#peach4buffalo

Not the city, exactly. The cities blur together after a while, especially with them always on the move. It’s the rhythm she could live in forever. The way mornings like this unfold without urgency, calm and quiet. The way Azzi always looks a little too pleased with herself, like she’s already won a game Paige hasn’t realized they’re playing yet.

They’re tucked into a corner table of a small coffee shop that smells like burnt espresso beans and vanilla. The kind of place that offers mediocre drinks they charge way too much for. At least that’s what Paige decided when she had to pull out more than a twenty to cover two coffees and a couple pastries. 

Azzi has one leg tucked under her, the other stretched out, boot nudging Paige’s leg absentmindedly as she stirs her coffee and stares out the windows lining the front of the cafe. 

Paige’s gaze drifts without permission. She lets her eyes trail along Azzi’s calf, slowly following the long line of muscle up warm, brown skin until it disappears beneath the hem of a short leather skirt that barely does its job when Azzi stands. Paige licks her lips before she can stop herself, mind briefly abandoning the table, the coffee, and their loose plans for the day. She considers dragging Azzi back to the motel for a moment, and picking up exactly where they’d left off that morning in the shower—steam and roaming hands and breathless promises of forever. 

“You’re staring again,” Azzi says, eyes still on the window, voice smug with certainty.

Paige shrugs. There’s no point arguing with the truth. She’d honestly stare at Azzi all day if time permitted. Azzi’d probably let her too.

Bringing the cup to her lips, Paige takes a sip of her coffee and grimaces. “This is terrible.”

“You got the wrong roast.”

“I got what you told me to order,” Paige counters.

Azzi smiles and finally looks at her. “That’s on you.”

Then, like she’s conceding a small, strategic loss, Azzi rolls her eyes. With a shake of her head, she slides her own cup across the table. “Try mine.”

Paige does. She takes a thoughtful sip, then nods once. “Way better,” she supplies before handing it back. 

Azzi hums in satisfaction and reaches for Paige’s cup instead, pulling it across the table. She takes a sip from it like that was always the plan. “Problem solved.”

Paige shakes her head, but she’s smiling too. It’s impossible not to when she’s in Azzi’s orbit. She leans back in her chair, black hoodie creasing at the shoulders, faded navy blue Dallas Mavericks cap low on her brow as wavy blonde hair spills out from underneath it. 

Outside, a town car glides past the bank across the street, tires hissing on wet pavement. The street’s busy. Busier than Paige would prefer.

She lets the moment stretch for another second, watching steam curl from Azzi’s cup—actually her cup—as people drift past the cafe and the small shops lining the street.

“Sleep okay?” she asks casually.

Azzi turns back to her then, and the smile she gives Paige is soft in a way that still makes her heart flutter after all these years. 

“I always do when I’m with you,” Azzi says, reaching over to squeeze Paige’s hand.

Paige feels warmth flood through her body, not even phased that Azzi still has this effect on her. The words are a reminder that she’s Azzi’s constant. Her safe place to land. After everything they’ve done, and everything they’ve been through, together and separately, Paige knows that much for certain.

Azzi takes a sip of her coffee, eyes flicking briefly back to the street before returning to Paige. “You?”

Paige laughs quietly “You know how I get.”

Azzi’s mouth curves. “And here I thought I tired you out last night.”

Paige snorts, shaking her head. “Oh, you definitely did that, Az.” 

Her mind betrays her immediately, drifting to the way Azzi had thrown her head back, mouth open, muttering expletives and deities and Paige’s name as her cunt pulsed around the strap last night. 

Paige clears her throat and takes another sip of coffee to cover it, hoping the flush in her cheeks doesn’t give her away.

Outside, a few men in business suits hurry past, umbrellas tilted against the rain. An Oldsmobile idles near the curb before pulling away. Paige tracks it with her gaze. 

“Big day got you nervous,” Azzi asks lightly, eyes still on her. 

Paige smiles, leaning back in the stiff wooden chair but taking Azzi’s hand with her. “You make me nervous, baby. The rest is all background noise.”

It’s the truth. It always has been. Paige’s world has a way of narrowing until there’s only Azzi at the center of it, everything else blurring at the edges. And she knows, just as surely, that Azzi feels the same.

Azzi tilts her head, studying her. “Even after all these years?”

The question tugs a memory loose.

Paige thinks back to East Valley High. New halls, new lockers, her parents freshly divorced. Her dad’s apartment smelled like cardboard boxes and microwave dinners even weeks after they moved. Paige transferred freshman year, three months into the school year, which was arguably the worst thing that could happen to a teenage girl. She remembers eating lunch alone, day after day, the weight of being new and unnoticed settling heavy in her bones.

The second week, she’d carried her tray outside into the courtyard on impulse, rules be damned. She’d found Azzi sitting on the concrete steps with a cigarette between her fingers, legs crossed at the ankles, eyes closed, head tipped back, soaking in the sun. Wearing black ripped jeans and a cropped East Valley Class of ’84 shirt that hung just loose enough, she looked cool without trying. Almost ethereal. 

“You’re… you’re not supposed to be out here,” Paige had stuttered, entirely caught off guard.

Azzi laughed effortlessly, the sound instantly captivating, and Paige wondered for a fleeting second if she was an angel.

“You’re not supposed to be either,” Azzi shot back, a little edge in her tone. 

Then her eyes opened and her gaze turned to Paige. It traced the cafeteria tray balanced in Paige’s hands, the way she stood half-turned like she was ready to leave if asked, the tired softness around her eyes. Azzi’s had expression softened, her eyes narrowing like she was piecing something together before a flicker of understanding appeared. 

Azzi shifted, tapping the empty concrete beside her, and held the cigarette out like a truce. “Going to tell on me?”

Paige shook her head without hesitation, settling beside Azzi as if some quiet gravity had taken hold. When she pulled the cigarette from Azzi’s grasp, Paige’s breath caught, electricity flooding through her so suddenly it almost startled her. She didn’t know then just how far that pull would take her, or how much of herself she would hand over without question. But even in that first moment, something in her had already begun to orbit Azzi Fudd.

“Even after all these years,” Paige confirms, meeting Azzi’s gaze across the table in the coffee shop.

Azzi smiles, satisfied with the answer, and turns back toward the window as another wave of people passes by, the rain steady, the morning unfolding easily. 

“We should get going,” she sighs.

Paige knows Azzi wishes they could stay in this perfect, warm little bubble a bit longer. These mornings always try to drag them in, but they’ve got places to be. 

Paige nods. “Just gotta get some cash out before we hit the road,” she says with a smile. 

Azzi just rolls her eyes. 

They leave the coffee shop, fingers laced together, pushing through the door and out into the rain. It’s coming down harder now, the kind that soaks you through in seconds. Azzi squeals when the cold droplets hit her, and she tugs Paige forward, both of them half-running, half-slipping as they pull their hoods up and dash across the street to the bank.

Inside, it’s warm and quiet, stuffy in the way banks always are, sound muffled by old carpet and wood paneling. They slow down instinctively, shaking rain from their sleeves as they move toward the long desk along the wall where the bank slips are stacked neatly in acrylic holders.

