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My heart was beating so fast.
I almost chickened out. But then I moved fast, pulling out the tube of oil tucked next to my tit inside my dress, keeping it at body temperature. I squirted it onto his finger, just a few drops, and he was so preoccupied by his seething anger, he didn’t notice.
Then came the hard part.
Getting the ring off his finger.
Thankfully, he was lean and limber, so he didn’t have bulky knuckles like some men…like Axel.
I grabbed it and pulled it off in one swift motion. I swapped it with the fake ring, the ring that would fool him for a short while, long enough that he would have a difficult time reconstructing the events that led to its loss.
Once I had the ring, I grabbed the drink and immediately walked off, my heart racing so fast I thought I might pass out. I forced my head back and took a big gulp, needing the alcohol to take the edge off. I moved next to a crowd of people to blend in and look busy. In reality, I only looked at the painting on the wall, my back to him, making sure I didn’t make eye contact at all. Because once he looked around, he would look for someone looking at him, and I wouldn’t be caught doing that.
“I like that dress.”
I turned to see Axel beside me, handsome in a tuxedo, that charming smile plastered on his face.
He must have seen my flustered expression because he said, “You look like you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar.”
“You just caught me by surprise.” The ring was tucked inside my dress, the diamond cold against my flesh.
“Who are you here with?”
“My father.”
“I didn’t realize he would be attending.” He looked at the painting I admired. “This is the ugliest shit I’ve ever seen.”
I hadn’t actually looked at the painting. I stared at it but didn’t see a single color. All I could see was the bar and the Russian I’d just stolen from. “Yeah.”
“You know who likes art? Pricks.”
“My father loves art.”
“What a coincidence…” He grinned.
I couldn’t tell whether he’d insulted my father on purpose or not. “Are you here with anyone?”
“I told you I don’t do dates.”
“Why?”
“Because if I bring a date, I can’t pick up a date.”
“Gotcha.”
“Is that jealousy I hear?” He watched me, eyes narrowed, that smirk still there.
I looked at the painting and covered my expression by taking a drink.
He continued to stare at the side of my face. “No denial. Interesting.”
Talking to Axel had slowed my heart rate. Brought it to a quiet standstill. The redness left my cheeks, and my skin felt cold again.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said confidently. “Why?”
“Your eyes look different.”
