Page 56 of Brazen Criminals

I flex one, the ache welcome. “They’ll heal.”

She lets out a small hum and turns back to the window.

We pull up to the health center. I find an open spot and go to pay for the meter when Clara stops me, her good hand on my arm. “Free meters on Sundays,” she says.

The sign under the meter says she’s right. I turn to ask her how she knew that, as she doesn’t have a car, but she’s already up the steps and at the door of the center. So I jog to catch up, pulling open the second door, as she’s already through the first.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Getting the door.”

“Yeah, but why are you coming with me? I can call when I’m done.”

“No.” I feel the urge to shake her. Of course I’m coming with her—she’s not safe until we figure out how to get rid of Douche-boy.

She rolls her eyes and marches past me, apparently deciding I’m not worth the fight. I miss the fight, and I hope her shoulder gets better soon. She seems smaller or duller or something when she gives up on a fight.

Fuck. Why do I care if she fights with me or not? This is ridiculous.

She checks in at the front desk while I pick two chairs off to one side, farthest from a guy and his buddy that both look a little green. I am not getting puke on my shoes.

Clara absently tucks her hair behind her ear, then drums her fingers on her thigh while talking to the receptionist. She took off those damn short shorts and put on some sweatpants. It doesn’t change the fact that she has a great ass.

And now I’m thinking about her ass. What the fuck is wrong with me? I go all caveman on her ex and suddenly I’m into her? I’m calling bullshit on myself.

Besides, I’m sure Walker has a thing for her. And maybe Jansen. And come to think of it, until last night, RJ hasn’t said more than a few words to her at a time, so he’s into her too. Or at least he was. What the fuck is wrong with us? She’s planning on joining the fucking FBI, and we’re what, so addicted to risk that she’s the perfect forbidden fruit? Shit.

She turns around and finds me sitting in the corner, a small smile tugging up one side of her face, and I can’t seem to catch my breath. I swear I can feel her waist between my hands, the soft curve of the arch of her foot, the softness of her hand on my arm—all the tiny touches we’ve had today flare up in me, and I don’t know if I should punch something, laugh, or run away like the fucking coward I am.

She leans against the wall next to me, her floral scent following her. “It looks like we’ll be here for a while. Apparently, we didn’t hit up the only party last night. So, I’m going to head out and call Emma. She’s not going to believe I’m okay until she hears my voice. Come and find me if they call my name?”

I nod before she disappears outside. And now I’m chilling in the campus health center by myself. The flowery smell lingers. Shit.

Pulling out my phone, I message RJ to see if the ex has logged into his computer yet. We’d better find something to nail this asshole with soon. Because if I get close enough to see any mock concern on his smug face again—he won’t have one anymore.

The guy across the room starts to hurl, and his friend shoves a fucking hockey helmet in front of his face. Do these hungover fools not have a normal ass garbage can, like everyone else?

My calendar pops up an alert distracting me from the disgusting event on the other side of the room. It’s time to schedule the next poker game. How long will it take to destroy one med student’s life? One week? Two?

I push the notification out another week. This thing will probably get worse before it gets better.

RJ lets me know that there still isn’t any activity, and the flames in my chest flare. Maybe I should push the notification two weeks? Damn it. This fucking girl. All I asked for was no drama. And what did she bring? So much fucking drama.

Only, it’s not her fault. This pile of shit lands squarely on her stalker ex’s fucking pillow.

The guy across the room gets called back, and his buddy leaves with the helmet. Hopefully he’s heading straight to the dumpster around back. Idiots.

At least those idiots are harmless. The one fucking up our lives? Less so.

Lost in my thoughts of different ways I could make the idiot ex pay for messing up my plans, I don’t notice Clara until she folds herself into the chair next to me.

“Emma says thanks for bringing me to the doctor.”

That damn flower smell attacks my nose, and I grunt in response, trying to think about anything but lithe body of the girl sitting next to me.

Fuck. I don’t need this shit. None of us do. The cops were literally at our damn door this morning. I’ve got big problems that need fixing.No distractions, Trips. Not even hot ones.“Have you done Monday’s reading yet?” I ask, scrambling for something grossly unsexy to talk about.

I feel her eyes searching my face, so I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees, my chin in my hands, actively avoiding making eye contact. She leans back again, and I don’t know why, but I feel like she can read minds or something when she looks at me. She rubs her shoulder again and says, “I did all the readings except the last one. I was planning on finishing that up today.”

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