Paige grabs a pen and a slip of paper, leaning her hip against the counter as she starts filing it out. Azzi presses in close behind her, one arm sliding around Paige’s waist, the other warm against her low back. She rubs slow, absent circles there, like she’s got all the time in the world.

An older woman standing a few feet down the counter shoots them a look laced with shock and disgust. She looks like she already wears a scowl permanently, but has saved this specific degree for extremely egregious infractions—like two women in love. 

Azzi catches it without even turning her head. She lifts her chin slightly, unapologetic, and slides her hand higher, fingers brushing the back of Paige’s neck, playing with the blonde baby hairs spilling from her bun. Then she rises up onto her toes and presses a quick kiss to Paige’s cheek, lips lingering as she makes eye contact with the old lady.

The woman huffs and rolls her eyes before gathering her things and hurrying away.

Paige bites back a laugh, cheeks flushing as she finishes the last line on the slip. She loves this about Azzi. Her absolute refusal to shrink, to apologize, to care even a little bit about what anyone else thinks of them. All that matters to her is Paige. Everyone else can get fucked. 

She caps the pen and glances toward the tellers.

Three of them today.

“So,” Paige murmurs, not looking at Azzi yet. “Who helped you the other day?”

Azzi hums behind her, amused. “Guess.”

Paige loves how they turn everything into a game, a way of keeping even the most ordinary moments interesting. Though she doesn’t really believe anything with Azzi involved could ever be mundane. It helps, or maybe complicates things, that they’re both competitive to a fault.

She turns her head slightly, eyes scanning the counter. 

The first guy looks close to their age, hair slicked back with too much gel, crisp button-up tucked neatly into slacks. Paige nods toward him. “Him?”

Azzi shakes her head, smiling.

Paige’s gaze shifts to an older woman, maybe in her fifties, reading glasses perched low on her nose, expression all business. Paige snorts quietly. “Definitely not.”

She follows her line of sight farther down the counter, toward the window.

The last teller is a man in his forties, maybe older, hair carefully combed over in a piss poor attempt to cover a rather large bald spot.  A maroon cable-knit sweater clings tight over a soft beer gut, his posture stiff as he counts bills for a customer.

Paige squints. “That one?”

Azzi laughs under her breath and nods.

Blue eyes shoot wide open, incredulous. “Really?”

Azzi just shrugs, pressing closer, chin resting gently against Paige’s shoulder.

Paige exhales, something sharp and possessive flickering through her chest. She turns, cups Azzi’s face, and presses a light kiss to her lips. “I’ll be right back, baby.”

She starts to pull away, but Azzi catches the front of her hoodie and tugs her back in, mouth crashing into Paige’s with more heat this time. It’s brief but intense, laced with the unmistakable promise of more.

Paige pulls back a second later, breathless, eyes dark.

Azzi smiles like she’s already won.

Paige doesn’t even know what game they’re playing, but—Azzi has won. 

She always does. 

Paige turns toward the counter, slip in hand, anxious to get back on the road.

The teller by the far window doesn’t look up right away. He finishes typing something into his computer, fingers moving less than efficiently. When he finally notices her standing there, he exhales through his nose like she’s already inconvenienced him.

“Yes?” he says, sighing. “Can I help you?”

Paige smiles.

It’s small and calm and entirely wrong for the moment. She leans in just enough to close the distance.

“Yeah,” she says pleasantly. Then, quieter, harsher. “You can fucking help me.”

She reaches into her hoodie, movement smooth and unhurried, and pulls the gun just far enough to flash it—black metal, unmistakable—before sliding it back into the front pocket of her hoodie. At the same time, she pushes a black bag across the counter with two fingers, stopping it right in front of him.

“You can keep your hands above the counter,” Paige says, voice steady, almost conversational like this is an ordinary transaction. “And fill this with cash. Big bills.”

He doesn’t move.

He just stares at her.

Paige watches it happen, the moment recognition lands. The way his wide eyes flick down to the bag, then back to her face, which is eerily calm despite the circumstances. The way his mouth opens slightly, then closes, like he’s forgotten how words even work. His skin drains of color in real time, shock freezing him in place, his earlier annoyance wiped clean and replaced with something raw and frightened.

Paige loves this part.

She loves the exact second a man realizes he’s misjudged her completely.

Because they always do. 

And proving them wrong is her absolute favorite part of every job.

His hands hover uselessly above the counter, fingers twitching, like he’s waiting for someone to tell him this is a prank, that there’s a camera, that he’s allowed to breathe again.

But it’s not a prank. 

There are no cameras.

And after what he said to Azzi yesterday, she’d be fine if he never breathed again. 

They were from Dallas, both of them, raised on heat and grit and the belief that wanting something badly enough made it possible. And Paige, bless her soul, never really stood a chance. She learned early on that there were very few things she wouldn’t do if Azzi asked her the right way. Not because Azzi pushed or demanded. She just spoke as if the decision between them had been made somewhere quiet and private long before the words ever left her mouth. And Paige just wanted to be the kind of person who could give Azzi what she wanted. 

The first time was stupid. They were still in high school, not even old enough to drive, loitering in the corner store after class. Azzi pointed at a candy bar near the register and whispered, casual as breathing, “Just take it.”

Paige laughed and shook her head, but Azzi just raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her mouth like she already knew what Paige was going to do.

She was right. 

Paige hesitated for a beat, but with a shaky hand she grabbed it anyway, sliding it into her hoodie pocket, heart hammering as she rushed through the door. Azzi ate it slowly on the walk home, savoring the chocolate and watching Paige with a sly grin, like she’d realized she unlocked something new. Some fun little game that only she knew the rules of.

Paige told herself it didn’t mean anything. It was just a candy bar, a joke, barely even a crime. Besides, everyone did dumb shit when they were young and trying to impress a cute girl.

At the time, she didn’t know that was only the beginning. 

Not long after, they walked out of a restaurant without paying. The waiter had hovered all night, leaning in too close, laughing too hard, and treating Azzi like something he could claim just by looking. Despite the way Azzi stayed pressed into Paige’s space, fingers teasing at her collar, lips skating her jaw. Like even that couldn’t legitimize their relationship in his eyes. When the check came with his fucking phone number written on it, Paige reached for her wallet out of habit, and Azzi caught her wrist.

“You’re just going to let him disrespect you like that?” Azzi asked, eyes narrowed with challenge. “I’m yours, baby.”

Paige paused and thought about it. Then she stood up and tugged Azzi out the door, adrenaline buzzing in her chest as they ran. Azzi flipped him off on the way out, laughing as the cool night air hit them. Paige waited for the guilt to come later, but it never did. Instead, the rush lingered, making everything that followed more intense. 

And when they got home and Azzi slammed Paige against her bedroom door and dropped to her knees, eating her cunt all messy and needy and desperate, she’d realized with startling clarity that she was addicted to it.

To the risk. 

To the rush.

To Azzi.

