The Prince and the Player

She sits in front of me, and I turn the half-inch-wide gold strand over in my hands. “It’s very expensive.”

“Yes, but what man wears a gold bracelet anymore?”

“I can think of a few.”

“Rap stars.”

“So hook up with a rap star.” I blink up at her and grin. “Your pretty head would probably explode with all the jewelry you could steal.”

That makes her laugh. “I wonder if I could get a diamond stud out of someone’s ear without him noticing.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Maybe if I used my mouth…”

“Gross!” I throw my hands up. “Don’t tell me. Show me when you’ve done it.”

My sister started her game of “trade” when she was only eighteen and helping me distract security guards in the Indian casinos in north Florida. She’d talk to them, flirt and giggle. She’d hang on their arms and ask them all about their jobs in breathless rapture. They wouldn’t even notice me counting cards and palming the decks.

At some point in the night, she’d grow sad and wistful and tell the unsuspecting male how much like her late father he was. Then she’d give him a gift—either a gold cigarette case or a pair of onyx cufflinks. Or maybe a shiny brass Zippo. The men would be so flattered, they wouldn’t even notice her stealing their watch or money clip or whatever expensive item they happened to be wearing. In Ava’s mind, the gift made up for the theft of something new. It was her own private jewelry exchange.

I watch as she wraps the thick piece of gold around her slim wrist. “Maybe I’ll have a few links removed and keep it for myself.”

“But then what would you give your next victim?” I lie back, closing my eyes against the blazing sunlight.

“I don’t know.” She’s quiet, and I glance over at her stretched out, long and lean, brown skin in a white string bikini.

Suddenly her chin jerks in my direction. “Don’t you ever wish we could do something really exciting? Like rob an art gallery that has laser tracking? We could sprinkle powder everywhere and climb through it like Catherine Zeta-Jones in Entrapment.”

“No.” I frown at her, and she laughs, turning away again.

“C’est la vie.”

“What we do isn’t for kicks, Ava. We only steal so we can eat. And live.”

“And take charters off the coast of Miami.”

“This is a bonus, and you know it.” Sniffing, I take a sip of my rum punch. The sweet, fruity flavor fills my mouth. “That jerk was an asshole dropping his chip down my dress. He got what he deserved.”

“Did you tell Seth?”

I don’t answer, and the sound of the waves licking against the side of the boat fills the empty air while she waits. A seagull cries as it passes over, and I look up at it.

With a little sigh, she relaxes on her towel, letting my non-answer pass. “How come you and Seth never hook up?” she asks instead. “He’s been with us since Tampa. You claim he taught you everything you know about scamming casinos. What’s the problem?”

“He’s not my type.” Seth is about control, and I’ll be damned if I let any man control me.

“Tell me,” she flips onto her stomach. “What is your type, Zelda Wilder? Some tall, dashing pirate with doubloons galore? Or a cowboy?”

All these questions are harshing my buzz. “I thought we came out here to relax.”

“I’m relaxed. I’m ecstatic!” She laughs and kicks both her feet up. “We’ve got four thousand dollars! Can you believe it? We can live on four thousand dollars for—”

“About a month.” I take another sip of rum.

“Not true! The hotel room is only three hundred. We can scrimp on meals.”

“It’s still going to run out, and then what?” I’m not sure why my mood has taken a turn, but I’m less breezy and more reality all of a sudden.