Page 9 of Bad Habit
I shook my head. “A fucking nun.”
“Now that’s hot.”
“You’re sick.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Dillon grinned.
He might be sick, but he wasn’t wrong. “Hot” wasn’t the first word that came to mind when I thought of Faith, but she had an undeniable something. Something unique I’d never seen in a woman before. An intoxicating combination of strength and innocence without an ounce of pretension.
Most girls I knew were always slathered in makeup, and many had started using Botox and fillers—in their twenties! But it was more than physical pretense… Almost all the women I knew worked hard to hide who they were, and I liked how Faith seemed transparent. So real.
Let’s face it, I wasn’t going back to the basketball court to spend time with the kids.
“You’re in, right?” Dillon asked, bringing my mind back to the job.
“You sure it’s worth the risk? Even if we get the container, it’s a lot to fence. It’ll be hard to do it without attracting attention.”
“That’s why we have you.” Pushing off the wall, Dillon tossed his head to free his eyes from their veil of hair. He stared at me with an expression I would’ve called begging if I didn’t know him so well.
“Why do you want this so bad?” I asked my twin. “Money troubles?”
He shrugged. “Don’t you ever want something more?”
“Like that vintage Vette?”
“Nah. I mean something more out of life.”
“Like what?”
“I dunno.” He pushed his hair off his forehead. “Not for sure. Just thinking this payoff could be a stake.”
“A stake for what?”
“To start something new. Go ‘legit,’ as Nick always says.”
I widened my stance. “You too good for the family business?”
Dillon rolled his eyes, and I gave myself a mental slap. It was like I’d heard Da’s voice—or Keagan’s—coming out of my mouth.
“What would you do with the money?” I asked.
“Not sure. Start a business, maybe go to school.”
“School?” He wasn’t serious.
He shrugged and looked down the alley.
I was acting like the idea of college or doing something legit hadn’t crossed my mind. Lately, I had started to wonder if fencing the shit we stole was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. As much as I loved the flexibility—hanging out, playing basketball almost anytime I wanted—lately I’d caught myself thinking,Is this all there is? I was nearly twenty-six.
Faith was barely in her twenties, if I had to guess, at least four or five years younger than me. But she already had her life figured out, had more of a plan than I did. I shook my head. Was there such a thing as a quarter-life crisis? If there was, maybe that’s what I was going through now I’d hit that age where thirty was closer than twenty.
Both our phones pinged, and I pulled mine out.
“Keagan,” we said in unison.
He’d called a family meeting. With the container in port, the plan was developing, and it was time to piss or get off this particular pot. Sounded like I should start lining up some buyers for the largest haul of electronics we’d ever landed.
If nothing else, there’d be a great TV for Isaiah and Angie.