Always Azzi. 

Next was the art exhibit in town for one night only. Azzi wanted to go to celebrate graduation, but after getting caught up in themselves as usual, they arrived too late, finding the gallery doors locked and the lights dimmed. Azzi tilted her head, considering, then said, “Let’s just break in.” Paige didn’t argue. They made it halfway through the exhibit before they were chased out by security, breathless and giggling, hands locked together as they ran off.

After that came the jacket from a boutique downtown. Pink, soft, perfect. Impossible to forget, Azzi had said, already talking about wearing it to the club that night. Paige checked the price tag and laughed. Four hundred dollars. Then she looked back at Azzi, met the challenge in those warm brown eyes, and realized this wasn’t really about the jacket at all. 

“Just wear it out,” Azzi shrugged.

Paige hesitated for exactly one second. The old fear flared before something else drove it out. Maybe confidence? More likely, the thought of how Azzi would reward her, lips and hands wandering in all the right places when they got back to the car. Then she slipped the pink jacket on like she owned it—she definitely did not—held the door open, and followed Azzi out smiling. No one stopped them, and later, Paige had the distinct honor of eating Azzi out while she wore just the jacket.

By then, Paige had learned that the fear faded quickly, but the thrill stayed.

A few months later, Azzi decided she wanted to go to a concert out of town. Unfortunately, their car was already on its last legs, rattling like it was daring them to take it further than a couple miles. Paige stole another one instead. Hot-wired the old Ford Bronco Azzi picked out in a dark parking lot, fingers stinging as she shocked herself before the engine finally turned over. Azzi laughed like it was the funniest thing she’d ever seen and then dragged Paige into the backseat and fucked her like she’d done something extraordinary.

The vacation was when Paige realized how far things had gone. Azzi wanted an escape. She wanted a week of luxury and a place with a view. Paige’s bank account wanted a fucking break. She figured it out anyway. The credit card belonged to some rich guy from the bar. The sleazy kind who mistook being crude to Azzi for charm. Paige lifted it without guilt, and then all it took was a confident lie and the right kind of smile. They ended up in a penthouse suite they didn’t pay for, ordering room service like it was takeout, enjoying their time like this was simply the life they were meant to live.

They came home from that trip different. Two fools in love, drunk on confidence, and convinced the world couldn’t touch them. 

And a few weeks later, Paige came home to find Azzi propped against the headboard, knees bent, holding a gun with an ease that made her breath stop short.

“What’s that for?” Paige asked, laughing, because it felt easier to believe this was a joke.

“I was thinking,” Azzi said calmly, like she was asking where they were going to dinner, “maybe we could rob a bank.”

She didn’t move, didn’t soften it, just held Paige’s gaze like this was the most obvious next step in the world. Like it wasn’t fucking crazy. 

Paige exhaled and leaned against the doorframe, arms folding loosely across her chest. “Okay…” she said slowly, like she was trying not to spook a wild animal. “And why do we need to rob a bank, baby?”

Azzi glanced down at the gun in her hands, fingers tracing the cool metal, then back up again. “I want an engagement ring.”

Paige exhaled through her nose, tension draining out of her shoulders in something that almost looked like a laugh. “You know I’m saving up, Az.”

“I know,” Azzi shrugged, voice still steady. “I just don’t really feel like waiting anymore.”

There it was. The same tone Azzi had used for the candy bar. The jacket. The car. The penthouse. Paige felt that familiar pull in her chest, the quiet click of something falling into place as she realized, with terrifying clarity, that she was going to say yes.

Always Azzi.

Always Yes. 

“Okay,” Paige said. Then, because she needed it said out loud, she added, “But no one gets hurt.”

Azzi nodded once, like that was a given. Like this whole thing was a given, and not absolutely absurd. 

And that was that. 

The first bank they chose was small, tucked into a quiet town outside of Arlington that felt half-asleep even in the middle of the day. Paige’s hands shook when she walked up to the counter. She kept them visible, forced herself to breathe, and tried to remember everything she’d practiced in her head. Setting the gun on the counter, she held out her hand and asked for two thousand dollars. She felt ridiculous saying it, like she’d misunderstood the assignment, but that’s what the ring Azzi wanted cost, and that’s why they were doing this.

The teller, a middle-aged man with glasses slipping down his nose, stared at her for a second, confused more than afraid, like he was trying to decide if this was a joke. Then he shrugged like the money wasn’t worth getting shot over, and handed it over. 

Azzi took Paige’s hand and ran, laughter spilling out of her as they burst through the doors. Despite shaking legs and a racing pulse, Paige followed on instinct, caught in Azzi’s gravity the way she always was, her body tuned to her movements long before conscious thought ever got a say.

They bought the ring that same afternoon. Vintage, warm gold worn smooth with age, the stone set proud after already having survived a lifetime. Against Azzi’s skin it didn’t compete for attention, it simply caught her radiant light and reflected it back. Paige knew, as plainly as breathing, that anything Azzi touched became more beautiful, simply by default.

Her hands were steadier then, when she dropped to one knee and slid the ring onto Azzi’s finger, watching her turn it in the light like she couldn’t quite believe it was real.

Like they hadn’t just robbed a fucking bank to buy it. 

Later that night, they lay tangled in bed, bodies loose and heavy, room smelling of sweat and sex and Chinese takeout. Paige was flat on her back, the cool sheets pooled low around their waists, Azzi sprawled comfortably against her with her head resting on Paige’s chest. Paige ran her fingers through Azzi’s hair in slow, absent passes, while Azzi traced lazy circles around Paige’s taut nipple, admiring the way her ring caught the light.

“That was really fucking hot,” Azzi said.

Paige let out a breathy laugh, her heart still beating faster than normal. She wasn’t entirely sure which part Azzi meant—the bank robbery or the way the fear and adrenaline had burned straight into an almost feral desire, leaving them breathless and spent and absolutely fucking sated. 

She realized, ironically, as Azzi’s fingers kept tracing the same slow, tantalizing path, that it didn’t really matter. She was right. About all of it.

“It was,” Paige agreed. 

Azzi shifted then, lifting her head so her chin rested between the swell of Paige’s breasts, brown eyes flickering with amusement as she looked up at her. The weight of her there felt intimate, dangerous but in the best way.

“We should do it again,” Azzi said simply.

Paige didn’t hesitate this time. She didn’t pretend to think it through or ask herself where it might lead. Her hand slid from Azzi’s hair to her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek reverently.

“Okay,” she said, and leaned down to kiss her, soft and certain.

And that was the moment it stopped being a one-time thing.

This is heist number twelve.

Or maybe thirteen.

Paige honestly can’t keep track anymore. They start to blur together after a while. Five years of the same exhilarating rush dressed up in different cities, different faces, different excuses. If she really sat down and thought about it, that probably meant something. 

But she supposes it doesn’t really matter in the end. 

Technically, this wasn’t even supposed to be a job.

They usually pick small-town banks, the kind run by self-important men who park Cadillacs out front while charging obscene rates to people just trying to stay afloat. It’s moral clarity, in the loosest possible sense of the word, Paige convinces herself. Or at least something close enough to let her sleep at night.

