Page 30 of Brazen Criminals

I roll out of bed and toss on some shorts and a T-shirt. Downstairs, I pull out some palak paneer and rice from the fridge and heat it up. It feels like a jasmine green kind of day. Not too much caffeine, my nerves don’t need it, but enough to get moving. The microwave dings before the kettle whistles, but I decide to wait and eat in the living room. I’m pretty sure I saw Trips in there, and I want to see if there were any problems from last night that bled into today. Once my tea is steeping, I take my bowl, teapot, and cup on a tray to the living room.

Sure enough, Trips is in his favorite chair, glaring at his phone. I sink into the couch, pulling my bowl onto my lap. “Good morning,” I say, digging into the cheesy spinach goodness in front of me.

“Hey.”

I’m licking my bowl when I remember we’re supposed to be chatting. “Any issues crop up this morning?”

“No, we’re good. Thanks for all the ID verification. It’s always helpful to know who actually is sitting at my tables, you know? And what kind of credit cards they have. Then RJ can find them later if needed.”

I nod. “Glad to help. You been up long?”

Trips groans. “Way too long. What I would give to sleep in.”

“It’s a beautiful skill.” I smirk. “What have you been doing this morning?”

“It’s afternoon, you fucker.”

I sip some tea.

He tosses his phone on the coffee table. “I got roped into taking Clara furniture shopping.”

Setting down my cup, I look over at my asshole roommate. He still looks like an aristocratic jackass, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing. But it looks like he’s been running his hand through his hair all morning, which he only does when he’s thinking about something that isn’t making sense to him. I know that losing those funds has made him edgy, but this looks different. “What?” he grumbles.

“You look, I don’t know, off balance or something.”

He glares at the ceiling, trying not to roll his eyes at me. “I’m fine.”

I laugh. “Archibald Clarence Westerhouse the Third, you are never fine. Fine isn’t a continent you’ve ever visited. Uptight? Demanding? Furious? Pure asshole? Those I’d believe. But fine? You’re fucking kidding yourself.”

He snatches up a coaster and flings it at my head. I duck and it slams into the wall behind me before sliding down and under the couch. “You have to get that, asshole,” I laugh.

“Fine, you fucking gnat. I’m not fine. Did you know Clara is practically broke? I’m worried she won’t be able to pay rent.”

I feel a half-truth. “Worried she can’t pay rent? She gave you a month up front. What more do you want?”

Trips shakes his head. “She furnished that entire room for less than a hundred bucks.”

I whistle. “Impressive.”

“She paid in cash. To the dollar. Who the hell buys furniture with cash? From a thrift store? There were these two chairs she wanted, $80 for them both, and she vetoed them outright. Who doesn’t have an extra $80 lying around?”

It’s my turn to throw a coaster. “People who aren’t rich, asshole.”

Trips catches it. He turns it over in his hands. “I bought her the chairs,” he mumbles.

His face is all scrunched up, glaring at the coaster like it holds the answer to all his questions. I giggle. After a moment, it turns into a belly laugh. I’ve never seen Trips so confused. Angry is his default setting. Confused is one I’ve never seen in three years. Tears streak down my cheeks.

“Fuck you,” Trips growls, standing up and snatching his phone from the table.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” I gasp out. He doesn’t leave, but he doesn’t sit back down either. I calm enough to sip some tea, then wave for Trips to sit down again. He does with a huff.

“So you don’t hate our new roommate?”

“She’s not what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?”

He slides his phone back onto the table. “I guess, someone like my step mom, or an older version of Mattie or something.”

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