How to Stay Out of Prison: A Modern-Day Woman's Guide

Chapter 17

Lyrical~

The ride to Nixon's place was quiet and filled with tension, but it was my fault; I owned it. I also owned the fact that if I was going to lie, then I needed to get better at it.

Neither of us spoke as Nixon drove into the underground garage of his apartment high-rise. We didn't speak during our walk to the elevators, either. We also didn't speak in the elevator. Neither did we speak in the hallway leading to his door. It wasn't until I noticed only two doors on either side of the hallway that I asked, "Why are there only two doors?"

"After the twentieth floor, there are only two apartments per floor," Nixon replied, short and clipped.

Well...okay, then.

Not that it mattered, because I knew that the St. James family was...uh, fortunate, but when you saw it live and in living color, well that was something else.

Nixon unlocked his door, then stepped back to let me go in first. As soon as I was a couple of steps in, Nixon followed, then shutting and locking the door behind him, he flipped on the lights.

Holy money in the bank, Gina.

The apartment screamed wealth, taste, class, and a shitload of other words that equaled fancy. Black hardwood floors, grey with glass furniture, art on the walls...hell, even the plants looked like they cost more than my rent.

Now, stop!

Here's where you might start scoping out the place, making note of all the items that you could fence on the street. The things you couldn't afford on a pet store manager's salary, you could certainly afford if you sold off a Rembrandt, Picasso, or one of those plants.

Nevertheless, while you're enjoying the pedicures, the facials, and the Jimmy Choos, grand larceny was a real felony. Like, if the amount exceeded a certain limit, you'd go straight to prison. They'd skip right over local county jail time and send you. Straight. To. Prison.

Sure, you'd have the prettiest toes and softest skin there, but that glamour would fade really quickly if you didn't continue the upkeep, and who could continue the upkeep when you were too busy making shivs and fighting for your life? So, ditch the robbery plans and stick with earning a normal paycheck like the rest of America.

"You have a nice p-"

"Cut the bullshit, Lyrical," Nixon snapped, cutting off my compliment of his lovely home. "Why did you sneak out of your house and lie about a last-minute trip?"

Well, my mother didn't raise a coward, contrary to my disappearing act on Saturday morning. So, I turned to face the gorgeous, sexy, angry man, then disclosed just how high my level of crazy went, and-scary for him-it went rather high.

I threw my hands up in the air, then let them slap down against my sides for dramatic effect. "Because I'm crazy, Nixon," I confessed. "Because I'm shaped like a pear with no tits, a flabby tummy, a huge ass, thighs that rub together, and I'm pretty sure I suck in bed."

Nixon's eyebrows chased his hairline in a look of utter shock.

Well, at least, he wasn't pissed anymore.

"First of all, you're not shaped like a pear. And even if you were, I like pears. Second, you do have tits, as I should know, since I had them in my hands and mouth before you made me put your shirt back on last night. I can't speak on the tummy or the thighs since I did my best to be a gentleman and respect your boundaries as I fucked orgasm after orgasm out of you last night. I can, however, speak on that ass of yours since it's visible, no matter what you wear. Also, it's not huge. That ass you're sporting is sexy as hell, and I'm hoping one day you'll let me slide my cock inside it."