Addie (Pack of Misfits #1) - Raven Kennedy Page 0,1

looks like he’s been out in the sun instead of holed up indoors. There’s something inherently sexy about it.

His blond hair and hazel eyes complement his skin tone nicely, but his face? It’s lickable. And I don’t go around wanting to lick just anybody. But him? I’d risk the germs for him.

I notice him taking me in as well, no doubt smelling that I’m a shifter, too. I ignore his perusal and take his withdrawal slip. I start typing away on my computer so I can get him taken care of as quickly as possible, because even though the guy is hot, he’s still an outsider.

When I enter his account number and pull up his profile, my hand freezes on the keyboard because whoa. This guy is loaded.

I discreetly rub my eyes with my hand just to make sure the numbers aren’t blurring together. Sometimes my mascara-covered lashes stick together and do that. But nope. There really are that many digits.

I quickly drop my hand and put on my professional bank teller face so that I can pretend like seven-digit numbers are totally normal. Boring, even. A millionaire? Please. Same old, same old. If he’s waiting for a reaction from me, he isn’t going to get one. Professional. Bank. Teller.

I check his ID for his name. Penn Weiss. “Would you like that in hundreds, Mr. Weiss?” I ask him.

Did my voice just raise an octave?

God, I think my palms are sweating, too. One hot and tanned outsider with a ridiculously fat bank account, and I get all jittery, apparently. I don’t know why, but rich people make me nervous. I didn’t actually know this about myself until right this second, but hey, self-awareness is good. I may work at a bank, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone have more than five digits at one time in this small town.

Mr. Seven Digits looks up at me from his phone. “Sure. You can throw in some twenties, too.”

I nod quickly, attempting to look normal. “Okie dokie.”

He snorts under his breath and shoots me a look. “Okie dokie?”

His hazel eyes twinkle with mockery. My own eyes narrow. Just like that, my nervousness is gone. “Are you making fun of me?”

The corner of his lip twitches. “I just haven’t heard anyone say okie dokie since I was about seven.”

“People say it all the time,” I say vehemently. “Maybe you should get out more.”

A grin splits across his face. God, what kind of toothpaste is he using? His teeth are freaking sparkling. “Tell you what, you let me know what time you get off, and you can make sure that I get out more when I pick you up tonight.”

Now it’s my turn to snort. “Yeah, no.”

He tilts his head at me. “…Was that a yes or a no? You kinda said both.”

“It’s a no.”

He clicks his tongue. “Eh, you said ‘yeah’ first, so I’m gonna go with that one.”

I shake my head. “No, no you aren’t. Because everyone knows that it’s the last word you say that counts.”

It’s true. Ask anyone.

He leans forward and braces his forearms on the counter in front of me, and my eyes automatically dart down at his chest that’s now on display. From what I can see, he’s muscled and just as lickable down there. He also has an excellent collarbone. Not that I’ve checked out many collarbones. Or any, besides his. But still. His is top notch.

“Are you…looking down my shirt?” he asks, his voice filled with laughter.

I snap my eyes back up to his face. “What? No,” I answer too quickly.

The asshole laughs at me, making my face heat up. I don’t react well when people make fun of me. Call it a throwback from a terrible childhood.

He flicks his hazel eyes to my nametag. “Okay, Aderyn Locke. You’re gonna have to buy me a drink for that down-the-shirt look you just stole.”

I could try to deny it, but I’m no liar.

I shake my head. “Nice try.”

He keeps the amused smile on his face as he looks around to see if anyone is near enough to overhear. Everyone else who works here is human, and I don’t have the best sense of smell, but I’m fairly certain the rest of the customers in line are as well. When he’s sure we won’t be heard, he lowers his voice and says, “I can smell that you’re a shifter.”

“Huh,” I say noncommittally, as I type more numbers into the computer. I’m not actually doing anything at this