They were only passing through Portland. Staying a night or two before heading up the coast, scoping possibilities for whatever came next.

But then this asshole had to push her buttons.

Greg, his tiny little name tag reads, just had to disrespect Azzi when she came in yesterday to cash a check. A really really well forged one, Paige might add, not that she’d been the one to do it or anything like that. And if there’s one thing Paige won’t tolerate, it’s someone disrespecting her wife. She’s flexible on a lot of things, but that is absolutely not one of them. There’s a trail of men along the Pacific Highway with broken hands that can attest to this. 

Blowing out a deep breath and the last remaining ounce of patience she owns with it, Paige flicks her focus back to the sniveling man in front of her.

Her hand drops from the front of his wrinkled shirt and she shoves him, Greg, backwards, hard enough to make the point stick. 

“Fill the fucking bag,” she growls.

His eyes—shit-brown, Paige thinks, utterly forgettable and perfectly matched to his personality—are already glassy with fear. He snaps to attention like he suddenly understands English and starts frantically filling the bag.

Paige watches his hands as he does it. How badly they tremble. How the bills cling together when he fumbles them loose from the register, sweat slicking his fingers. Up close, his hands are rough and neglected, the skin dry and cracked, cuticles peeling where he’s clearly picked them raw, nails bitten down unevenly. 

Unkempt. 

Small. 

Those hands could never hold Azzi the way hers do. Could never make Azzi come undone, or worship her body the way it deserves. Those hands are clumsy things, meant for registers and receipts, not for something sacred.

Paige feels a slow, cold disgust settle in her chest. That this man—fucking Greg—thought he had the right to comment on Azzi at all. To open his mouth and say something ugly and entitled, like Azzi was there solely for his amusement. Like her beauty was something she could be reduced to. She’s beautiful, obviously. Anyone with eyes can see that. But what about her brain? Her beautiful, perfectly unhinged, brilliant mind? Or her strength and kindness. Or her fierce, unwavering loyalty. Paige could go on for hours… 

The bank has gone eerily quiet by now, the sound vacuumed out of it, and Paige briefly wonders if this is what peace feels like. The silence, the stillness. Or maybe it’s just the closest she ever gets to peace without her limbs wrapped around Azzi or her face buried in her cunt.

The gun goes off like a whip cracking through the calm. 

The sound doesn’t disappear so much as fracture, snapping against marble, ricocheting off the high ceiling, rattling through Paige’s ribcage. For a heartbeat, no one moves. Not the teller. Not the woman frozen near the door clutching her purse. Not the old man mid-step by the deposit slips, who looks like he really fucking regrets that his wife made him leave the house today.

Paige’s ears ring with the sharp, but not unfamiliar feeling, and in that suspended second, where fear meets adrenaline, her eyes find Azzi.

She’s still at the counter where Paige left her, arm raised, smoke curling faintly from the barrel of her pistol.

Paige exhales in relief.

Azzi’s posture is loose but balanced, shoulders relaxed. She lowers the gun and sighs like she’s bored. Calm enough to fool anyone who doesn’t know her.

But Paige knows better.

Azzi’s eyes are blown wide, dark and feral, adrenaline and hunger simmering behind them. It’s the same look she gets before crossing a line. Right before she pushes. Right before she dares Paige to follow. And Paige always follows. 

Azzi flicks her gaze toward the other teller or maybe the manager crouched behind the desk, Paige can’t tell, and shrugs nonchalantly.

“He was moving,” she says, casually, like they’re chatting about the weather.

Paige has the deeply inappropriate thought that she’s never wanted Azzi more.

The rush hits all at once. Hot and dizzying and electric, pooling low and pulsing between her thighs. There is nothing—nothing—that turns her on like Azzi like this. This power. This certainty, like the whole world is just as wrapped around her finger as Paige is. The thought of what she’s going to do to Azzi later flashes through her mind so vividly it sends a flood of wetness to her boxers. She presses her thighs together to get some relief, and files those thoughts away for future reference.

This is her show now. If she wants to cash in on the fantasies flipping through her head like Rolodex later, she needs to take control. 

“Alright,” Paige’s voice snaps loud as she scans the room and lifts the gun in the air. “Everyone on the fucking ground! Now.”

People drop fast.

A woman in a raincoat stumbles over a chair and swears before flattening herself against the floor. A man in a suit hesitates just long enough to look offended, deeply offended, as if this is a customer service issue, before Paige cuts him down with a single look and he folds instantly. Someone sobs near the wall. Someone else mutters a prayer. 

Paige hopes they’re praying to someone useful. Though, honestly, prayer feels a bit unnecessary if everyone just does what they’re told. They’ve never hurt anyone and don’t intend to start today. This isn’t about blood or chaos or making a point to the room.

She just needs to teach Greg a lesson.

And get some cash to tide them over. 

Her hands don’t shake as she raises the gun in the air. They haven’t in years. Inside, though, everything is lit up. The adrenaline courses through her veins, blurring the edges of everything that isn’t Azzi. She hates how much she loves this part. Loves how alive it makes her feel. How it makes Azzi look at her with a burning hunger in her eyes. Loves knowing exactly how this is going to end—with Azzi’s laughter and moans in her ear, and their bodies stripped bare and pressed together somewhere far away from here.

Greg, on the other hand, looks like he might actually shit himself.

Good. 

Paige leans in just enough for him to hear her over the ringing in his ears.

“Look at you,” she says, almost amused. “Not so smooth now, are you?”

He looks at her, eyes wide, confused, terrified. It’s fucking perfect. Paige gives him a second to process this new version of his day. One he clearly wasn’t anticipating. 

Then she tips her chin toward Azzi. “You see my wife over there?”

His gaze flicks in her direction, but recognition doesn’t settle.

“Hey, baby,” Paige calls, warm and sweet in a way that absolutely does not belong in the middle of a bank robbery. She lifts the gun loosely, a careless little flick of her wrist, beckoning. “Come here.”

Azzi crosses the floor like she owns it, and Paige knows exactly who the performance is for. Her hips sway with deliberate ease, the brown leather skirt riding higher with every step. Paige tracks it helplessly, thinking that one more inch and she’ll catch a glimpse of whatever lace thong Azzi slipped on this morning.

Her mind jumps ahead without asking permission, to how she’s going to rid Azzi of it later. Her hands, fingers digging in? Or maybe teeth instead... She hasn’t decided yet, and honestly, there’s still time.

Instead, Paige lets herself enjoy it. The show. The audacity. The way Azzi always seems to be daring her to lose focus. When she looks at Paige, it’s all there. Her eyes are wild, bright, and  thrilled, even as her mouth curves calm and smug.

The look hits Paige square in the chest, knocking the air from her lungs. Later, they’ll argue about it—who tops, who gives in, who gets to pretend they’re in charge, who actually gets to take control. They’ll circle each other, with teasing words and wandering hands and lips and tongues and teeth, both convinced they’re winning.

