Chapter 15
TALIN
Iwake to find my husband sleeping beside me.
I have to stifle a surge of panic. He wasn’t there when I went to sleep. Some dim memory of the night before takes shape in the early morning light: a body in the darkness, slipping into the sheets beside me.
It’s strange. I should make him stay in another room.
But he’s barely been here and it hasn’t been an issue.
I'm not even sure it’s a problem now. A part of me likes that he’s in bed, which is weird and sick.
We have a business arrangement now, right?
Whatever job he’s working on, he says that’ll give me freedom.
I’m not sure what that means anymore.
After I drag myself from bed, I brew coffee and make breakfast. I’m not normally an eggs-and-bacon kind of girl but what the hell.
Brenden’s backpack is left leaning in the hallway near the front door, well-worn and black, anything reflective torn off.
I’m tempted to look inside but manage to keep my hands to myself.
“That smells good.” He emerges as I’m finishing up, shirtless, wearing a pair of loose sweats. His hair’s messy in that early morning sexy way and my heart flutters seeing his muscular chest crossed and scissored by puckered, ugly scars.
“Hungry? I’ll get you a plate.”
He gets himself coffee. “I’d stay here more often if I knew this would be a part of our morning routine.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“What’s the special occasion then?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, serving his meal at the table. “Maybe it was nice seeing my husband in bed for the first time in a while.”
“Didn’t think you’d like that.”
“Then why did you stay over?”
He considers me with that strange, enigmatic look of his.
I can't ever read it and that bothers me. Annie’s never been difficult to see through.
She’s got two emotions: flirty and annoyed.
I get one almost exclusively. Sam’s more like Brenden, but even he’s clear as day to me sometimes, probably because we grew up together and I know his tells.
And there’s Davit, who couldn’t lie to save his own life without turning pink and sputtering.
I miss knowing how to understand the people around me.
It’s one thing, getting used to living in a different place.
This house is nice but it’s strange. It’s not my home.
New smells, new creaking noises at night.
And it’s so damn quiet. I’m used to the noise of my siblings, especially from back when I was younger and there were more of them around.
This house though, it’s like I’m drifting around an empty wasteland most days.
Brenden doesn’t bother answering my question.
He leans over his meal and eats in silence, occasionally looking over at me like he’s thinking something.
I busy myself cleaning up, picking at my own plate and sipping my coffee, thinking about what the heck I’m going to do with myself together if my husband’s sticking around the house.
“Can I ask you something?” He looks over and doesn’t say no. “You taught your sister some thieving stuff, right?”
“Not too much.”
“But you know how to teach someone?”
He sits back, coffee in both hands. “In theory, I could.”
“Well, you and me are working together now, right?”
“In theory, yes.”
“If you say in theory again, I’m going to dump the rest of your coffee on your face. We are working together, and it’d be nice if I knew a few things so I can actually help you.”
His mouth flattens into a straight line. “What if I don’t want that?”
“You don't want me involved at all, but you might as well get some benefit from the arrangement.”
“I’m benefiting enough already.” His eyes rake down my body and end up on his plate. “Fantastic breakfast, by the way.”
I fight back the heat rising in my cheeks. “Teach me something simple. Start small. I might never have to use it—“
“You won’t.”
“But it would be good to know anyway.”
“Do you want me to turn you into a master thief?” He stands, bringing his plate into the kitchen. I go to take it, but he slips around me gracefully, opening the dishwasher and clearing his own mess. “You want to learn how to break into a bank vault?”
“I was thinking maybe we could start with lock picking. That’s something you could teach, right?”
“You won’t need that.”
“Says who? Look, I get it, I know what you were doing at that bar. You were using me like a distraction. You wanted to see if I could hold that bartender’s attention.”
His expression darkens at the memory. “You did well. A little too well.”
“And you already punished me enough.”
“I don’t know. Maybe not.”
“Show me something. Come on, what else are you doing today?”
He glances over toward the backpack. It’s quick but noticeable and he immediately pretends like he hadn’t. I’m about to ask what he’s got in there when he bumps into me as he walks past.
“There’s nothing I can teach you.”
“Don’t be a dick,” I say, rubbing my arm. “You don’t need to be a jerk.”
“You think that’s all I am?” He turns and holds something up. I take a second to realize it’s my phone.
