Page 377 of Devil’s Disciples

I turned to the side and looked him up and down. “What’s with the questions?”

“Just wondering,” he said. “Why would you give it back?”

“Because. She’d probably lose her job over it. Me keeping it wouldn’t be right.”

He rested his elbows over the back of the bench, at his sides. After crossing his ankles, he glanced over his right shoulder. “Same question, but the IRS gives you fifty too much on your tax return. Do you cash the check, or call them and ask how to return the extra money?”

“I keep it and spend it frivolously. On chocolate.”

“Why?” he asked. “What’s the difference?”

“I don’t know about you,” she said. “But, I don’t steal a struggling mother’s purse or a working man’s wallet. Never have. Never will. I take from people who deserve it. The IRS deserves it.”

“Who decides whether or not the people you steal from are deserving?” he asked.

I tapped my finger against my chest. “Me.”

“Why you?”

“Because,” I said. “I trust my judgement more than anyone else’s.”

“So, for you to steal from someone, they’ve got to deserve it? In your mind, anyway?”

“Yep.”

He crossed his ankles. “Give me one example.”

“Drug dealer,” I responded.

He nodded lightly as if absorbing my responses. He shifted his attention to the horizon. After a few moments passed, he draped his right arm over my shoulder. Not like a teen in the movie theater, using a phony stretch to sneak the gesture. He simply placed it there, like that’s where he felt it belonged.

Despite our relationship’s unique nature, I’d been rather pleased with what we had. Following the night he cooked me dinner, however, I found myself wishing things between us were different. As we wept that night, I felt a sense of belonging. That my existence in his life had a purpose.

I enjoyed watching the sunset with him and sitting in the diner, talking. Nevertheless, the relationship that surrounded those moments felt lacking.

Until now.

I moved to my left, inch by inch, until I was nestled at his side.

I remained motionless for an hour, afraid moving would cause him to rethink what he’d done. He was giving exactly what I wanted whether he realized it or not. I wanted to bask in it as long as he’d let me.

The sex we’d shared was phenomenal. Raw. Satisfying. Spur of the moment. Our meals and talking were equally enjoyable. What was missing was the in between. The intimacy. I didn’t expect—or want—a fairy tale, but I preferred he take the next step toward becoming intimate.

The sun sank into its watery bed. Memorable, once again. Before the sky went dark, he swept an errant strand of hair behind my ear with the tip of his finger. I felt his eyes on me.

“Doing anything important in the morning?” he asked.

I shivered at his soft touch. “I don’t have any morning plans, no.”

“Want to stay all night?”

My heart lurched into my throat. “Here?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling ever so slightly. “Here.”

“I’d love to.”

“Well.” He stood and extended his hand. “I’d love for you to.”