Later, they’ll laugh about it.

But right now, standing here with rain still clinging to Azzi’s clothes and chaos thrumming in the air, Paige thinks there’s nothing she loves more than the way Azzi looks at her like nothing else matters.

Paige hooks an arm around Azzi’s shoulders the second she’s close enough, the brunette slotting in like she belongs there. She brings her other hand up without thinking, fingers firm at Azzi’s jaw as she tilts her chin higher. The gun is still in her grip, forgotten except for the way it makes Azzi’s breath hitch. Paige kisses her hard with no warning and certainly no softness, her mouth claiming and demanding. Azzi melts into it immediately, her heat and urgency meeting Paige’s in the middle as their bodies press together, heartbeats slamming against each other. 

Paige’s free hand drifts lower, sliding along the curve of Azzi’s back before slipping beneath the hem of her skirt, palm settling on her ass, fingers digging into the soft skin. Azzi presses into the touch without hesitation, like she’s been waiting for it, like this is exactly where she expects Paige’s hand to be.

Paige holds the kiss longer than necessary. Long enough to make the point unmistakable. Azzi is hers. And she is Azzi’s. 

When she finally pulls back, there’s a thin, shining thread still connecting them, breath shared and messy. Azzi’s smile is slow and wrecked, eyes bright with exactly the kind of trouble Paige loves.  

The teller watches, frozen in place, jaw slack, eyes wide. Paige can practically hear his therapist taking notes.

“Do you remember her?” Paige asks, turning her attention back to fucking Greg, even though all she wants to do is stare at Azzi’s pretty face and perfect dimples.

He shakes his head immediately, siding the bag back over to her, hands lifting in surrender.

“No,” Paige says calmly. “You don’t remember when she came in yesterday? The shit you said?”

Greg opens his mouth like he’s going to say something—an apology, a plea, who the fuck knows.

Paige doesn’t raise her voice. She just looks at him, eyes narrowed, wishing she could burn a hole through him with her gaze.

The silence stretches until his lips close again and his shoulders slump, realization setting in like gravity.

“What did he say to you again, baby?” Paige asks.

Azzi smiles, and it’s absolutely unrepentant. “He whispered that he’d write me a check for twice as much if I sucked his dick.”

Paige’s arm tightens around Azzi’s shoulders before she can stop it. The words scrape along her nerves like a switchblade, and it takes real effort not to reach across the counter and wrap her hands around his throat. To show him exactly how badly he miscalculated.

Instead, she looks back at him, eyes flat and dangerous. “Does that ring any bells?”

He falls apart. Words tumbling over themselves. Apologies tripping over excuses. Paige cuts him off with a hand, and he falls obediently silent.

“You thought you were a big guy, huh?” Paige’s mouth curves, her free hand finding Azzi’s ass again and squeezing. “Well mine’s bigger,” she hisses, loud enough for everyone to hear. 

Azzi hums thoughtfully beside her, pressing further into the blonde’s side, fingers sliding under the hem of her black hoodie and tracing along the warm skin she finds there.

It sends a shiver of anticipation straight up Paige’s spine. 

Paige doesn’t even look at Azzi when she says it. Her steely blue eyes never leave him. “Apologize to my wife.”

He does. Quickly and desperately, groveling just like he should, before handing the rest of the money over like it might absolve him of something larger.

Paige takes the bag and straightens, turning to the female teller standing a few feet away, hands raised, eyes wide. 

“Empty your register, ma’am,” she says, pushing the black duffle bag at her and nodding at the other teller further down. “You, too. Let’s go!” 

The other tellers snap into motion, grabbing the bag off the counter as they start stuffing bills into it frantically.

Paige watches them for a moment. Then, pleased with their compliance, she turns her attention back to Greg. She motions with the gun. “Out. From behind the counter.”

He stumbles forward, legs tripping over themselves,  and that’s when Paige notices the dark, wet stain spreading down the front of his pants. She almost laughs at the sight. She doesn’t, because she’s generous like that. Also because it’s unmistakable in its own right. 

“Get on the fucking ground,” she growls, and Greg complies instantly. He drops to his knees and Paige uses her boot to guide him the rest of the way down, leaving her foot resting on his back just to remind him who’s in control. 

Finally, the older teller pushes the bag back across the counter. Paige thanks her, grabbing it with one hand, the other clutching the black metal gun tightly in her hand. She glances at her watch and realizes too much time has passed, and that’s when she hears it. 

The faint sound of sirens in the distance. 

She knows they’re at least a couple miles away, but they can’t waste any more time. 

They back toward the doors together, never turning their backs. Paige counts her steps as Azzi walks backward beside her, smiling because she knows what comes next.

At the door, Azzi pauses just long enough to blow Greg a kiss.

Then they’re gone.

She drops into the driver’s seat and turns the engine on before she’s even finished slamming the door shut.

And then they’re off.

The engine roars under the strain Paige is putting on it, and she swerves violently down streets at random as sirens wail in the distance. The cars beside them are a blur, rain streaking down their windows from the outside.

Azzi is on her immediately, hand reaching across to stroke Paige’s cheek as she leans over the center console. Paige glances over, recognizing the simmering heat in Azzi’s gaze, and knows she’s in for it. Her heart thumps in response, twin pulls of want and responsibility tearing at her chest from the inside.

“Good job, baby,” Azzi murmurs, nose pressing against Paige’s cheek.

“Yeah?” Paige asks, grinning as she slams on the gas.

She knows where Azzi’s taking this, and feels herself being pulled in by the hand, unable to say anything but yes.

“Mhm.” Azzi’s fingers press lightly against her chin, and she kisses Paige’s cheek. “My strong girl. My scary girl.”

Paige’s heart is thundering for reasons completely unrelated to the fucking crime they just committed. Azzi’s affection hits her like a current of electricity, forcing every hair along her arms to stand at attention.

Azzi kisses her again, quick little pecks against her cheek that start trailing down to her jaw. She moves her hand to Paige’s neck and tilts to fit her warm lips against it too.

Paige’s breath stutters as she feels Azzi’s tongue lick a stripe across the side of her neck, teeth scraping down the same path a heartbeat later. She tightens her hands on the steering wheel, flicking her gaze desperately from mirror to mirror, willing herself to comprehend the blurred images they catch.

But she’s slipping. It’s hard to focus on anything else when Azzi wants something. Especially when that something is Paige herself.

Azzi’s sucking her neck now, and Paige is certain there are going to be red marks there by the time she’s finished. She adds pressure to the gas pedal, zigzagging recklessly down slippery streets and past bewildered commuters. All the while, the noise of Azzi’s mouth against her skin fills her ears.

“Baby…” Paige whines, shifting her thighs against the slick building between them. “Please.”

Azzi catches the movement instantly, like a cat pouncing on prey. She drops her hand from Paige’s neck, sliding it between her thighs instead. “Hm?”

Paige swerves, barely missing a car in front of them. Azzi is thrown back, unrestrained by a seatbelt, hand slipping from between Paige’s thighs.

