Page 2 of Brazen Criminals

“We have the next two years’ worth of tuition banked, as well as food and housing.” Trips grimaces. “It’s the seed money for Walker’s art heist this winter that’s missing.”

Walker takes off his fake glasses, setting them on the counter. “Can we fund it with your poker games?” he asks Trips.

“No. We’ll still be short. I can’t have the games too often, otherwise the cops will figure out we’re hosting illegal gambling in the spare room.”

Water trickles down my spine as we stare at each other over the island.

I have an idea, but no one is going to like it. “We could get a roommate,” I say.

The kitchen fills with laughter. Jansen is the first to huff out a response. “Dude—who would live with us? We’re freaking criminals masquerading as undergrads.”

I shrug. “It would be both additional cover and an extra revenue source. We could use the main-floor bedroom.”

“Where the fuck would I have my poker games?” Trips asks.

“The attic.”

Walker’s eyes light up. “There is a definite speakeasy vibe up there. That would be super cool. Old wood, reds and greens. It would look like money, but dirty money. It would be perfect.”

I jump on his words, spitting out another benefit of moving the game. “It would reduce the chance of police surveillance. There are only two tiny windows, and a pine tree covers one of them.”

Jansen hangs up the towel and bounces on his toes, excitement thrumming through him. He’s still high on adrenaline from the police chase. “We should get a girl,” he announces.

“Wait, what?” No way. If I’m at all into her, I’ll never be able to speak in my own damn house again. Immersion therapy is a bad idea with so much else going on this semester.

Walker grins, shaking his head at Jansen. “It’s not like you can just pick some girl off a shelf, man.”

“No, think about it. We get some nice, normal girl to be our roommate. Her friends come over and hang out. We look like a normal off-campus house. Nothing to see here, folks.” Jansen is practically dancing next to the stove.

“It’s not nearly enough money,” Trips argues.

“With better cover, you could have your games more often. We could just be another off-campus party house. That’s why we chose this neighborhood to begin with, right?” Jansen counters.

We all watch Trips. He’ll make the final call—if the rest of us agree, he usually goes along with us.

He looks each of us in the eye before letting out a groan of frustration. “Fine. Post the ad. If you can find someone before the semester starts in six days, we’ll do that.” He leaves the kitchen but turns back in the doorway. “But no drama. Not one ounce from the chick. Or from any of you fuckheads. Got it?”

We all nod in agreement. No drama. We’ve got a business to run and a cover to keep.

Chapter 1

Clara

Brycehonksfromthedriveway promptly at 8:30 a.m. Dashing out, a few cords tumble to the asphalt from my bag, and I almost fumble my box of shoes trying to catch them. “Hey,” I say, grinning at Bryce’s beautiful blue eyes as I set down the box, piling the cords on the top.

“Hey, Clara-baby,” he says, his smile faded as he gets out to kiss me, the box a barrier between us. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too,” I whisper. “I’ve got a few more loads.”

“You can toss your stuff in the trunk.” He settles into the driver’s seat, popping open the back end.

I haul out the rest of my stuff in paper bags and boxes, jamming them into the trunk, careful not to cover Bryce’s roadside emergency kit. I can hear him in my head.You don’t want to dig during an emergency, Clara.I’m so freaking lucky to be with someone who thinks ahead, who plans for not just today, or the next five years, but who even plans for the unexpected.

Grinning, I slide into the front seat, classical music filtering through the car. I drink in the sight of him, his brown hair glinting gold and red, a halo caught in a sunbeam. I’ve hardly seen him all summer, and I can’t wait to get back into the rhythm of living together, of being his everything.

Bryce flashes another one of his crooked grins at me, and I lean over the center console for a kiss. His lips brush against mine, quick and sweet. “I’m glad you’re back, baby. It’s been a tough few weeks without you.”

I pull on my seatbelt, my heart fluttery. “How has the start of med school been?” Curling up in the seat, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. He taps my knees, reminding me it’s dangerous to sit sideways, so I twist forward, fiddling with my purse strap as I tamp down the flood of anxious annoyance at the rebuke.

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