“How the hell!” I check my pocket. Sure enough, empty. “You robbed me.”
“I pulled off a classic bump. Pickpockets learn that shit when they’re children.” He holds the phone out but snatches it back before I can take it. “I’ll teach you something simple, because you’re right, you might be more useful if you have some skills to fall back on.”
“Great. Now give me my phone.”
“No.” He slips it into the pocket of his sweats. “Take it from me.”
“How?”
“Walk past. The bump is the distraction. You want me paying more attention to your shoulder than to your hand. You knock me slightly, and the physical contact masks your fingers sliding into my pocket. Think you can do that?”
“I’ll give it a try, but you know it’s coming.”
“Doesn’t matter. Come on, bump me.”
That sounds oddly erotic, but this is what I wanted, right? It’s a training exercise with real world applications. I walk over, trying to stay confident, but already feeling my heart begin to race.
It’s awkward when I ram into him. I try to snatch my fingers into his hip pocket, but I hit too hard and go careening to the side with a curse. His smirk is infuriating.
“You’re not trying to check me into the boards like we’re playing hockey. Just a bump. Go again.”
“Can’t we do something else?”
“No. Again.”
His attitude annoys me. It’s like he’s trying to teach a child. I gather myself, steady my breathing, and stride toward him. This time, when our shoulders collide, I manage to get my fingers near the pocket, although I don’t manage to get inside. He twists and snatches my wrist, holding it tight.
“Miss, are you trying to rob me? Police! Help!”
“Let go, you dick.” I swat at him.
“Thief! Thief! And now you go straight to jail. Sorry.”
“Hilarious.” I twist from his grip. “Again?”
“Again.”
I try several more times. Each one is uniquely terrible. Once I touch the phone, but can’t get it in my fingers. Another time I straight up trip and fall on my face. He picks me up, pats my ass, and tells me to keep going.
“This is useless.” I flop on the couch, frustrated. “Can’t we do something else?”
“All things considered, you’re doing well.” He pulls over a chair and sits on it backward. “You know what thieves and magicians have in common?”
“Bad hats.”
“Misdirection.” He flutters his fingers to the left. When he snaps his right fingers, he’s holding a flower.
“How the—“
“Misdirection,” he says again, twirling the flower, and snaps. “Check your pocket.”
I pat my sweats—and there it is. I slip my phone back out. “When? How?!”
“Stealing is easy. Any idiot can grab something and run away. Getting away with it is the hardest part. That’s where misdirection comes into play.
When you bump me, you’re not trying to hurt me.
You’re trying to annoy me, just long enough to make me focus on you instead of on your fingers robbing me.
So try it again, and this time, be annoying. ”
I get up and toss my phone to him. He puts it back in his pocket and faces me, that inscrutable look on his face again, driving me crazy.
God, what is it about this man that annoys me so much?
He’s attractive. I like being around him.
I think he’s funny sometimes, but I’d never tell him that.
When he’s around, I feel strangely safe.
I like when his hands are on my body.
I like his warmth in my bed. I like his scars, his wounds, his battered pride. He’s confident and competent, and I like that, too.
But he’s a bastard.
I stride toward him. Be annoying. Misdirection. The bump never works, I’m either too clumsy or too slow, and he’s always waiting for it. But what if I tried something else? What if I went off-script and decided to be another person?
What would Annie do in this situation?
Or, better yet, what would my version of my sister do? What would I do, if I weren’t so scared all the time?
I don’t slow as I approach. For half a beat I think I’m going to go through with the same old bump, the usual tactic, but I veer at the last moment, letting my gut guide me.
I’m never impulsive like this. All my life I’ve planned every last moment of every single day.
Nothing’s ever been hidden, nothing’s ever been spontaneous.
But for once, I decide to be more like him.
I go straight to Brenden. I walk to him, press against the front of him, touch his chest with the palms of both my hands, get up on my toes, reach up to tug his head down, and I kiss him hard.
He grunts in surprise. His lips are firm and tight, resisting me, at least until my tongue slips against them. Then he yields and we’re kissing for real.
Oh, shit.
My stomach lurches as a dizzying wave of desire floods me.
I hadn’t thought much further than this. But now he’s kissing me back, our mouths open, tongues touching, his hands on my hips pulling me closer, touching me, and shit, shit, what was I doing next? What was the point?