Page 27 of Brazen Criminals

Chapter 16

Clara

IfindRJatthe kitchen island with an empty plate, his phone locked in his hand. “Hey,” I say as I pass through, sweat dribbling down my neck.

He stares at his plate and mumbles something that is more than a simple “hi”. I turn back. “What was that?”

He still won’t look at me, but I hear him more clearly this time. “Walker said you wanted to go to the thrift store today. Trips will drive you. He has a pickup truck.”

I think about being stuck with that grump and shake my head. “I can just borrow the keys. He doesn’t have to come with me.”

RJ shifts in his seat and glances at the window behind me. “Trips doesn’t let anyone else drive his cars.”

I huff, not surprised. “I need to shower,” I say, hoping that the guys will figure out another solution.

RJ nods and goes back to his phone. I pour a glass of water and down it as I duck into the bathroom. Yanking my brush through my tangled ends, I hop into the shower, my runner’s high fading as I think about RJ.

I thought we’d bonded this morning, but now? Did I say something wrong? Was I annoying? I replay the run in my head, and I can’t figure it out. Should I apologize?

Maybe RJ is just hot and cold. I’ll ask Walker or Jansen. I snort, thinking about how I’m not going to ask Trips—I’m sure he wouldn’t tell me the house was on fire even if we were both being roasted in the flames. In fact, if I hadn’t known he had poker last night, I wouldn’t put it past the guy to have been actively avoiding me. And now I get to spend the rest of the morning with the jerk. Yippee.

I wash off the sweat and grime as quickly as possible, rushing through the rest of my process, and head back to my room. There’s a loud, “Ahem,” behind me. Turning quickly, I catch Trips as he drags his eyes from my ass to my face.

“Really?” I snap, wishing I had something in my hands to throw at his arrogant mug.

A smirk creases his cheek. “Are you ready to leave?”

I motion to my towel-covered self. “What do you think?”

He doesn’t look away, not allowing me any modesty, but I don’t break eye contact. After a long moment, his smirk stretching into a grin, he says, “Well, I’m leaving in five. If you’re not in my truck, I’m not coming back.”

I take in his casual stance, bright ink trailing up his biceps, disappearing under the sleeves of his T-shirt, the way his eyes beg me for my worst behavior, and I desperately want to scream. Instead, I take a deep breath, a mixture of pique and logic spilling out of my mouth. “If that’s the case, we’ll need to pick up food. I just ran for almost an hour and a half. I don’t want to pass out in your car.”

He blinks twice, his smile faltering. “Whatever. Just get out there,” he says, marching past me, his arm brushing mine, making goosebumps shoot like a starburst from the contact. He slams the back door, the crunch of his shoes on the gravel echoing down the hallway.

A frustrated growl escapes as I hurry to my room, tossing on a T-shirt dress and sandals. I fill up my water bottle in the bathroom, snagging my sweaty clothes and tossing them into an empty corner in my room. After double-checking my cash and phone are in my purse, I jog out back. For a second, I consider making Trips wait, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t plan to give me the full five minutes. I need furniture and if this is the only way to get it, then I guess I’d better boogie.

A huge silver extended-cab pickup is already running. I yank open the door to a breath of AC. Climbing up the beast like a kid trying to get on the tall slide at the playground, I clamber into my seat with a sigh. The interior is leather, the speakers sound crisp, and the thing looks like it could drive itself. This truck is officially ridiculous.

Trips pulls out before I even get buckled and turns up some pop song so he won’t have to talk to me. I yell over the music, “I have to be back before one.”

He lifts his chin, a chunk of his auburn hair flopping over his eyes. It softens the steel blue of his gaze a little, but his clenched jaw ruins the effect.

We pull into a drive-thru and I give him my order. Not an ideal post-run meal, but eating is eating. We munch in silence. Watching out the window, the city vanishes behind us. “Where are we going?” I ask.

Trips glares at me, apparently ticked at being asked a reasonable question. “I have to stop by a few banks on the way. And I figured all the good stuff would be picked over closer to campus.”

He’s probably right. “Oh. Thanks.”

It’s a thoughtful move, which doesn’t seem to fit, so now I’m confused. I finish my food and take a sip of the drive-thru coffee. Not good, but drinkable. Ten minutes later, we pull off the freeway and park at a bank. “Stay here,” he says, removing an envelope from the center console before slamming the door, leaving the car running.

Annoyed by his command, I pull out my phone and make a list of what I need to live comfortably. I’m organizing it by needs vs wants when Trips jumps back in. We pull back onto the freeway for five more minutes before pulling off and going to a different bank. Once again, Trips grabs an envelope and hops out.

My to-buy list is done, so I log in to the student portal to see if my classes have syllabi posted. All except one are up, so I hunt for cheaper versions of the texts online. Trips returns and drives another ten minutes, pulls off the interstate and meanders through a neighborhood to a third bank.

At this point, I’m wondering if he’s ever heard of online transfers. I’m not saying anything, though, as he hasn’t uttered a single word to me since the first bank. Once he hops back into the truck, he follows a local thoroughfare for another fifteen minutes before stopping at yet another bank.

“Seriously?” I ask as he picks up a fourth envelope.

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