Page 28 of Brazen Criminals

He glares. “Not one word.”

At this rate, I’ll be lucky to even make it to a thrift store before work. I add up the total cost for all my books, subtract that from my checking balance, mentally set aside money for food and my bus pass, what’s left I can use for furnishing my room. It’s a disappointing number.

Trips gets back behind the wheel and pulls up directions to the closest thrift store. He parks at the back of the lot, taking up three full spaces across—I’m embarrassed to get out of the silver beast with him.

I head to the back corner of the thrift shop, where they always stock the furniture. I don’t care if Trips follows or chills in the front. He can do whatever he pleases. He’s made it obvious that he wants nothing to do with me, so I’ll just get what I need and go back to the house.

This thrift store seems like an excellent one, with a full quarter of the warehouse dedicated to furniture, so I’m hopeful I can get everything I need with this one stop. And I’m buying the most obnoxiously colorful, soft, girly things I can afford. Fuck you and your boring beige, Bryce. This is going to be my oasis. Or at least as close as I can get for less than $100.

Number one on my list is something to hang my clothes on. There are a couple of big dressers, but the only wardrobe I can find is nearly $100, which is so far out of my budget, it’s laughable. I’m ready to give up when I spot a pile of metal tubes leaning against the wall. Taped to the pile is a handwritten note that says, “Foldable clothes rack, $12.” Score!

I go to lift it into the cart, but Trips snatches it out of my hands and puts it in for me. “Thanks,” I say.

He grunts.

I sigh and look for the next thing on my list—a desk and chair.

There are a bunch of kitchen tables and side tables, and a few huge oak monstrosities with file cabinets and cubbies. Finally, I find a simple couch table someone tried to paint white. It’s sad, but it’s the right size, and for $20, it’s a winner. Without me saying anything, Trips grabs the table and hauls it to the front of the store, inked biceps straining against his sleeves. For a moment I’m surprised by his helpfulness, but I realize he probably just wants this done so he can get back to his day—which is likely fully booked with another six trips to the bank.

A green pleather office chair that isn’t too cracked for $7 catches my eye. Next to it is a set of the most gorgeous pink velvet accent chairs. Curling up in one, it cradles me like a cloud. Chair heaven. I’m petting the arm when Trips kicks the back leg. “These next?” he asks.

I look at the price. $40 per chair. A cozy nook was last on the list. At that price, I wouldn’t be able to get a bed, or a dresser, or a rug. I sigh, rubbing the arm one last time. “Nope. This one is good though,” I say, pointing at the cracked pleather chair. Trips cocks his head, watching my fingers trace the velvet. He grimaces, then pushes the cheap chair to the front.

Dragging myself out of my velvet oasis, I look around for something to hold my clothes. I find a six-cubby bookcase for $15. I’ll need two bins for my underwear and socks. Standing on my tiptoes, I scan the store for Trips, but he’s vanished. Whatever. He’ll figure it out.

In the housewares section, I grab two $1 bins, one with green polka dots and one with blue triangles. I also find a sweet white wicker hamper and toss that into the cart as well.

Back at the cubbies, I make sure the bins will fit—perfect. Trips huffs up behind me, sweat dripping down his face. “I can carry this one if you’d like,” I say, giving him a chance to catch his breath. I pluck the bins out of the cubbies and place them in the cart, then reach around the thing, giving it a big hug. Trips peels my hands loose, his touch sending tingles up my arm as he nudges me away, before hoisting the bookcase up and disappearing to the front of the store. Well, there goes that attempt to help.

I do some quick math and figure I can probably get a bed, but then I’m done for the day. Over in the bed section, though, I only find two queen headboards. Both are absolutely hideous. Trips stalks up behind me. “Got one?” he asks.

“They’re both terrible.”

“They probably have bed-bugs, anyway.”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks for that. I guess I’ll just do the mattress on the floor thing.”

“Are we done?”

“Nope. One more thing to check.” I pop over to the rugs, and by the magic of the thrift gods, I find a green, blue, and pink oriental rug. With this rug, my room will look planned instead of like a thrift store special. At $25, it’s a little pricey, but without an actual bed, I’ll be fine. And it’ll add a bit more of that fuck-you-Bryce color to my new nest. I tug the rug out and hoist it onto my shoulder. “Now we’re done,” I say.

Trips lifts the rug off my shoulder and leads the way to the checkout. At the front of the store, I spy my stuff lined up by the exit, the two pink chairs and a little black-and-white checkerboard side table a little farther along the wall. I’m glad someone is buying them—they deserve a good home.

The clerk rings in my items, and I hand over the cash. I push through the checkout and Trips steps up behind me, handing the clerk three more tags to ring in. “You found something?”

Trips shrugs. I stand by my stuff as I wait. He breezes past me and out the sliding door, humid air flooding the entryway. “I’ll get the truck,” he says.

Once he’s out the door, I sneak over to the pink chairs again, just to feel the velvet one last time. If I were a cat, I’d be purring. Trips marches in and picks up the bookcase while I follow with the desk. “I can get it,” he says.

“So can I,” I reply.

Together we hoist first the bookcase, then the desk into the bed of the truck. I wheel out the green chair, and Trips grabs one of the pink chairs. “Wait. You bought the pink chairs?”

He nods. I don’t know if I should laugh or cry. He doesn’t strike me as a pink chair kind of guy, but I guess, maybe? Or he bought them just to spite me, in which case he’s a bigger jerk than I thought. “Do you have a place for them? They’re really comfy.”

He hoists his chair into the bed, following the office chair. “Yeah. They’re going in your room.”

He walks back toward the building. I chase him. “Wait, you bought me chairs?”

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