“I’m perfectly fucking friendly,” I grouched right back, though I did make an effort to smooth the furrow between my brow as the Bakers finally reached us. I knew I could be intimidating. It came with the size, the muscle mass, and the multitude of tattoos I had etched across my body. I’d also been told I had a “resting bitch face” by my brother Trent on multiple occasions. Whatever that meant.
