Page 23 of Brazen Criminals

“Well, are any of them hot? Just because you can’t have casual sex with your roommates doesn’t mean I can’t.”

My groan makes her laugh.

“Seriously? Is this your plan? Make me worry about you preying on my roommates so I stop moping?”

“Just answer the question. I’m curious. Any cuties or hot stuff in that house of yours?”

I roll onto my back. “I mean, I guess they’re all pretty hot.”

“No way. Four hot guys?”

“Well, in different ways, but yeah. Jansen is standard All-American cute—you know, green eyes, blond hair, super nice and friendly. And Walker has this devil-may-care thing with him and is surprisingly built for an artist. I don’t know RJ at all, but he has these intense eyes and this soft-looking dandelion fluff hair that makes you want to run your fingers through his curls. And Trips, well, Trips is a jackass, arrogant, and acts like he’s God’s gift to everyone, not just women, but the way he moves makes me think he might have reason for at least some of that arrogance.” I blush, feeling foolish for having paid so much attention to all of them. They’re my roommates, for goodness’ sake, not guys I’m trying to pick up at a party or something.

Emma giggles. “I am so coming over tomorrow to meet your men. They sound delicious.”

“They’re not my men, Emma. They’re just roommates.”

“I’m still coming. Do you start back at the coffee shop tomorrow or Sunday?”

“I’m on tomorrow afternoon, and Sunday I’m opening.”

“Maybe we can do a movie tomorrow night? I can come around seven, if you’ll be home by then.”

“I should be back by 6:30. I can probably snag an expired sandwich or two for dinner.”

“Perfect. I’ll bring some popcorn. I’m so excited to see your new place! And meet all these beautiful boys you’ve got.” Her evil laugh filters down the line. “Bye, babe.”

“Bye,” I say, staring up at my white ceiling.

I sprawl there, listening to the sounds of the party next door before I get up and turn off my lights. Setting my alarm for seven a.m. is painful, but I need to fit in my long run and a trip to the thrift store before work at one. I tuck myself in and start the hard work of falling asleep next door to a kegger. To new beginnings.

Chapter 14

RJ

I’malwaysbuzzedafterone of Trips’ games. Jansen tells me it’s because of all the Mountain Dew I drink while I work, but I did a few jobs last year without any, and I’m still awake at the butt crack of dawn. Ergo, Jansen is full of shit.

The light in my room warms from red to dull gold before I give up on sleep. I roll out of bed, tripping on my shoes as I stumble out into the hallway to hit up the bathroom.

Bladder empty and teeth brushed, I head back into my room, switching on my main computer. The notes from my tablet have auto-synced, so I pull up the details about our two new players deemed worthy of a line of credit. Adding a handful of details I’d skipped last night, I move on to updating the info on our regular players. People’s financial situations change, and Trips needs to know they’re good for their loans. Not my favorite work, as it’s basic social media scraping, but I get a cut of all the interest Trips collects on the loans, helping me finance more exciting projects.

I browse through an old player’s social media profiles, looking at the brands of clothes he’s wearing, what kind of car he drives, any jewelry, shoes, or watches of interest. Then I look up his sisters and parents on social media too, as well as people who seem to be close friends or significant others. This guy is still loaded, and his sisters, parents, and friends would all be able to spot him $10,000 without Trips’ having to resort to violence. It looks like he broke up with his girlfriend over the summer, though, so I indicate that on his dossier and take on the next player.

An hour later, I’m done, but still buzzed. Maybe a run will shake the jitters out—my leg is bouncing so much it keeps distracting me. I pull on my running stuff, grab my sweatband to hold my hair off my neck and face, and trot down the stairs, detouring to the kitchen for a granola bar and some water. Bar mostly devoured, half a glass of water left, and a door down the back hall opens. Clara walks into the kitchen, dressed in running tights and a tank, her hair in a tight ponytail.

I salute her with my cup. “Morning,” I say. “Heading out for a run?”

Her brown eyes dilate when she sees me leaning against the sink. She must not have been awake enough to notice me at first. “Yeah. Eight miles today.”

I whistle. “Long run. Any reason?”

She opens and closes a few cupboards until she finds a glass and fills it with water. “I’m training for a half marathon at the end of October. It’ll be my second.”

“Cool.” I watch her as she drinks her water, trying to imagine running that far for fun. I run, but it’s usually only when my body needs an outlet and the dojo isn’t open, like now. I’m much happier sparring with a practice sword than living through the monotony of trotting along the road under a beating sun for an hour or two.

Clara is shifting from foot to foot, glancing sideways at me. I must have zoned out. She probably thinks I was staring at her. Shoot. “Um, so how long does that take? The run today, not the half marathon.”

Clara fills up a water bottle and tucks it into a big foam belt that wraps around her hips. “With a warmup and cool down, about an hour and a half.”

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