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I sure as shit couldn’t put Hermes—my underworld codename—on my passport, could I?
“I dunno about you, but I think he’s hoping for a hole in one tonight.”
I waved, she flipped me the bird. Cute. That was becoming our thing.
“That’s what you get for using that phone app shit. No one is on there to find a relationship, Ivy-girl, only hook ups.” I rolled my eyes. “Last I checked, I also didn’t want a relationship. Stay out of it, you old badger. None of your business.” He chuckled. “Fair enough. Come over, I need your thoughts on a project I’m working on.” I wrinkled my nose. “Give me ten minutes to shower and change.” Nelson grimaced. “Spare me the details, kid. Come over when you’re sanitized, I’ll open some wine.”
Somehow, I suspected I’d have an easier time asking the sun to turn blue.
She was so far off where I needed her to be, and I was at a loss for how to catch and hold her attention long enough to pull off this heist.
That smooth-talking, lush-lipped, infuriatingly tall motherfucker ruined yet another date night.
Value didn’t matter to some of my clients, though. It wasn’t about stealing for profit; it was stealing for sentimentality or pride. Those were often the most satisfying jobs. And the most amusing, given what some people asked me to steal…like potted plants.
“Subtle, John, real subtle. Maybe next time just flop your dick out on the cake and see if anyone wants to suck it.”
“Tristian,” I murmured, carrying her across the parking lot in the direction of the staff cottages, “You could be capable of flying and I’d still be carrying you.”
Don’t let it go to your head. I probably would have fucked a pillow.” His smirk turned mischievous. “I think you did, in your sleep.” He spun around, leaning his ass against the vanity as he held my gaze. Dammit, he was shirtless and only wore a loose pair of gray sweatpants. What a slut.
Hank had the afternoon off work, and I bet he’s cooked up a feast.” I sniffed the air and shook my head. “I bet he hasn’t. He probably got distracted reading fairy porn again.”
“What’s going on, Casanova?” she asked quietly. “You look like someone just kicked your dog. I’d have thought you’d be all smug and glowing and shit.” The corner of my lips tilted as amusement replaced my indecision. Tris was worth losing the Game for…wasn’t she? “Glowing? We had great sex, Tris, I’m not pregnant.” She scoffed. “Yeah well you look like I just shut your nuts in a car door, so what gives? And for the record, that was more than just great sex, so don’t even pretend you’ve had better.”
Exhaling heavily, I locked eyes with my tea. “At the party last night, he disappeared for a really long time.” Nelson chuckled. “The man probably needed to rub one out. Give him a break. What else?” I gritted my teeth, feeling my cheeks flame. “I’m pretty sure he’s been stealing my vibrators.” A moment of silence followed that admission, then Nelson laughed so hard I worried he was going to fall out of his
I certainly couldn’t tell her why I was currently panicking so hard. Because John had been released…which meant he knew he’d stolen a forgery of Poppy Flowers. And I’d bet that Mr. Grimaldi also knew. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together…that if the thief didn’t take the original Van Gogh worth $50 million, who did? Me. That’s who. Me and my elderly con-man neighbor. “Tris, what’s going on?” Katinka asked. I didn’t answer her. Then my intercom doorbell buzzed. I’m so screwed this time.
