Page 34 of My Instant Karma

He darts his dark gaze back to me. “More than you would guess.” My mind flashes to him as a BDSM dom, ordering his lover around to serve his desires.

He grins as if he knows I guessed exactly what I did.

I raise my eyebrows, more than just curious to confirm my vision.

He shrugs his broad shoulders nonchalantly and turns his attention back to the storefront.

“Tease,” I mutter under my breath.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Only so I know what kind of S and M gear to get you for your birthday.”

“Anything will do. Never hurts to have a spare.”

My face flushes with heat. This conversation has taken a turn.

“Here he comes.”

“What?” I look over at the store. A man approaches with a ski mask over his face.

“But it’s still light out!” I scan the area to see if anyone else is seeing this.

The robber darts in and out quickly. I don’t hear a gunshot, so that’s good.

“Watch.” Evan flicks his finger, and the man’s wallet pops out of his pocket as he runs away from the scene.

With a phone pressed to his ear, the clerk peeks out of the store and sees the wallet on the ground in front of him. He snatches it up and is excited to see an ID. I hear him telling the cops on the phone that he has the man’s wallet.

“You did the little nudge thing and made him drop his wallet?” I ask, impressed with the subtle tactic.

“Simple and clean. We didn’t have to get involved physically, but that man will pay. He will be linked to his other holdups too—one where someone was shot and died.”

“Crap.” I take a deep breath, thinking of all this job entails. “Do you like your work?”

“Only when it’s something big like this—saving potential victims.”

“Let’s grab some takeout for the guys,” Evan suggests.

I use an app on his phone to place our order.

As we enter the parking lot, we wait for a space to pull into because some genius needs to back his car into a space. These people never know how to back up, and this guy is no exception.

“Why?” I ask. “Do they think they are James Bond zipping out of the spot, even though they don’t know how to handle backing in?”

Evan chuckles menacingly as he finally parks. We head inside to pick up our to-go order.

As we enter, a burned-out middle-aged man is yelling at the barista. “Are you an idiot? I asked for hot, not lukewarm.”

“Sir, that is the hottest I’m allowed to serve,” the barista explains. “It’s a hundred and ninety degrees.”

Evan nudges me with an elbow to get my attention, his hand subtly poised for action.

The under-caffeinated man turns around in an angry huff. Then, suddenly, his hand jerks upward, as if it had been bumped. The lid pops off, and the practically boiling coffee splashes all over him. Screaming and cursing about how scalding hot it is, he runs to the restaurant’s restroom.

“People barely making a living wage shouldn’t have to deal with assholes like him,” Evan says casually yet loudly for the other patrons. “Hashtag instant karma!”

I nod, since I hate when people do that too.