Paige’s heart drops. “I’m sorry,” she blurts, reaching for Azzi’s face, sliding her fingers into her hair as her thumb strokes her ear. “I’m sorry, baby.”

The sirens sound louder now. Paige checks the rearview mirror, desperately searching for any sign of red and blue lights.

“Maybe we should split up,” Azzi suggests. 

She’s teasing, trying to get under Paige’s skin, and it works. The notion alone is enough to spark Paige’s anger.

“Don’t even joke about that, baby,” Paige snaps, gritting her teeth and drawing her hand back to the wheel. “You know I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Azzi laughs, settling back into her seat and placing her hand back on Paige’s thigh.

They’d only almost been caught twice.

The first was a couple years ago. Paige had followed Azzi out of a bank just as the cops were arriving. Azzi had done a double take when she’d looked at her, eyes flashing with concern.

“Your hat, Paige!”

It was an old Dallas Mavericks hat. A keepsake from her dad after he’d passed away that had been knocked off Paige’s head in their rush to escape.

“Just go!” Paige had yelled, but it was too late. Azzi was already sprinting back into the bank. She’d known exactly what the hat meant to Paige.

They’d only escaped because Paige dragged Azzi into an alley and behind a dumpster, the cops sprinting past without a second glance.

The second time was worse. Much worse.

The conversation had been short. Paige begging Azzi to hide. Azzi slipping into the street before Paige could stop her. She’d drawn the cops away, buying Paige time to escape and stash the money. 

They’d been separated for three days. The absolute worst three days of Paige’s life.

On the second day, an unknown number texted her a meeting spot. Paige had known immediately it was Azzi.

She’d all but crushed Azzi in her arms during their reunion, clutching her close like she could melt their skin together with intention alone so they would never be separated again. Seeing Azzi safe and sound had allowed her to exhale for the first time since they got separated. 

She wasn’t sure her lungs could take a second time.

They take a tunnel now, Paige swerving into the oncoming traffic lane at every opportunity to get ahead of the cars in front of them. Azzi tells Paige an address, and Paige nods, already mapping the route in her head.

The sirens are distant as they exit the tunnel, fading until Paige can’t hear them at all. Azzi reaches into the backseat, taking a wad of cash from the black bag. She pulls out a blank envelope from the glove box, slipping the cash inside before sealing it with a quick lick.

They’re approaching the outskirts of the city now, the streets narrowing and cars becoming sparse. Azzi leans over, resting her head on Paige’s shoulder, slipping her hand under Paige’s shirt.

“You okay, baby?” Azzi asks, fingers brushing Paige’s stomach, dipping in and out of her waistband. Paige sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, wishing they weren’t flying down the street at over 90 mph and Azzi could go lower.

“Yeah,” Paige says. “We’re almost there.”

Minutes later, Paige pulls over at the cross street Azzi named. Azzi climbs out nimbly, envelope in hand, jogging toward an unassuming building.

It must be a food bank or a shelter. Paige doesn’t know. They never talk about it. It’s something Azzi plans on her own. And yet she only does it because of Paige—or rather, for Paige. 

An offering to the little girl Paige used to be, who gave her lunch leftovers to the kids who forgot theirs.

Paige never asks Azzi to do it, never needs a reason to do something other than that Azzi wants her to. But Azzi does it anyway because she knows it makes Paige feel good. Good in a part of her brain that doesn’t get high on adrenaline or buzzed off the feel of Azzi’s skin under her hands. 

Good in the only part of her left that’s pure.

Azzi is jogging back now, and the second she’s in her seat and the door slams shut, Paige has them speeding down the street again, turning the beige buildings of the suburbs blurry in their peripheral.

They drive until buildings give way to farms, little signs stuck into the dirt advertising hazelnuts and berries by the pound. Azzi leans against Paige’s shoulder again, hand stroking the underside of Paige’s arm while she drives. Heat is still strung tight through Paige’s core, and she presses a little harder on the gas, intent on getting them to the good part.

She turns off the highway onto an unpaved road, taking them a mile down dirt and dust, then swerves into yellow grass and parks under a gnarled tree.

The engine is barely off before she’s leaping at Azzi, their mouths meeting hot and desperate for each other. She moans into Azzi’s mouth as Azzi unzips her jeans with practiced ease. Paige slips her arms under Azzi’s ass, lifting her onto the center console. Azzi giggles and crawls backward into the back seat, Paige following close behind.

Paige leans in to join their lips once more, but just as she’s close enough to share breath, Azzi pushes her down into the seat, climbing into her lap.

Paige grins up at her, running her hands up her thighs until they reach her ass, squeezing the muscle there. The look in Azzi’s eyes is dark. She always gets like this—a little wild with hunger whenever Paige redemonstrates just how far she’s willing to go.

Azzi grips Paige’s jaw, leaning down to lick into her mouth before pulling away again. She looks at Paige with a familiar kind of pride—pleased and reverent. Paige turns her head, glancing at the seat beside them. The bag of money and guns are splayed haphazardly on the seats, having slid around while Paige was driving, bills spilling across the seat and floor.

“What we gonna buy for you with all this cash, baby?” Paige asks, eyeing the money with a smug grin.

Azzi reaches down, picking up her gun and using it to tilt Paige’s head back up. “Look at me,” she demands. 

Paige knows the safety’s on, but she thinks briefly, wildly, that she wouldn’t mind this being the last thing she sees: Azzi above her, beautiful and dangerous and fucking perfect.

Paige pulls her in, kissing her neck.

“I’m looking,” she murmurs into Azzi’s skin before sucking it sharply between her lips. 

Azzi gasps, wrapping her arms around Paige’s shoulders, the gun pressing cold against her back. It feels like a metaphor for Azzi herself. Thrilling and dangerous. Undeniable. Paige feels a ripple of heat travel through her as she remembers with a swollen sense of satisfaction that Azzi is all hers.

She slips her hands underneath Azzi’s skirt. “Fuck,” Paige groans, head falling back against the headrest. Azzi grins, all too proud of herself. “You’re not wearing anything under?”

“Must’ve forgot,” Azzi lies. Her dimples flash at Paige, as if daring her to do something about it.

Paige lifts Azzi abruptly, turning them and laying her down atop the money. Loose bills flutter into the air at the sudden movement. Azzi looks beautiful with the green paper fanned out beneath her, and Paige feels a rush of affection so strong it tastes like anger.

“Every damn person at that bank wanted you,” Paige growls, rucking up Azzi’s skirt. Azzi giggles, delighted by Paige’s blatant jealousy. “You’re mine.”

Azzi bites her lip, smirking. “Am I?”

Paige almost gawks at her—Azzi would never let her tease her in the same way. But then the image of the man from the bank flashes through her mind, and rage floods her nervous system once again.

“Mine,” Paige repeats darkly, then slams her mouth against Azzi’s and presses her fingers between her folds. “Damn,” Paige breathes, pulling away after a second. “You’re fucking dripping, baby.”

Azzi whines, pulling Paige’s face back down to hers. She’s still holding the gun, the cool metal pressing against Paige’s spine.

