Page 42 of Brazen Criminals

“—Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.”

We both look at each other, her clutching her towel over her breasts, my T-shirt damp from where I pressed her against me, my mini-boner in dire need of an adjustment.

This is absolutely ridiculous.

I burst out laughing, and she giggles until she snorts. This sets me off more, and we’re both laughing so hard we’re crying, Clara half slumped against the wall, trying to keep her towel on while she loses control of her legs. She’s like some joy-filled pig with Bambi legs, and I can’t help myself. I lean forward and plop a kiss on her forehead. Her eyes fly open in shock.

Fuck. I shouldn’t have done that.

Play it cool, Jansen. “Um, maybe you should go get dressed,” I say, trying to keep some of that laughter in my voice. I escape to the kitchen before she even turns to her door.

A few minutes later, Clara joins me, dressed in dark jeans and a lacy tank, her wet hair folded up on her head like a lumpy cinnamon roll. “You’re all dolled up,” I say.

Part of the cinnamon roll flops over her forehead as she slides onto a stool. “Not yet.” She tucks the chunk back up and motions at her hair. “I’ve still got some more dolling to do.”

“You’re heading out?” I ask, grabbing some crackers and cutting slices of cheese. Food fixes things, right? I pull a beer out of the fridge and offer her one, letting her pick which of the two she’d like. The brown ale is the winner, so I slide that across to her. Grabbing my beer, the cheese, and crackers, I sit beside her at the island.

She’s pushing back her cuticles, another nervous gesture, peeking up at me through her lashes. I probably shouldn’t have kissed her like that. She’s just so damn perfect, laughing with that ungodly snort—add still damp from the shower and smelling like a sultry garden, and a kiss really was the only reasonable action.

As she nods, another chunk of hair falls out. “Yeah. Emma found a house party that’s supposed to be pretty good, so we’re heading out later. This, however,” she points at her head, “takes hours to dry right. So I have to start now.” She goes to grab the loose bit, but I beat her to it, pulling the loop through her scrunchie.

The cool wet strands wrap around my fingers, and I want to sniff them, see if the scent of the shampoo transferred to my skin. “Well, I have snacks. I’ll trade them for an invite.” I hold my plate of cheese above my head, daring her to snatch it away.

She chuckles instead. “I’ll take that trade. Now give me the cheese, or else.”

Leaning forward, her fingers curl into claws. She dives at my stomach, and I yelp as she tickles me.

I slide the plate across the counter as I dash away, Clara chasing me around the island, both of us shrieking. I rush into the living room, but she tackles me, both of us crashing onto the couch. We wrestle, but I’m bigger and stronger, so it’s not long before I have her pinned under me. “Admit defeat,” I yell.

She’s laughing so hard she can hardly keep her claw hands up as she shouts, “Never! I will never surrender!”

“What the fuck?” Trips asks from the doorway.

I look at him over my shoulder. “Tickle war?” I ask.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re fucking children.”

I lean down and whisper in Clara’s ear, the flowers smell strong there, “On the count of three, we get him.”

Her eyes go wide, but she nods. “One…two…three!” I leap off Clara and aim for Trips’ knees. A second too late, he figures out what we’re up to and tries to dodge, but Clara grabs the back of his shirt, and together we get him down, half in and half out of the front hallway. “Tickle!” I scream, and we both go to town.

Trips is cursing and bucking, but with both of us sitting on him he’s having trouble getting the leverage to kick us off. “The back of the knees!” I instruct, and Clara crawls across me, while I work on ignoring the stretch of her over me as she moves down his body to his legs. She must have gotten a knee to her shoulder, because she grunts and rolls, but is back in an instant, and Trips, wiggling like a landed fish, busts out a guffaw worthy of a crotchety old man.

“Yes!” I cackle in victory, which sets off Clara, and when the snort comes, I lose it, collapsing on Trips, not able to hold him down anymore. He scrambles out from under me, slumping against the wall, trying to catch his breath but failing miserably.

I catch sight of Clara, and she’s lying on her back in the doorway to the living room, tears streaming down her cheeks, another snort escaping. “Can’t…breathe,” she chokes out before snorting once again. Some chuckles echo from the front of the house, where RJ and Walker are looking at us like we’ve lost our minds. “She started it!” I say, pointing at Clara.

This causes another snort, and then the room’s echoing everyone’s laughter. It feels like a tumbler has dropped just right, a click of a lock settling, and something stretches and eases in my chest—it feels like family.

Eventually, RJ recovers enough to help Trips up. Now on his feet, Trips offers his hand to Clara. She hesitates before taking it. I roll to my feet, stretching my shoulders as I pop up. “So, who wants to go to a party tonight?” I ask.

“It’s supposed to be good.” Clara offers a half shrug, wiping some tears from her cheeks with her free hand. Trips still holds her other hand, and I grin. She’s wearing him down. Perfection.

“I’ll order something for dinner, then we can all go,” I announce. No one objects.

Chapter 24

Clara

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