Page 7 of Brazen Criminals

I shift my weight from foot to foot before weaving my way to the corner of the couch with as much grace as I can muster, careful not to touch anyone or anything on the way. The scent of real leather puffs up as I settle into the soft cushion.

I guess I’m starting, as no one else is. “So, um, hi. I’m Clara. I saw you guys were looking for a roommate,” I say, rubbing the hem of my T-shirt between my fingers, trying to keep my hands busy so they don’t shake.

The guy with the black curls sets his phone down and looks me in the eye. I gaze back, waiting. He doesn’t break eye contact, but he doesn’t say anything either. I tap my fingers,one two three four five, against my thigh, working up the courage to add, “Now’s when you’re supposed to introduce yourselves and we try to figure out if this is going to work.”

This is ridiculous. Maybe I should just head back out and try somewhere else. Not that there is anywhere else—but I could keep looking. I could stay with Emma until that room available in October opens up. It would suck majorly, but I might be able to swing it.

The nice blond guy comes back with a Mountain Dew, a bottle of kombucha, and two glasses of water. “Guys, don’t be jerks,” he scolds his roommates, then dazzles me with a smile. “I’m Jansen. Nice to meet you.”

He sets down the Mountain Dew in front of the guy who tried to stare me down. “This is RJ. Say hi, RJ.”

RJ pops open the can. “Hi, Clara,” he mumbles, still staring at me. I shift in my seat.

Jansen sets the kombucha down in front of sketchbook guy on the other side of the couch. “This here is Walker.”

Walker closes the sketchpad and picks up the bottle. “No need to fidget, we don’t bite,” he says, bumping my foot with his, the hint of a smile on his lips.

I freeze. Is he flirting?

Deep breaths. I need to live someplace. I can afford this room, and roommates don’t flirt, especially when one is in a committed relationship, right?

Jansen plops down between Walker and me, just like I feared he would. “Lastly, the grumpy lump over there is Trips. He just lost a buttload of money, so he’s a little extra pissy this week. Welcome to our humble abode, Miss Clara.” He hands one water to me while taking a sip from the other one, green eyes glinting.

I take it, the glass cool against my clammy hand. Not knowing what else to do with water I didn’t ask for, I take a sip and set it down on the coffee table, then take a second to stare at my reflection in the huge TV on the other side of the room. It’s big enough that I can see all five of us reflected back, four good-looking dudes and me. Sometimes it sucks to be me.

I take a breath. “So the ad said you had a room? Available immediately? Is that still the case?”

Walker takes a swig of the kombucha and sets it down on a coaster. He slides three more down the table, and Jansen sets all the drinks onto the coasters. They have coasters? And they use them? Now that I look, their coffee table is free of all the rings from beers and Solo cups I would expect to find in a house full of guys in this neighborhood. There’s a thick multicolored throw rug on the floor and framed reproductions of famous art instead of posters and sticky-tack on the walls. I guess I could do worse than mostly grumpy guys with classy tastes and mild OCD. I’m used to it, I suppose.

Trips leans forward in his chair. “We have a main floor bedroom open. You’d get the main floor bathroom to yourself as well. You’d have two shelves in the kitchen, but no parking space. First month you’d pay today, then all other rent is paid to me a week before the last day of the month at the latest. The landlord wants the money on the first, and I want to make sure the cash is there when he pulls it.”

“I can do that. Could I see the space?”

Silent communication shoots between the guys, then RJ rolls his eyes and stands up. “It’s in the back.”

I stand up to follow. No one else moves. I slip my purse over my shoulder and sigh, disappointed but not surprised.

RJ walks out the back of the living room and into the kitchen. It’s old penny tiles, black-and-white. A handful of dishes are in the sink, but nothing terrible. A fancy teapot sits on the counter next to a toaster oven and a blender. “Kitchen,” he says, motioning at the room. I nod. I’m not sure I should find the spotless floors and counters weird, but I do.

There are three doors in the kitchen—one from the living room, one that must go to the hallway with the stairs, and one last door to the back of the house. We push through the last door to find two more doors on the right and one at the end of the hall that goes out back. RJ pushes open the first door. “Bathroom,” he says.

I stick my head in. The same black and white penny tile lines the bathroom, an old clawfoot tub wedged at the back of the room. The tub is definitely a win for me. A good soak after my Saturday long runs is the only way I can still walk on Sundays.

RJ catches my eye, then steps over and pushes the last door on the right. The bedroom has nice hardwood floors, two windows on the side of the house and two windows at the back. There’s no closet. I switch the light switch on and off, then step in.

RJ follows me in, but I ignore him as I spin in a circle.

“No closet, but you could get a wardrobe or something,” he mumbles.

“I’ll figure it out,” I say.

Having run out of things to see, I step out into the hallway, but RJ touches my elbow as I pass. I stop and look up at him.

“Give them one more minute,” he says.

“Why?” Are they gossiping about me? Deciding my fate or something?

RJ shrugs. “We weren’t planning on having someone new this year.”

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