The two of you are in a stolen car, parked outside a mansion, waiting for the signal to move in. It’s supposed to be a quiet job—quick in, quick out. But that’s hard to focus on when you’re sitting this close to Tangerine, who, for some reason, smells unfairly good.

You steal a quick glance at him. He’s checking his watch, jaw tight, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel. The sleeves of his suit are rolled up, showing off his tattooed forearm, and—God, this is ridiculous. Why does he have to be so effortlessly attractive? God, it's unfair. You think to yourself.

You snap your gaze away, staring out the window like your life depends on it. “Why the hell d’you look so jumpy?” Tangerine asks, giving you a side-eye.