Too many hours of making sure his patterns and plan for tonight remain unchanged, and there won’t be any disruption to our plan for tomorrow night.
But even with all the side activities I’ve been doing, I’m going fucking stir-crazy. As much as I enjoy this part of the job, I’m restless today. I can’t stop thinking about a different plan I have, which has nothing to do with this heist. That prospect brings tingles right between my damn legs.
Until then, though . . . I need a break.
From the tray next to the laptop I perched on the banks of the pond’s deep end, I grab a ready-rolled joint and light it up. Taking a deep, satisfying drag, I push away from the shore and float on my back.
The gentle ripple at the surface tickles my ears, and I let it carry me toward the middle of the natural pool. I close my eyes and sink into the taste of serenity the weed brings. There’s nothing like it. Especially on days like this, when my limbs are itching, I can’t sit still, and my mind runs a hundred miles per minute.
Weed was another of Dad’s tips when my state of mind and the rambling voices in my head drove me to rashness. I remember that day vividly. It still makes me snort. It wasn’t a surprise to me that my father was pretty open about anything on the other side of the law, though recreational weed is legal now.
The family business—stealing, heists, selling contraband—is something my brother and I were introduced to early on, once Dad felt we were mature enough to understand the implications and the responsibility we had to keeping our secret. Later on, he helped me with my problems...managing my anger, and how and where to focus all that aggression. Yet, being introduced to weed by my own father was more shocking than the stealing or killing. His calmness in high-stress situations suddenly made sense, though.
Joints aren’t usually my go-to. I prefer gummies or cheese puffs. But I like a good smoke outside, where the scent doesn’t stick to me, or before I take a shower. Mother would probably pop a fucking blood vessel if she knew.
I chuckle deeply at that thought, choking on smoke on the way out.
That woman hasn’t graced my doorstep in a couple of years, thank fuck. To be fair, I didn’t tell her I moved here, so who knows, maybe she has tried.
I flinch just as I exhale a long plume of smoke, my phone vibrating on the tray. Dropping my legs beneath the surface, I swim toward the shore, but frown when I see that it’s an unknown number calling me. I let it ring.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Cocking my head, I take another long drag from the spliff and watch the call end. Last time an unknown caller flashed on my screen, it was my soon-to-be ex and I ended up shattering my phone. I don’t have a good feeling about this.
I stub the joint on the ashtray and continue staring at my phone like it’s about to grow legs and jump at me. Then it kind of does, vibrating again and sending a tremor all through my flesh as that “unknown number” lights up my screen.
“Fuck it.” I answer the call and pop it on speaker.
Only, I don’t say a word, waiting to see what awaits on the other line.
A few seconds pass before I hear a long sigh.
“I know you’re there.”
Motherfucking Ariana. How fucking dare she call me.
“Then speak,” I say.
“Look, I know what went on between us is unforgivable, okay? I know. And I’m sorry it happened as it did, and it ruined our friendship.”
“You better hurry up this pathetic speech, babe. I have shit to do.”
“I’m not gonna pretend I’m sorry for what I did, though. He and I are meant to be together, and I can’t apologize for going for what I know is mine.”
The fucking gall she has!
“But no matter what,”Ariana continues,“I still care about you.”
I scoff so hard I think I spit on my phone.
“Jesus Christ, what do you want? You’re not fucking fooling me with false declarations.”
“Fine. Give him what he wants, Scarlet.”
