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through."
    "Yeah," Charity says.
    "I'm Diana," I blurt out.
    He squeezes my hand and lets his drop to his side, drops a twenty on the counter and takes the coffee cup.
    "Of course you are," he says with a smirk, heading for the door. "See you around, maybe."
    As he walks down the sidewalk, Charity and I both watch him.
    "Wow," she says, to no one in particular. "He's hot."

Chapter 3: Apollo
    There's something wrong with me. My hands are shaking. My hands never shake. It's not the caffeine. I've barely sipped the Mocha-whatsit. It's too damn hot for coffee, but it's actually pretty good. I can barely taste the coffee itself, it's more like hot chocolate, but that's beside the point. I knew from the pictures that Diana was good looking, but hot damn, seeing her in person had an effect on me that I've never felt before.
    Arousal, of course- one look at her eyes and the pink tinge in her cheeks and my cock was throbbing. I wanted to get my hands on her, run my fingers through her hair, feel the warm softness of her body pressed against me as soon as I saw her.
    The coffee is too hot but I chug it all in two big gulps and toss the cup in a garbage can, wondering if the scalding heat is going to peel off a layer of the skin in my throat. It feels like swallowing a mouthful of boiling water and I can feel it radiate the heat into my chest as it goes down, and sweat pops on my forehead.
    I was looking for the girl. My intention here was to scope her out, see what she was like, if we could use her for the job. I need to bump into her a few times, get acquainted, work my charms on her a bit before I can begin the process of feeling her out, but what really interests me is feeling her up. She's like some exotic bird that perched on a wire and let me catch a glimpse of her before she flew off.
    The friend wasn't bad, either, but plain next to Diana. She has that kind of sexy they call the girl next door . She doesn't have to work for it, it's just there. It takes every ounce of my self-control to keep from turning around and heading back.
    The boy pissed me off. I know the type, even if I don't know the circumstance. I effectively dropped out of high school at fourteen, and its ways are not my ways, but meathead's whole attitude screamed jock . That’s a good name for him. Meathead. I'll have to remember that.
    He must be somebody important, locally. He seems to be under the impression that he can get physical with a stranger and there will be no consequences. I could have taught him a lesson, but it was easier to get rid of him.
    I have a feeling I'll be seeing that one again.
    There was something in the way Diana looked at me, too. Those eyes, her eyes are amazing. I didn't notice in the pictures, or maybe it wasn't pronounced enough, but she has heterochromia. You have to look to see it, and believe me, I was looking. Her left eye is hazel, almost green. Reminds me of a woman that lived with us for a while in Prague. A high class escort. Dad had a thing going with her. She was hot, I mean ethereally beautiful, and smart as a whip. Spoke four languages.
    She, uh, offered to be my first, if you catch my meaning. I thought that would be a little strange since she was sleeping with my father so I passed. People probably fantasize about stuff like that. I don't usually turn it down but that was a special occasion. I don't think it had anything to do with why she didn't come with us. It was a temporary thing, they all were.
    This whole deal is making me nervous. Dad keeps talking it up, saying it might be the end, we could look at retiring after this. He's been thinking about Argentina, too. We never really worked in South America, or at least he never did when I was with him. Or maybe Paraguay, someplace like that. He's got money saved up, payouts in Swiss accounts. This painting we're supposed to lift from the museum is worth a king's ransom.
    It might be nice to live in one place, put down roots, have a home. I don't know what that's