Paige works her fingers up and down, massaging around Azzi’s entrance. Azzi squirms underneath her, face screwed up in pleasure and frustration.

“This is mine too, huh?” Paige teases, looking down to watch the way her fingers shine as they gather Azzi’s slick. “Wet just for me."

Azzi moans, eyes rolling closed. “Yes, baby.”

“Wish they could see this,” Paige continues. “Wish they could see what I do to you. I’m the only one who gets you like this. They couldn’t even do it in their dreams.”

Azzi nods fervently and Paige leans down, licking a stripe up Azzi’s neck as her fingers move up to circle lightly against her clit. Azzi shivers beneath her.

“Fuck,” Azzi whispers. She opens her eyes, pressing the hand holding the gun against Paige’s face. Her face is serious, layered over with heat and determination. “I need you inside,” she demands.

Paige slips her fingers in before Azzi finishes speaking, grinning as Azzi’s head tips back against the duffel, back arching with a moan. She’s soaking wet, and Paige’s finger slides in with no resistance, stroking her deep immediately. Azzi unravels, filling the car with her moans and rocking her hips against Paige’s hand.

She reaches down, tugging Paige’s shirt up before holding it there with the gun. The metal is cold against Paige’s stomach, and she inhales sharply at the feeling as Azzi slips her free hand into her boxers.

“Oh, God,” Paige groans as Azzi’s fingers find where she’s wet and aching.

“Yeah?” Azzi murmurs, brows arched in faux curiosity. “You want it, baby?” She draws her fingers up in a slick line against Paige’s entrance, deliberately teasing.

“Yes,” Paige sighs, hips rocking, seeking friction. “Can you fuck me? Please, baby.” 

She pumps her fingers inside Azzi, trying to remind her just how good she’s been today. Azzi’s mouth drops open in a stuttered moan.

With a sharp inhale, Azzi slips her fingers inside at the same time she lets her legs fall open, inviting Paige deeper. Her mouth stays parted, plush lips wrapped around sweet moans that Paige breathes into her lungs.

They fuck rough, fingers driving deep at a punishing pace. Paige has been wound tight for hours now, and she feels herself climbing steadily towards climax, pumping her fingers harder, determined to make Azzi cum first.

Azzi seems to have the same idea, rolling the heel of her palm against Paige’s clit and pressing the gun more firmly into her side.

“I love you,” Paige whispers, without really meaning to. Azzi just looks ethereal like this, the dappled gold of post-rain sunlight kissing her brown skin bronze through the car windows. She’s an angel wrapped in sin, and Paige would follow her straight to Hell.

Azzi tilts her chin up expectantly, and Paige leans down to slot their lips together in a messy, heated kiss. Azzi wraps her arm around Paige, the cool metal a sharp contrast to the warm skin of her back.

“Come on, baby,” she murmurs against Paige’s lips. “Cum for me.” 

As much as Paige wants Azzi to finish first, there’s nothing she can do to fight the way her body wants to obey.

The line of tension in her snaps with a burst of pleasure, sending heat rippling throughout her body as she gives Azzi exactly what she wants, again. Azzi smiles, pressing a quick kiss to her lips as Paige shudders through the aftershocks.

“Good girl,” Azzi coos. Then she smirks, a devious gleam shining in her eyes. Paige’s heart freezes in anticipation. “Wanna ride your fingers,” Azzi says.

Then she’s pushing Paige back into the seat and climbing into her lap, grabbing Paige’s hand and guiding it back inside of her.

Paige watches, enthralled, as Azzi sinks down on her fingers, taking them so well, rolling her hips with finesse and expertise. She starts speeding up, using the gun once more to tilt Paige’s chin up.

“You like watching me fuck myself on your fingers?” Azzi asks, smirking. 

Paige shifts her thumb to rub slick against Azzi’s clit as she grinds down, soaking in the way Azzi’s eyes flutter shut at the sensation.

“Yeah,” Paige breathes. “You’re so sexy, baby. Take what you need.”

Azzi grins and leans forward, hips pressing down harder. She drags the side of the gun along Paige’s cheek, her smile sharp and self-satisfied, making Paige’s skin buzz with electricity. 

“I don’t have to,” Azzi says. “You’d give me anything.”

Paige grins back, curling her fingers inside Azzi ruthlessly, as Azzi collapses forward in pleasure. “Yeah,” she agrees. “I would.”

Azzi answers her with a long, drawn out moan, hips stuttering. She’s close now, so wet that Paige’s hand is dripping her slick on to her pants. She slips a third finger in, and Azzi erupts in a groan, head falling back as her hips rock desperately.

It doesn’t take long. Paige uses her hands the way years of loving Azzi have taught her to, until Azzi is cumming with Paige’s name on her lips. She slumps against Paige’s shoulder for a breath before crawling off of her lap.

“Get this off,” Azzi demands, tugging at Paige’s pants and boxers.

When Paige is stripped waist down, Azzi arranges her legs open and out of the way. Paige’s back is pressed up against the car door as she watches Azzi kneel on top of the scattered green bills and bring her smirking mouth down on to Paige’s waiting cunt.

“Fuck,” Paige groans when Azzi licks a long, wet stripe across her entrance.

Azzi licks her slowly, building her back up leisurely and patiently. She dips her tongue in, and Paige feels every millimeter of the warm muscle slipping inside of her. It’s a sensation she never tires of, and combined with the sight of Azzi sprawled atop their money, it almost tips her over the edge again.

Azzi moans as she fucks Paige with her tongue, and Paige rests a hand against her head, thumb stroking through her hair as she presses her closer, ever so slightly.

“You’re doing so good,” Paige murmurs. “So fucking hot. My baby. Fuck.”

Azzi shifts up to lick warm and wet against Paige’s clit, then sucks it gently between her lips. Paige tilts her head against the car window with a moan. Azzi sucks a little harder, swirling her tongue, and Paige cums with a shudder against her face.

“Oh my God,” Paige moans, her hand gripping tight in Azzi’s hair.

With a soft kitten lick against where Paige is now sensitive and raw, Azzi sits back up on top of the money.

“C’mere,” Paige says, and Azzi crawls back into her lap, kissing her sweetly.

They linger there, kissing and touching, gentle hands stroking down sweat-slicked skin as they come down from their mutual highs. Paige pulls back occasionally, just to admire her, but she only gets a few seconds before Azzi gets impatient and tugs her back.

Eventually, Paige pulls her boxers and pants back on, and Azzi smooths her skirt back down her legs. As Paige buttons up her pants, Azzi studies her, considering.

“I want this,” she says, tugging at Paige’s hoodie.

*************

They make their way back to the front of the car. Paige turns on the engine, flicking her gaze to the fuel gauge. “Need to get gas,” she tells Azzi.

“Okay,” Azzi says sleepily. She looks so sweet, wrapped up in Paige’s hoodie, knees pulled to her chest as she leans sideways against the seat, that Paige has to lean over and kiss her deeply. Azzi smiles against her mouth when they part.

