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This job could burn my most authentic cover identity, no doubt about it. But if any job was worth reinventing myself again, then it was this one.
No, I wasn’t trying to seduce my professor, but I didn’t hate the way he looked at me.
“Rules are meant to be broken, Miss Ives.”
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.
“I can,” he corrected, his mouth hovering just inches away from mine like he was thinking about kissing me. “Or are you going to tell me to stop?”
“You could be capable of flying and I’d still be carrying you.”
Tequila was never my friend, no matter how fancy the bottle was.
Good decisions were never made after that much tequila! My God.
Dammit, he was shirtless and only wore a loose pair of gray sweatpants. What a slut.
But that something was like playing with fire, and both of us were dangerously close to catching third degree burns.
He reached out, snagging his hand around the back of my neck in a way that made my knees weak and my reservations turn to pixie dust.
“Good, then take your damn pants off and fuck me till I can’t walk.”
I bet he has a tiny dick. “What?” Tris asked, and I froze. Had I said that out loud? “Uh, I thought I saw a tiny duck,” I replied, pointing out the window.
