grown up’ I could’ve come back into her life, but who the hell would want an ex-con in their life?

I knew that I wouldn’t want anyone like me in Six’s life.

Hell, it was bad enough that I had to allow her husband, Lynn, to have a part of her life. If anything, Lynn was worse than I was.

But at least he loved her and would protect her.

That was more than I’d done for her.

“That’s not going to matter to him, honey,” Lynn said. “He believes that he deserves your ire, so he won’t care if you stop.”

That was true.

I did deserve her ire.

I’d left her, like she’d said.

Then again, I’d left a lot of people behind in my thirty-two years. Six was just one of many.

“Fine,” she said. “Then just do it because I want you to be happy.”

My eye started to twitch.

“I’m an ex-con, Six,” I said. “No woman’s going to want anything to do with me on Farmers Only. Or any website for that matter.”

Six rolled her eyes. “Bruno, you’re hot, successful, and you’re unattached. Trust me when I say that any woman is going to go for you, ex-con status or not.”

I sighed.

“I shot and killed someone. On purpose. There was no ‘oh, I might or might not have been high on adrenaline because he beat up my sister.’ I shot and killed someone. On. Purpose. People don’t just get over that because I’m hot,” I argued.

“You shot someone because you had to.” She waved my worry away. “And trust me when I say, someone out there will understand.”

Hell, I didn’t even understand.

And I’d been the one to do the shooting.

Granted, the guy had been a piece of shit.

He’d raped three women. He’d beat up his own mother. And he’d all but maimed a two-year-old with his careless actions.

But that wasn’t my reasoning for killing the piece of shit.

Hell, I hadn’t even known about all of that other stuff.

I’d known that the motherfucker had tried to kill me because of some suspected slight, and I’d had no other choice but to shoot him and suffer the consequences. That was it. Me or him.

I’d chosen me.

And then I’d spent the next eighteen months behind bars until the parole board had learned of all the other shit that the man had done in his life. Then they’d been all, ‘Oh, no. We need heroes like you on the outside.’ Which was a bunch of shit.

I was no hero.

“Are you even listening to me?” Six snapped.

“You know he’s not listening to you.” Catori, one of my brothers’ wives, chuckled.

“Where is your cut?” another woman asked. “You can’t take a picture like that. You have to have your cut on.”

I looked over to find Swayze, Trick’s wife, staring at me with her phone in her hand.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because leather and bikers go hand in hand,” she said. “If you don’t have your cut on, nobody will know that you’re in a club. And being in a club automatically ratchets up the hotness factor.”

I rolled my eyes. “It got dirty. Had to have it dry-cleaned.”

In all honesty, it got blood on it, and I’d had to douse it down with the water hose before taking it to the dry cleaners to see if they could salvage it.

If not, I might or might not need to find a new one.

I was hoping that it came out, though.

Or, at least, when I wore it, it didn’t look like I’d tie-dyed it in blood.

“Well that’s just stupid,” Swayze grumbled as she put her phone down.

“I have one from last week,” Blaise called out, pumping her fist into the air as if she’d hit the jackpot. “And he looks good in it. He’s not even scowling!”

I rolled my eyes.

“Oh, that one’s perfect. Send it to me.” Six was still typing away at the computer. “What do you think of this biography for a profile? Hobby pig farmer by day, Souls Chapel Revenant MC by night. Thirty-two-year-old man looking for a woman that isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. Anybody that can’t manage that need not reply.”

“I think we should add this…” Wyett suggested as she rattled off her idea of edits.

I sighed and sipped my beer, wondering idly how long it would take to get dinner figured out.

I was ready to go home.

Today had been long, and my fucking knuckles were aching.

Even worse, I think my back was acting up again.

I’d have to make another appointment at the chiropractor. The one that was scared of me.

Yay.

“Ohhh.” One of the ladies laughed, catching my attention.

“Oh, here’s one for you.” Six dissolved into laughter, turning the computer screen my way.

Wanted: Man to feed me Doritos so my fingers don’t get orange. No weirdos.

My ideal match: No animals, no kids, no annoying voices, doesn’t like beaches, can deal with me not talking, and doesn’t mind when I talk down to you or that I’m smarter than you. Also, it’d be ideal if you don’t like to cuddle, because my body temperature runs hot, and I don’t generally like people touching me skin to skin. Is blunt and doesn’t try to use sarcasm. Won’t try to get me to go out to places where there is a large group setting.

Again, no weirdos.

“This chick sounds like she’s perfect for you.” Six clicked on the photo, but she didn’t need to.

I’d seen the photo.

The woman was gorgeous.

Though I couldn’t see her height, I could make out other things.

She was curled up in a chair that looked like a cocoon of sorts. One with really tall sides, big, poofy cushions, and it was all hanging from a contraption from the ceiling.

She had her knees crisscrossed in front of her, and she was wearing a baggy white t-shirt, black horn-rimmed glasses, and had a book partially in front of her face.

That book happened to be one of my favorites.

Captain’s Fury by Jim Butcher.

In all honesty, that was the very first thing to catch my eye.

Her hair, which was so fuckin’ curly that I knew if I tried to run my fingers through it, they’d get caught at least a dozen times.

“She’s perfect,” Crockett declared. “Message her. But don’t make it weird. Make it… sweet.”

“Bruno’s not sweet,” one of the boys, likely Sin, called out. “Don’t make him come off as sweet. The chick will definitely know that it wasn’t him that wrote it.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Messaged her. Let’s see what she says.” Six squealed, clapping her hands.

I sighed.

“Oh, she already messaged back. Oh my God. She said, ‘Hell no.’”

My brows lifted at that.

“Oh, she’s perfect. I just know it.” Six snickered.

“Oh my God. I knew she looked familiar! That’s Belle Pena! One of my good friends! Sorry, Bruno. But there’s no way in hell that she’s going to agree to date you. She has a type,” Beckham said as she settled her son, Hiro, more firmly on her shoulder.

She looked like she was lagging, though.

I bent forward and caught the kid before Beckham, who really was interested in this whole mess, dropped her own kid.

Beckham didn’t even notice that she was giving him away to me before she was insinuating herself into the bullshit.

I tipped back the beer and settled the kid more solidly on my shoulder.

He snuggled in deep, buried his face in my neck, and promptly sneezed all down my neck.

Gross.

Goodreads

Lani Lynn Vale is married to the love of her life that she met in high school. She fell in love with him because he was wearing baseball pants. Ten years later they have three perfectly crazy children and a cat named Demon who likes to wake her up at ungodly times in the night. They live in the greatest state in the world, Texas. She writes contemporary and romantic suspense, and has a love for all things romance. You can find Lani in front of her computer writing away in her fictional characters world…that is until her husband and kids demand sustenance in the form of food and drink.