The Job (Auctioned) by Cara Dee (highly illogical behavior txt) 📕

kiss, not entirely satisfied yet. “Fuck discreet,” he muttered. “First time in my life, I wanna make an effort. Maybe I’m not good at romantic dinners, but I want an anniversary to celebrate and quick getaways for just you and me.”

That sounded perfect to me. “You know what’s a romantic meal to me? Sandwiches in the desert. Packed lunch on the beach. All-you-can-eat ribs in front of the TV. Chinese food in bed. Those are the only dates I’m interested in.”

He smiled more genuinely and kissed me harder. “We’re kinda perfect for each other.”

“We kinda are.” I grinned and leaned back against his bicep again, and I just looked up at him.

He combed back my hair with his fingers. “If I say something sweet, will you call me cheesy?”

“Absolutely,” I promised.

He chuckled silently and dipped down, resting his forehead to mine. “You’re beautiful, Case. Hot, fucking adorable, and so sexy that it drives me crazy.”

Good luck wiping the grin off my face now. “Kiss me, you cheesy bastard.”

Now I knew how I could fall asleep. He could fuck me into oblivion and exhaust my body.

Thirteen

Ma talking my ear off at seven in the morning wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind today. I adjusted the earbud and listened to her go on and on about the novel she was writing, but most of my focus remained on counting my sets.

I grunted and set down the kettlebell on the porch. The burn that coursed through my arms made me feel alive. It had the added bonus of Case getting turned on when he watched me lift, too. I’d heard him inside the trailer, so I knew he was awake.

“So what do you think?” Mom asked.

“I think it sounds great,” I answered distractedly. I picked up the kettlebell with my other hand this time and began a new set of twenty. “Next bestseller.”

Three, four, five…

I gnashed my teeth.

Case stepped out on the porch a few seconds later, a Pop-Tart trapped between his teeth, and one hand down his sweats, scratching his balls. I wanted them in my mouth. Or, lately, slapping against my ass.

“Mornin’.” He pulled out a chair and sat down. “That’s one sweaty bicep—that I kinda wanna lick.”

I winked at him.

Mom kept rambling.

He nodded at my phone on the table, maybe since I hadn’t given him a verbal response. “You talkin’ to someone?”

“Mom,” I mouthed.

“Ah.” He sat back and took a bite of his Pop-Tart. “I guess it was okay when she cockblocked us in high school, but, uh, I’m about to hit the shower if you wanna join.”

If I did?

“Ma, I love you, but I gotta go,” I said and disconnected the call.

Now was not the time to get hungry. Not when we were parked on AJ’s street, waiting for him to fuck off so we could break in to his house.

“Do you remember Mom’s tomato soup?” I asked, attaching the mag to my gun. For emergencies only, of course. I’d just used it to shoot soda cans in the desert. Boone had used his to shoot himself in the leg once.

“With the rice?” he asked.

I nodded. Growing up, it’d been my favorite meal. Whenever we were sick or we’d just had a bad day, Ma would bake cheese-filled rolls and make her tomato soup with rice and cut-up hot dogs and bacon. To this day, it was the definition of comfort food.

“I remember our friends calling it weird,” Boone said.

“I remember us kicking their asses for it,” I replied with a smile.

He smirked.

“What about it?”

“It occurred to me that Ace has never tried it,” I said. “When we pick her up tonight, we gotta get groceries anyway. We could find out the ingredients and make it for her.” Perhaps we could do a movie night. I was itching for some family time.

“I’m game. But we’re buying the bread. Unless—” The idea struck him probably at the same time as it struck me. He quickly retrieved his phone. “I’m texting Ma. Maybe she’ll wanna bake for us.”

Exactly.

I scratched my nose and checked the sideview mirror. Any moment now, we’d see AJ dumping his golf bag into his car.

Boone had borrowed us an inconspicuous car to blend in on the street, a nice white Acura sedan. Nobody gave a fuck about those. They weren’t expensive enough to be noticed—or cheap enough to stick out like a sore thumb. It was just a car. A forgettable car.

“Ask if she wants to make cookies too,” I said.

Boone nodded slowly, concentrating on typing.

I shifted in my seat and checked the time. Almost noon. Fuck, I just wanted to get this over with. Not only because I didn’t like the risks that came with breaking in to rich folks’ houses, but because my clothes were fucking uncomfortable. The cargo pants in desert camo with side pockets worked—the ugly, skintight turtleneck, not so much. But it was the only item of clothing we could wear if we wanted to cover all our ink. On the off chance that someone saw us, there was no need to give them any recognizable marks to tell the cops about.

Lastly, our shoes. They were the worst touch. They were two sizes too large and added a couple inches to my height. Anything to confuse potential witnesses and investigators.

Movement caught my eye, and I glanced in the sideview mirror again. “He’s on the move.” My pulse thrummed a little faster as I watched AJ in his driveway.

I couldn’t quite figure him out. He didn’t strike me as an OCD type. Not a hair out of place, living on a strict schedule, his posture, the way he moved—always with a sense of purpose—no… If anything, he reminded me of our cousins. Someone with an extensive past in the military carried themselves a certain way.

I made a mental note to bring it up with Willow.

“We’re gonna have to be really fucking careful here,” I murmured, eyes still on AJ. “If he’s anything like Darius, we’re essentially walking into the