Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Not some random steamy sexting.
Riley: Is this a booty call right now?
Alexan: I was just thinking about you. And smelling you.
I’d call him creepy, but that’s exactly what I’ve been doing too.
Riley: Want to know something? I’m wearing your shirt right now.
Alexan: Show me. Right now.
My stomach does flips, and I’m smiling to myself as I go into the bathroom. I take a quick selfie, hate it, delete it, take another, and another until finally one looks good enough to send.
Alexan: Looks like you really are mine already.
Riley: Don’t flatter yourself. I just look good in it.
Alexan: You really fucking do. Have you washed it yet? Or are you rolling around in my scent and fucking your pussy like you did that day?
Jesus fuck, this man. I mean, he’s dead on, but I’m not about to admit that.
Riley: I’m at a business dinner with my father and one of his associates. So no finger fucking or rolling around.
Alexan: That didn’t answer my question. Have you washed it yet?
Riley: We’re not all freaks like you are.
Alexan: Since you’re still dodging, I’ll assume you haven’t. How about this, my lovely thief? Come break into my house again tomorrow. I’ll leave you something to wear.
I lick my lips, heart racing. God, that’s so tempting. It’s disastrous is what it is. I’ve been obsessing about that afternoon since it happened, but what’ll happen if I really let myself go back?
And it’s not as good as it was?
I don’t want to ruin that memory. Hell, I don’t want to make our marriage awkward by letting my impulsive horny brain get the best of me.
But most of all, I still have my father’s voice in my head.
Telling me not to make any more mistakes.
Riley: Sorry, big guy, but I can’t. I gave up my thieving ways.
Alexan: I doubt that’s true.
Riley: Cross my heart. Besides, I’m busy dress shopping tomorrow.
Alexan: For our wedding? Just wear my shirt.
Riley: Doubt that’ll go over well with the families.
Alexan: No, but at least they’ll all know you’re claimed by me.
Riley: Isn’t that the point of the wedding ring?
Alexan: Sometimes rings aren’t enough.
I shake my head and start typing a response when I hear my name called from the other room. I hesitate, delete what I was about to say, and head back into the dining room to find Jeremy on his feet, his jacket on, and his briefcase tucked under an arm.
“Done already?” I ask, trying not to sound flushed and excited. Alexan’s random messages pierced straight through my armor and are boiling right in my veins. I feel alive suddenly, more invigorated than I have since Dad tossed my tools down on the bar and embarrassed me in front of the family.
“All done,” Jeremy confirms with another charming smile. “Your father is easy to work with.”
Fucking doubt that.
Dad’s got his strained, friendly look on his face, like he’s not sure where the bad smell’s coming from. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Fong. Riley, did you want to say goodbye?”
“Yes, of course.” I don’t know why I do it, but I move forward. Jeremy puts out a hand again while I go in for a much more informal hug, and we end up bumping together, my hand twisted into his jacket. “Oh, god, I’m sorry!”
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Jeremy says, laughing dismissively, and gives me a quick hug. “You were very helpful tonight, Riley. Thank you for the company.”
“My pleasure.” I beam at him happily—
And slip the watch into my back pocket.
My heart’s racing like crazy. Sweat prickles my skin.
This is why I steal. It’s the rush, the excitement, the danger that hangs in the brief moments before I know I’m getting away with it. Any second now, he might realize I took something—
But Dad sweeps Jeremy away to the door, talking numbers, confirmations, contracts, and phone calls.
I clear the table, grinning like an idiot. Once the plates are stacked, I send one last text.
Riley: See you in a month, creep.
He doesn’t answer, but that’s okay. I’m flying high and elated as I do the dishes. Dad stops in to thank me for my help, back to looking his normal sour self before he disappears into his office.
Only after I’m done cleaning up and safely back in my room do I finally take out my prize.
It’s a pocket watch. Burnished brass case, complicated engraving on the face. There’s no make or model. I’m guessing it’s very, very old, based on the wear and tear.
What’s a modern guy like Jeremy Fong doing with a piece like this?
Doesn’t matter. I whistle to myself as I open my closet door, loosen the fake board against the wall, and kneel down to open an old, lead-lined safe hidden in the wall.
Inside are my most precious treasures.
A state senator’s wallet. An ivory cat statue taken from a notorious gangster’s living room. A signed photo of Lionel Messi swiped from some asshole consultant’s private soccer memorabilia collection. Along with a dozen other minor items, mostly all entirely worthless, except to me as mementos of all the dumb things I’ve pulled off.