The Dude. He was rugged, rough around the edges. He wasn’t the most angelic guy on the block, not by a long shot. His moral compass left much to be desired, but regardless, you adored him all the same. You were posted up on his beat up couch in his shitty trailer, Champ somewhere off messing around as Dude thumbed at the hem of your shirt. Your gaze automatically lingered upon the movement, distracted by the strong, hard-working, veiny hand. You couldn’t help but be attracted to that part of him—the calluses on his hands did little to deter you. As if he noticed your wandering thoughts, Dude smirked, cupping your jaw, bringing your gaze to his hidden eyes. “Something on your mind, sweetheart?” He teased, already knowing where your mind was going. He knew how you felt about his hands.