Page 3 of Brazen Criminals

“I think it will be tough, but things have been going well,” he says, pulling out of my parents’ driveway. “I’m just glad you’re back, baby. It’s been so busy, I can’t seem to keep on top of things, and you know how much I hate a mess.” He curls up his nose, like the thought of his own apartment is offensive. I’m sure it’s spotless.

Taking in the scrunch of his nose, the last of my anxiety over being separated during the summer slips away. This will be good. It will feel right to help again—med school is going to be stressful for Bryce—and whatever I can do to ease that stress, well, that’s what makes me a great girlfriend. “I’ve got you, no worries.”

“I know you do. Say, once you’re settled and the apartment is clean, do you want to go grocery shopping for the week? We could meal plan, have healthy meals pre-proportioned and ready for us. What do you think?”

“That would be nice. What were you thinking might be good?”

“I don’t care. Maybe you could look up some recipes? Nothing too spicy or sweet. And no tomatoes, beans, or onions.”

That’s the start of a grocery list if ever I heard one. “Are you sure you don’t want to do the meal planning, Bryce?” I tease.

He idles at a stop sign, the weight of his gaze forcing me to look at him. “Clara, I know you’re just joking, but I’m asking for help, and I would appreciate your honest assessment of whether you can take this on.”

I break eye contact first. “I’ll try. You know I’m not the best cook.”

“You can learn.”

Not if the blackened and bloody lamb he forced me to make last April is anything to go by. “I’m not sure I can, Bryce.”

He snatches my chin so I have no choice but to meet his glare. “If you refuse to try, you’re never going to learn.”

I swallow, watching his nostrils flare. “I’ll try. I promise.”

He holds me hostage for two breaths before a crooked grin creases his cheek. “Practice makes perfect, Clara. And we both need to be perfect. Any flaws must be excised or covered. It’s the only way we’ll get where we want to be.”

I stare out the window as we leave my neighborhood, the houses small, shabby boxes with wilting daylilies and rusted bicycles forgotten against broken fences. It’s not where I want to be, not today, not in five years, not for forever. Bryce will be a doctor, I’ll join the FBI, and I’ll never feel at home on these streets again.

Bryce’s fingers squeeze mine, the touch cold despite the heat of the morning, before his hands return to ten and two on the steering wheel. Perfection—anything less won’t cut it. Not for either of us.

Once we’ve safely merged onto the interstate, Bryce clears his throat. “Have you had any breakfast yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“Are you still running?”

I peek at him. “I’m training for another half marathon, remember?”

Bryce gives me a long look before turning back to the road. “Huh.”

“What?” I ask, tugging on the bottom of my shirt, making sure the seams are straight. My fingers on my right hand drum on the outside of my right thigh, hidden from Bryce.

He sighs. “Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” It’s never nothing with Bryce.

Bryce glances at me again, disapproval written across his brow. “I just…never mind.”

I smooth my curls, pulling them back into a ponytail, before switching and dividing my hair in two. He always likes it when I wear pigtails.

My outfit is as classy casual as I could make it considering the ninety-five-degree heat forecasted, so that can’t be it. Thereisthe start of a pimple on my chin, but I covered it up this morning. I even redid my nails last night for him. What have I done wrong now?

He glances at me again as I pull one hair tie from my wrist and another from my purse, my hair neatly divided. I give him a small smile, a question without words.

“I’m not telling you. You’ll get upset,” he says.

“Please?” I ask. If I know what’s wrong, I can fix it.

He sighs again. “It’s just, I don’t know, did your boobs get bigger?”

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