It takes awhile before they come across a gas station. When they do, it’s all but empty—just a single truck with a young man in a cowboy hat filling up. Azzi stays in the car, as she always does, while Paige goes inside to pay. On her way, her eyes catch on a shiny wrapper.

She buys the chocolate—Azzi loves to be reminded of the first time she convinced Paige to be naughty—and enough to fill her tank at the counter. The girl behind it is young and bored, but she looks at Paige with a flicker of interest in her eyes.

“I like your shirt,” she says, as Paige hands over the bills.

Paige looks down. It’s a plain white shirt.

“Thanks,” she replies tersely, thinking vaguely that the girl’s lucky Azzi wasn’t around to hear it.

“What brings you into town?”

It’s a fair question. They’re in the middle of nowhere. Still, Paige knows the girl doesn’t give a fuck what she’s doing in town. She’s been ogling Paige’s arms for the past 30 seconds.

“Not much,” Paige answers, taking her change. “Pickin’ up a gift for the Mrs.”

It’s always dangerous to acknowledge out loud, even to someone who’s clearly gay themselves. Rural Oregon isn’t forgiving, and if the wrong person overheard, she’d be painting a target on her back. But Paige has a gun. And a wife who would kill for her.

The cashier’s jaw drops, which is almost funny. Paige remembers what it felt like to have to be subtle. But being with Azzi makes her feel invincible. She hasn’t had that feeling in a long time.

She flashes a grin to the cashier that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Thanks,” she says, turning to leave.

As she approaches the double glass doors, she sees Azzi walking toward the store. She must’ve taken too long chatting with the cashier. They make eye contact through the glass, and Paige watches Azzi freeze, her expression tense. The automatic doors slide open, and Paige catches the tail end of a sentence.

“—spread those pretty little legs for me.”

Paige’s head snaps to the man in the cowboy hat. He’s leaning against his truck, arms and ankles crossed with casual arrogance. He hasn’t even noticed Paige, his gaze fixed plainly on the way Azzi’s legs emerge from underneath Paige’s hoodie, the fabric barely covering the swell of her ass. Her skirt is so short, less than an inch peaks out from beneath it.

Paige turns again, eyes meeting Azzi’s. One look is enough. She reads Azzi’s stoic face, gathers the instruction hidden beneath it, and walks to the car to retrieve her gun.

When they leave the gas station, Azzi’s jean-clad legs are propped up against the dash, the waist of them loose and gaping around her hips. She adjusts the cowboy hat on her head and waves lazily at the man sobbing in his boxers.

*************

When Paige steps out of the motel bathroom, toweling her hair dry, Azzi is curled up on the bed, watching the local news on the tube TV.

“...robbed at gunpoint by two women between 5’9” and 5’11”. Police have been having trouble gaining any other details about the perpetrators’ appearance as witnesses have reportedly stated that, ‘they were just the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen.’ Despite the lack of leads there, officials believe this might be the work of the infamous Bank Heist Beauties.”

“Now, Dave, we’ve seen a lot of bank robberies that match the style of the one committed today…”

Paige tunes out the news broadcast, tossing the towel aggressively across the desk chair. “What the fuck?” she snaps, flicking an irritated glance at the TV. “I’m 6 foot. Fuck outta here, ‘5’11.’” She flops on to the bed beside Azzi, crossing her arms in petulance.

Azzi picks up the cowboy hat from where it’s been placed on the nightstand and sets it on Paige’s head. Paige stares at her, unimpressed.

“That guy was greasy as fuck, baby,” Paige deadpans. “I don’t need his hat.”

Azzi scoots closer,  leaning on her elbow in a way that makes the angles of her shoulders look seductive. Or maybe Paige is just crazy about her. Two things can be true at once.

“It’s not his hat anymore,” Azzi says, lifting it and showing Paige the brim.

Drawn in careful pen, traced over and over until the felt has been indented with the lines of ink, is her name in all-caps.

PAIGE

Paige grins before she even realizes it, running a fingertip over the letters.

“Like it?” Azzi asks.

Paige looks at Azzi, her favorite sight in the whole world, before leaning over, tackling a giggling Azzi to the bed and sucking kisses into her neck. The hat tumbles off the bed with a little thump.

Suddenly, a high-pitched whine cuts through the air.

Both of them freeze, joy dropping off their faces in an instant. A second passes, and the unmistakable sound grows in volume. 

Paige is up in a flash, shoving loose items into bags while Azzi leaps off the bed and peeks through the curtains. The sirens grow louder as they get steadily closer. Soon the lights will be visible from their window.

Paige grabs Azzi by the wrist, pulling her away from the window and pressing the duffel bag into her arms.

“Car’s parked 4 blocks away. Walk toward the trash bins, past the diner, and take two lefts and then a right. It’ll be in the alleyway in front of a black truck.”

“What are you talking about?” Azzi hisses.

“It’s tight,” she says, shoving the keys into Azzi’s hand. “Scratch up the car if you need to. Just get out as fast as you can.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Azzi snaps.

Paige sighs, taking in the sight of Azzi as best she can, like she’s trying to memorize it. She kisses her hard, cradling Azzi’s sweet face between her hands and licking furiously into her mouth, trying to imprint the taste of her on her tongue. Paige pulls back, horribly aware of how little time they have.

“I’m just gonna play with them a bit, baby,” Paige says softly, trying to convince Azzi. “I’ll be fine. Just need to give you a little head start.”

“What, on foot?” Azzi scoffs. “They’re going to catch you, Paige.”

“I’ll steal a car. We’ve done it before. Made it every time, didn’t we?” She’s pleading now, knowing their time is dwindling. “I’ll meet you in Dallas. Swear.” 

Her eyes flick to the cowboy hat on the floor, and her stomach turns as she realizes where the police must’ve gotten the tip from. She picks up the hat and places it on top of the duffel bag resting in Azzi’s arms. “Bring this home for me, okay? Need’a wear my own hat in my own city.”

Azzi’s eyes fill with conflict and fear. She presses her trembling lips together. “You better fucking be there, Bueckers,” she whispers, voice shaking slightly even though Paige can tell she’s trying to be strong. “If I have to bust your ass out of jail, it won’t be pretty. For them.”

Paige smiles weakly. “I know, baby.”

Azzi shakes her head, as if Paige doesn’t understand. “I can’t do it without you,” she says, biting her bottom lip like she always does when she’s nervous. “You have to come back to me. You have to.”

Paige nods. “I will,” she murmurs, guiding Azzi to the door and tugging it open. “I promise, Az.” 

Before she can let Azzi go, Paige pulls her back in, hands firm at her waist, and kisses her slow and deep. There’s no urgency this time, just certainty. When she finally pulls back, her forehead rests against Azzi’s, breath steady, eyes sure. 

“Go,” Paige whispers, and it takes everything in her to push Azzi away. “Please, baby. I’ll meet you in Dallas.” 

As Paige watches Azzi, her whole heart, slip out of the room and down the alley, she’s already figuring out a way to make it happen. Giving Azzi what she asks for is the only thing she’s ever been good at.