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Summary
So the thing was, Rooster had a type. Short, older, well-built men with pretty faces, dark hair, and green eyes. Three of those traits in one package was all it took to get him scurrying off his perch and diving in for the kill. Four or five, and he became a completely different person—fierce and focused like Hangman had never seen. And if a guy happened to check every box? Wow. Just wow.
Because really, the thing was—Hangman had a type, too. And it happened to coincide with Rooster’s. (Well, at first it just intersected with Rooster’s—he liked older men, liked dark hair and light eyes, was less picky about height and build—but now it coincides. You bet your ass it does now.)