Page 43 of Brazen Criminals

It’sbeenwaytoolong since I last went to a house party. Bryce didn’t like them much, so we usually stayed in on weekends. From what I remember, though, they’re a big deal, so after dinner I fix my curls, put on going-out makeup, add some low-heeled boots, then wait for the guys on the front porch. Walker is the first one out, and he whistles when he sees me. “Don’t do that,” I say.

Jansen joins us next. His eyes light up, and he grabs one of my loose curls. “That weird cinnamon roll thing makes your hair do this?” he asks.

I bat him away. “That and a ton of product, so hands off, mister.”

RJ and Trips bring up the rear, RJ’s intense brown eyes taking me in, while Trips just grunts. “Where are we going?” he asks.

I give him an address that is only a few blocks away. Trips takes off without seeing if the rest of us are following him, RJ and Walker trailing after him. Jansen grabs my hand and drags me along, his palm warm in mine, his grin contagious.

Halfway down the block, Walker spins back and winks, and I feel my face flush. What is going on with me?No crushing on the roommates, Clara! It can only end in disaster.

Showing up to a raging party with four hot guys doesn’t help my inner voice chill out—this is totally new territory for me, and I have to admit, I like it. They fold close as we walk through the yard, their joint scent of clean clothes, cologne, and soap both electric and soothing. The music thrums, and I bounce to the beat. We all had a beer with dinner, but that’s not what’s getting to me—it’s the bass beat begging me to move.

I miss going out on the weekends. Dancing is my native tongue, and I haven’t spoken it in way too long. I peek between Trips and RJ to size up the house, swaying as I glance at the peeling paint and sagging front porch. All the windows are open, letting the cool night air in and the pulse of the party out.

A big guy stands on the stairs, collecting cash from people as they enter. Someone yells, “Ten bucks to cover drinks? Hell yeah!”

I stop in my tracks. I totally forgot to bring any money with me on my way out. Walker’s hand is warm through my tank top as he urges me forward, a gentle press against my lower back.

“No, no, I forgot my cash.”

He grins down at me. “No worries, we’ve got you,” he says.

I push back against him, not wanting to take their money, but Trips spins around and grabs my chin. “None of this bullshit, ‘I’ve got this, I’ll pay you back, oh no you shouldn’t have,’ none of that shit, you hear me? You will go to this damn party, and you will have a good time, do you understand?” he growls.

I swallow and slowly nod.

“Good,” he says, turning around and handing the bouncer $100 and waiting for change. Once he pockets it, he turns back. “Now, let’s get some drinks and find you a place to dance.” I nod again, and we all troop in.

It’s louder inside than out, bodies pressed together, the smell of beer, perfume, and body odor mixing as we weave through the crowd. Trips gets us to a makeshift bar in the kitchen, handing out drinks to the guys, then raising an eyebrow at me. “Um, rum and Coke,” I half yell at him. He nods and turns away. Walker still has his hand on my back, a little lower than before, and Jansen takes a sip of his drink before weaving his fingers between mine. I rock side to side, the beat making my hips twitch.

Trips steps in front of me, passing me my drink. “Never set it down. You don’t want to hold it, you give it to one of us.” I start to roll my eyes, and he pulls my drink from my hands.

I snatch it back. “I know how not to get roofied,” I say. “This isn’t my first adventure in the wild, asshole.” Taking a big swig, I push past him.

I catch a hint of a grin from him, while Jansen and Walker laugh. RJ steps up beside me, keeping pace as I try to find the dance floor. After a full lap of the main floor, I figure out the DJ must be in the basement, so I shoot Emma a message letting her know where I’ll be and head down the stairs.

There are holes in the walls on the way down, open mouths in the darkness, broken by a bunch of colored lights spinning from the room below. The bass pounds through me, and I hurry down, excited to get lost in the beat. The crowd is tightly packed, sardines caught in a net, but I find a small space near the back to claim. I close my eyes, lift my arms, and let loose.

Time breaks and I’m a creature of movement, of lines and waves, of pulse and passion. Typically, I dance alone—no one can keep up, meet me where I am, this creature standing in a swirling ocean, each wave both the same and different from the last. I feel delicate touches sweeping across my lower back, brushing along my arms, darting across my stomach and up the side of my neck.

Most nights, this would break the trance, I would have to stop and glare, but tonight, I know these hands will keep me safe. They aren’t a precursor to sex or an invitation. They’re there to protect, to enjoy, to move with me. I trust these guys. I don’t know when that happened, but I do. I trust all of them to keep me safe while I lose myself blindly to the music.

Flashes of lights from snap images for people’s socials jitter around me, but they can’t touch my dance. I vaguely notice when Emma joins me, and we both twist and twirl in the safety of the four guys surrounding us, blocking others from disturbing our groove. At some point I give up my drink—it’s holding me back. The caresses are still there, still comforting, but softer, subtle, a light brush against the small of my back, a whisper of a finger up the back of my spine.

The beat slows, the trance breaks, and I come to, sweaty and thirsty. “Water?” I yell at Emma, and she nods, grateful. I wrap my arms around Jansen’s neck, and he tips his ear toward me.

“Outside and water!”

He grins as I snake my arms off of him before turning to the other guys. Some invisible communication takes place and we all head to the stairs, Trips leading, pushing dancers out of the way if they get too close. I go straight out the back door with Emma, RJ, and Walker. Trips and Jansen peel off into the kitchen. The night air chills my skin, and I’m grateful for the break in the heat this last week. I turn to Emma, sharing a grin. “God, I’ve missed this,” I say.

She pulls me into a hug. “Me too. It’s been too long. This is your element, lady, and you’ve freaking abandoned it! The queen has returned to claim her throne!” We both laugh, giddy from endorphins, the beat still begging me to move.

“Is this like, your thing? You dance like no one’s watching every weekend?” Walker teases.

My smile drops a bit. Emma chimes in before I can figure out how to answer. “This was us as freshmen. We ruled the dance floor. Clara even met Bryce at one of these things. But it turns out he wasn’t into house parties or anything fun. When was the last time we went dancing, Clara?”

I think back. “That end of the year bash freshman year.”

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