Page 10 of Brazen Criminals

Clara

Igetoffthebus too soon by accident. At least the walk to the apartment complex will help me figure out what I’m going to say to Bryce. I don’t get why he’s being such a jerk about this. We’ve been together for two years and lived together for half of last year—it shouldn’t be this hard. I get that med school is a big deal, but that doesn’t mean he gets to be a jerk. I haven’t even gotten an actual kiss yet, despite only seeing him a few times this summer. Does he not want me anymore?

I shift my purse to my other shoulder. If only we’d decided on a two-bedroom apartment, I wouldn’t be dealing with this right now. If only Bryce hadn’t talked me into the fancy apartments closer to the med school, maybe we could have been able to afford a two-bedroom place. At least then I’d still have somewhere to crash.

God, if only he wasn’t being so cagey and weird about everything, I wouldn’t be moving in with four guys who don’t want me in their house. If only, if only, if only.

I sigh as I reach the front of the complex. People are coming in and out, busy the Friday before classes start. I catch the door and take the elevator up to the sixth floor. Squaring my shoulders, I march in. “Bryce! I’m back!”

“In here!” he yells from the bedroom.

I follow his voice and find him making the bed—with the sheets I brought. My sheets. His bed. “Bryce, what are you doing?”

He looks up, the frustration from earlier gone from his eyes. “I’m making the bed.”

I don’t want to make him angry again, but why in the world is he using my stuff when he just kicked me out? “I see that. But those are my sheets.”

“You brought them for our bed,” he says, tugging the elastic over the last corner of the bed, not noticing that I’m getting mad. I try to tamp it back down, but I can’t. This is just too much.

I yank the sheet back off.

“Hey! Why are you doing that?” he asks.

“I’m taking back my sheets.”

“Clara, what the hell? You bought the sheets for our bed. So I’m putting them on our bed. Why the hell are you taking them off again?”

I stop tugging and look into those soft blue eyes, his wavy red-brown hair flopped over his forehead. “If I’m not living here, why in the world would I leave my bed sheets here?” I ask.

Bryce shifts his weight from foot to foot, finally catching on. “Well, you’ll be here almost every night anyway, right?”

“If you wanted me every night, Bryce, then I’d be living here. I’m taking my sheets.”

He rubs his head like I’m giving him a headache. “Fine, take them,” he says.

I jam the sheets into the paper bag he’d pulled them out of. Bryce watches for a minute before storming out of the room. The faucet in the kitchen kicks on. I bring the sheets out to the main room, adding them back to my pile, catching sight of Bryce across the room, a glass of water in his hand. Heading back to the bedroom, I pull my clothes out of the closet, neatly hung up just this morning, and add them to the mound too.

In the kitchen, I pull out the dishes I bought. I find the box I’d packed them in and rewrap them. Bryce stands watching. He doesn’t offer to help.

He clears his throat. “Are you staying with Emma?” he asks.

“No. Emma’s place is two bus transfers from the coffee shop. I can’t live that far from work.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

I stop wrapping and glare at him. “I found another place to stay.”

“With whom?”

Shaking my head, I go back to wrapping. “I saw a listing, and I took it. I’ll be over on the other side of campus.”

“You’re moving into one of those dumpy party houses? Clara, that’s a bad idea. There are drunk and high guys stumbling through there 24/7.”

I shrug. “You didn’t give me a lot of warning here, Bryce. This morning I had a place to live. Before noon, I was homeless. At least I have a place tonight.”

His eyes flash, censure in his stance. “Clara, baby, don’t be like that.”

My head snaps up. “Be like what, Bryce? Upset that you kicked me out with no warning whatsoever? Bitter that I’ve had to scramble to find a fucking roof to put over my head? Annoyed that you’re just watching me pack and not even offering to help? Just how should I be, Bryce? Skipping through a fucking meadow with butterflies flitting around my head? Fuck you.”

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