Page 29 of Heist in Paradise

“Poor misunderstood prom queen.”

She bristled, like I knew she would. But she regained her composure, leaned back, and hugged her knees to her chest. Her skin was so smooth, so unmarred by scars or tattoos. She probably had the same ridiculous skin care routine as Nate.

“Something tells me you didn’t finish high school,” she said, all snooty.

“You calling me stupid?”

“Am I wrong?”

“About me being stupid? No. About high school? Half yes.”

“What does that mean?

I ripped open the protein bars and handed her one. “I got my GED in prison.”

She inspected the bar with a vaguely disgusted look before my words clicked, and she blanched. “You were incarcerated?”

“Well, I wasn’t there for meatloaf Mondays.”

“No, I mean, yes, obviously. I’m just…surprised.” She blinked at me owlishly. “I’ve never met an ex-con before.”

“Technically, you’ve met three.”

“What?” Her eyes went impossibly wide, still holding out the protein bar like a dirty sock. “Who else?”

“Not my story to tell. Eat before it melts.”

She made another face before she took a tentative bite and chewed like she expected it to bite her back. “Huh.”

“Meathead boyfriend never shared his protein?”

“Ex-boyfriend. And Heath isn’t a meathead.”

I choked. “Heath? Fuck, you can’t make this up.”

She flushed again but finished the bar and stared at her sticky fingers in distress. After a minute, she gave me a defiant look and wiped her hand on my shoulder. I made a point of licking my fingers clean before reaching for my cigarettes.

“Are you going to tell me what you did?” she asked tightly, like she hated that she was curious. Or maybe she was scared. I considered lying, pretending I did something truly egregious, just to get her riled up.

Then my head throbbed, as if punishing me for my impure thoughts. Better not push it. “I punched a cop.”

“That’s all?”

“I had priors. Petty thieving, grand larceny. Got me two years inside because the judge didn’t like the look of me.”

“That’s understandable.” She smirked at me. “Bet you wore sweatpants to court and, like, hit on the jury or something.”

I pressed my hand to my chest. “You have such a low opinion of me. I’ve been nothing but nice to you.”

“You’ve been everything but nice,” she said with an eyeroll.

“Do you—” I cut off with a hiss. My head exploded; the pain was so sharp that I was convinced my brain was oozing out of my ears. I slammed my eyes shut, riding it out.

Vaguely, I heard the sound of a chair scraping back, then a soft hand settled gently on my forearm.

“Are you okay?”

Gritting my teeth, I squinted up at her, where she was suddenly standing over me. “Need a minute.”