Page 56 of Heist in Paradise

“I get why people need fresh air now,” she said in a small but clear voice. I offered her a cigarette, but she shook her head.

The sun was three fingers from the horizon, the sky streaked with violet amber. Thick rain clouds still hovered, the smell of rain teasing in the gentle salt-tinged breeze.

“I don’t—” Olivia started, then stopped, frowning at the cruel paradise around us. “I don’t know what to do with these feelings. I’m so angry, I might explode.”

“So explode.”

“I can’t,” she said. “Bad things happen when I do.” Stormy eyes lifted, seeking mine. “How do I stop feeling like this?”

I took a careful inhale, sucking in the poison that fueled me. That was the problem. It never stopped. “No idea.”

She nodded, accepting that, looking defeated as she watched the smoke dance around her. “Have you figured out what you want yet?”

I choked a little on my next puff. My mind went there, but I reeled it back. Not the time, dickhead. “Not yet.”

Her smile was bleak. Strained. She was trying. Trying not to break. My chest cracked a little more. I looked at my bloodied knuckles next to her delicate ones, two worlds set on the same collision course. “I’m not good at this part.”

“Which part?”

I curled my fingers up awkwardly. “Talking. Feelings. Giving reassurance.” A whole parade of angry ex-girlfriends flashed through my head.

Olivia smiled indulgently. “You’re not as bad as you think you are. At least you try. That’s something.”

I scoffed. “You need to raise your standards, princess.”

“Probably,” she conceded. She sighed and rubbed her eyes tiredly. “I don’t know what I need right now. Probably therapy. Lots of it. Maybe I’ll try that one with the goats.”

I slid her a baffled look. She laughed weakly at my expression. “It’s a real thing, I swear.”

“If you say so.” I waited a beat. “Do you eat the goats?”

She laughed again, all tinkly and cute. “No. You don’t…never mind.” She sniffled, but she wasn’t crying. It felt like victory. “I know you’re distracting me.”

“I’ve never had goat before.”

“Stop it,” she snorted and slapped a hand over her mouth. “I shouldn’t be laughing. Not after what I just saw.”

“No judgment here.”

She looked at me consideringly. Her eyes were soft. Too soft. It made me squirm. “You can’t judge me,” she said. “You’re way more screwed up than me.”

Facts.

I flinched in surprise when her fingers brushed lightly over my bruised knuckles. “I like this,” she confessed like a dirty secret. “It makes me think you were right before.”

“About what?”

“The Stepford wife thing. Wanting what I shouldn’t want.”

A dangerous hope ignited in my chest. “Careful.”

“You’re so bad for me,” she said. “You’re arrogant and dangerous. I wouldn’t be enough for you. I’m too vanilla.”

My hands tightened on the railing. I gave her a hard look. “Tell me where Meathead lives.”

She flinched back, startled. “What? Why?”

“He clearly did a number on you.” My voice dipped dangerously. “Nobody should make you feel like you’re not enough.”