Of course she wanted to know the answer! Any damn paranormal, hunter, or even man with a bit of common sense in their brain knew not to touch her truck. Didn’t take a fucking genius to look at her and know there was hell to pay if so even a scratch was put in its frame.

“Well, I would at least like you to help me clean it up.”

“Or I can get some salt and holy water and make you remember why people don’t touch my things.”

“—- Kinky.”

Usually, he would have gone on some long-assed rant about how she didn’t matter. Instead, he just had it all resort down to one word. If she got her own personal kicks from throwing salt and holy water at his face? Who was he to judge. 

“Won’t get you anywhere, but still, kinky.”