and probably divorced. More than once I saw him eye the petite blonde behind the counter as he scraped through a rack of overpriced golf shirts.
I approached the adjacent rack and pretended to browse for a few minutes. Twice I felt his eyes on me, so I looked up and met his gaze. He turned red and became suddenly fascinated by a neon-green polo. When he started to move away, I stepped back and bumped into him, dropping my bag.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, looking scandalized.
“No, it was totally my fault.”
He stooped to pick up my bag.
“Thanks,” I said, giving him a shy smile.
Five minutes later in another restroom stall, I opened his wallet: there were five crisp hundred-dollar bills inside. I let out a sigh of relief, stuffed the cash and his driver’s license into my bag, then dropped his wallet and credit cards into the trash on my way out.
It had been less than an hour, and I was already up more than five hundred dollars. It was more than I could have hoped for. I should have left right then. But the caffeine and the adrenaline had me feeling better than I had in days. I couldn’t bring myself to go back to the motel. Not yet.
Tiffany tempted me, but there were cameras everywhere and a security guard at the door. I considered casing Burberry or Prada, but both were full of women, who were mostly immune to my best tactics. Then I spotted the Apple Store. Perfect.
I’d hit six marks in this outfit; it was time for a change. Besides, my instincts told me that the MacBook set would respond better to a low-key girl. So I revisited the restroom by the food court and changed back into my jeans and V-neck.
I entered the already crowded Apple Store and found my next mark standing at a laptop display. I sidled up next to him: a chubby, bearded guy in his late teens or early twenties wearing an outdated jean jacket. After I played with a demo computer for a few minutes, I put on my best confused frown and started looking around as if I were trying to attract the attention of a salesperson.
Right on cue, Beard Boy said, “Can I help you with something?”
I made an effort to look relieved. “You’re going to think I’m stupid,” I said.
“I promise to hide it if I do.” He smiled. He was actually kind of cute. Not in a college-athlete kind of way; more like a lovable geek. It was refreshing.
“I can’t find the start menu.”
“Yeah, well. That’s a Windows thing. This is a Mac.”
“Ugh. I told you.”
“Don’t worry about it. You’re leaving the Dark Side, that’s what’s important.”
I laughed, and his smile widened.
“I want to try out the speakers,” I said. “The ones on my laptop suck.”
“No problem. Here.”
As he approached, I scooted over—but not by much. He clicked an icon and started typing. I leaned in, brushing my arm against his. He moved over a few inches, as if the contact had been his fault. Was it possible I was about to rob an actual real-life gentleman? I felt an anticipatory pang of guilt.
“What do you want to hear?” he asked, scrolling through a page of playlists.
I noted the Seven Seize logo on his T-shirt. “Something heavy?”
“My kind of girl.”
While he searched for the perfect song, I checked him out more closely. He wore an Apple Watch, designer jeans, and custom-colored Doc Martens; the guy had money. I leaned back slightly and located his wallet. It was tethered to one belt loop with a long chain—that would be a speed bump, but not a roadblock.
“Here,” he said. “Check these guys out.”
He clicked on a track by a band called DragonForce, and my ears were assaulted by dueling guitars and a machine-gun double-kick drum. Beard Boy nodded his head to the music, glancing over to see if I was into it. I pretended I was.
“Do they have videos?”
“Hell yeah, they have videos.”
When he started searching YouTube, I saw my chance. I leaned into him, pointing at the screen.
“Play that one,” I said, pressing myself against his arm as I undid the snap on his wallet chain. He didn’t notice, and he didn’t move away.
By the time the video started, the guy’s wallet was in my bag. I pulled out my phone and pretended an important text had just come in.
“Crap,” I said. “I have to go.” I stuffed my phone back into my purse and gave the guy