Page 39 of Brazen Criminals

By the time I hang up, I’m almost back to the house—I love how close I am to everything. All my classes are either a fifteen-minute walk or a ten-minute bus ride away. The only exception is tomorrow’s business law course. West Bank classes take forever to get to. There is even a bus transfer required, which will be super fun on a -20F degree January morning.

The door opens to silence. I haven’t seen much of the guys, which, oddly, has me a little bummed. Finding a roof to put over my head had been the whole goal, but I found friends, too, and I want for us all to hang out again. I amend my thought as I head to my room—maybe all of us except Trips. He can stay in his room or something.

Glancing at the beautiful pink chairs in the corner of my room makes guilt well up in me. I probably shouldn’t be excluding him, even if it’s only in my head. I just don’t know what to think about him. Is he even capable of smiling? Does he hate me? Either he distrusts me, or he’s just a curmudgeon.

Home and cozy in my jammies, I curl up in one of the perfect pink chairs and dive intoThe Great Gatsbyfor my modern literature gen ed course, reading until I nod off. I make myself brush my teeth before I set my alarm and crawl into bed. Tomorrow is going to be early.

Everything hurts when my alarm goes off at eight. I’m always sore two days after my long run, so Mondays are extra terrible. I force myself up, pulling on one of my T-shirt dresses for the day. Business school kids are intimidating. The vibe on that side of campus is just so different.

There are people unironically wearing suits to class every day. I don’t own a suit, and even if I did, I wouldn’t be wearing it to class on a Monday morning. But social pressure is still a thing, so I fix myself up a little nicer than jeans and a tank top.

Shoving a long sleeve into my bag, I yank on some sandals, stop in the bathroom, then shuffle into the kitchen. Walker is leaning against the counter, his eyes half open, scooping grounds into the coffeepot. “Want some?” he asks.

“Please.” I open the fridge and pull out an English muffin, tossing it into the toaster, then dump some yogurt in a bowl with frozen fruit and granola and munch while I wait for the coffee and toast.

Walker grabs some sort of meal bar and sits next to me at the island.

“Last first day, you excited?” I ask.

Walker shakes his head, running his hands through his hair. “I don’t know why I’m taking a nine a.m. class. I must have been high when I registered.”

I bump my knee against his. “Is it a fun class at least?”

“Rock climbing. So not terrible as far as an elective, but why is it so goddamn early in the morning?”

“Maybe so they can open the gym up for the rest of the day and make the big bucks?”

Walker shoves me playfully. “I wasn’t looking for a real answer, smartass.”

I grin. My toast pops, so I go slather on the peanut butter before diving back into my yogurt. Walker has his head on the counter—I might hear snoring. When the coffee chimes, he doesn’t move, so I go grab both of us mugs. I waft the cup under his nose. “Come on, Walker. Coffee fixes everything. Wake up, sleepyhead.”

“If you weren’t so cute, I’d push you off the stool,” he says, heading to the fridge to pull out some oat milk before downing the coffee as if it will suddenly turn morning into afternoon.

I take a sip as well, warmth and caffeine clicking on the gears in my brain. “You think I’m cute?” I ask, a second before my brain fully engages and starts screaming “Danger Danger, Abort Abort!” making me fully aware of what a terrible idea that question was.

Walker’s head rests on his forearms, but he turns to look up at me. “Adorable,” he says, that twinkle bright in his dark eyes.

“Oh.”

He drinks the rest of his coffee in one big chug. “I’ve got to scoot. Which way are you heading?” He gets up and grabs a travel mug, filling it with the rest of the pot of coffee.

“West Bank.”

“Damn. Well, have a lovely trip.”

I watch him across the island, not sure which way to take the conversation. “You too,” I say.

Without warning, he pushes up on the other side of the narrow island, leans across, and presses his lips to the top of my head. Dropping down, he tosses me a wink, then waltzes out the back, whistling.

Once the back door slams, I let out a breath. That was unexpected.

I sip more coffee, hoping caffeine will fix what’s wrong with my brain so I can process whatever just happened, but it doesn’t do anything besides taste delicious.

Does Walker like me? Do I like him?

I’m not ready for anything serious, not right now, but if I were, would I be interested in Walker? He is objectively hot—way more muscles than you’d expect an artist to have, thick black hair begging for me to run my fingers through it, leaving gullies and mountains. Oh, and that goddamn twinkle that says nothing is serious, that life is a game and Walker is the one who knows how to play it. Definitely hot.

So, would I be interested? Yes.

---