Page 36 of Live Love Steal

“Did you look like that when you were little?”

“Messier hair, more scrapes, and missing more teeth usually.” I smiled at a few of the memories and the similarities between me and my son. “He was born premature, so he’s a little skinnier.” Although, I was a skinny kid. Not eating regular meals did that. My son didn’t have that excuse, unless Sharon forgot to make the food he liked. He was a picky eater.

“Is that why you have a gold cap?”

“Yeah. That and I could finally afford one.”

“You look like a thug.”

Was that a compliment or an insult? With her, I didn’t know.

She was smiling, so maybe she liked thugs?

Isobel put my phone back and stared at the road. “He doesn’t deserve losing you like that. That’s why I did it.”

“Here I thought you forgot this wasn’t your car.”

“My car doesn’t smell like ass.”

“Excuse me?”

“This car smells like the bottom of a garbage can.”

“It does?” I inhaled. Now that she pointed it out, it did have a funky aroma. But not nearly as bad as the bottom of a garbage can. “I think that’s hair gel you’re smelling.” And it wasn’t mine.

“It’s gross hair gel. Like Walgreens’ discount bottom shelf shit.”

Like it or not, she was right.

“I just realized something.”

I braced for what was going to tumble out of her mouth next. But had to ask, “What did you realize?”

“My car doesn’t have plates. Your prospect is driving a car to a drug deal without plates. When he gets pulled over, they’ll find your drugs.”

She settled in her seat, arms crossed, nose held just a fraction higher, and a placid, yet somehow still smug, expression on her face.

It was time to wipe that right off.

“The drugs aren’t in that car.”

9

Breathe - Isobel

Did he just admit there were drugs in the car? In this car? The one we’d gotten pulled over in?

“Don’t forget to breathe,” Sketch muttered.

“You asshole.” I couldn’t lean forward because the seatbelt locked me in place when I tried to put my head between my knees. That’s what you do when you feel faint, right?

“Holy shit. Holy shit,” I chanted as softly as I could. This was so wrong.

“Hey, Isobel. It isn’t that bad. Breathe. Inhale, count… hold it in… now exhale.”

Between breaths, I said, “Fuck you.”

Sketch smirked. “Someone told me it works when you’re having a panic attack.”