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Summary
“Hey, pretty thing.”
Hunter scowls at the weequay who is leaning against the counter in front of him. He reeks of alcohol and cigarettes, and Hunter recoils. The wall behind him prevents him from going far, but at least it puts some distance between them.
“What do you want?” he asks, trying to keep his voice level and disinterested. Instead of answering, the guy rakes his eyes over Hunter’s body in a very suggestive way. Hunter gives back a scowl, which only makes him laugh.
