Page 13 of Sticky Fingers

I might be cocky, but that doesn’t mean I’m lying when I tell you that every single woman in this building wants to fuck me. Maybe not Daphne, but you get it. They’ve all heard about me, and I bet my cock is all they think about when they’re being fucked by their lame boyfriends.

I wonder if my cat burglar is one of these women.

Everyone in here might know about me, but I don’t know everyone. There are a lot of these fucking rich assholes, you know?

But it doesn’t really matter. The people who live here and their acquaintances are going to be the best place to start looking for the thief.

It’s a long shot, yeah, but I have to start somewhere.

Based on the way I was questioned by Detective Strong, he doesn’t have any intention of pursuing any other leads.

The asshole has already made his decision. I’m the thief. It keeps his fucking life simple.

Easy. Done.

Fucking stupid people.

At least Dominic backed me up.

That’s the thing. Dominic knows I wouldn’t even bother lying to him about it. If I took it, I would have fucking told him.

We certainly have enough dirt on each other. That’s how you know you have a good friend: the number of secrets they have on you.

And Dominic knows that I would never shit where I eat. I live here, for fuck’s sake, and the fucking painting belonged to Daphne.

I might be a fucking criminal, but I’m still a civilized member of the human race—not an animal.

Besides, if I was going to be the one to lift the Picasso, no one would have seen me. I certainly wouldn’t have been there when the curtain went up with my cock hanging out.

The whole idea is just fucking laughable.

I’m much more discrete than that—not only with my fuck buddies but also when it comes to business.

Alright, sure…maybe fucking Debra while there was a crowd on other side of the curtains wasn’t a bright idea, but so fucking what?

Unlocking the door to my place, I walk in and kick off my shoes.

I head straight for the bar, and I pour myself a healthy shot of scotch before sinking into the sofa.

Of course, Peter—Mr. Condo Board President—showed up half way through Detective Strong’s interrogation. That’s how he introduced himself, too.

Fucking asshole.

He couldn’t help putting his two cents in on the matter. His very slanted and biased two cents.

Sure, I know, fucking his wife in front of everyone probably didn’t help matters but…really, who gives a fuck? It’s his fault he’s not giving her everything she needs.

Anyway, by the time the fucking asshole made it to Dominic’s apartment, it was clear he had been arguing with Debra.

His combover was flipping around like a loose sheet and half the time was standing straight up, like a fucking sail above his head.

“Why haven’t you arrested him yet?”

That demand was all he fucking said periodically. Each time Detective Strong would take a breather, he would lean in and stick his wiry frame in between us to ask him that question.

Swear to God, I just wanted to headbutt the fucker as he popped back and forth in front of Detective Strong’s fat frame, looking like a bird flapping in front of a bull.

Taking a long sip of the scotch, I savor the immediate bite.