Page 58 of Brazen Criminals

Ispendtherestof Sunday alternating ice and heat on my shoulder while finishing my homework for the week. The guys keep popping in and checking on me, one at a time, as the day goes on. It’s both sweet and smothering. To add to the mothering vibes, Walker makes us a huge family dinner and won’t let me reimburse him for any of it, even though it’s yummier than anything I’ve had at a restaurant.

After dinner, Walker and Jansen talk me into more movies and somehow—I really don’t want to over-think it—we end up in my bed again, Walker on my left and Jansen on my right. For a split second, I consider moving to the living room, but they’re both so cozy, and as much as I hate to admit it to myself, I like having them in my bed.

I feel weird and selfish when I think about it, seeing as I have a crush on pretty much all my roommates, including Trips. I mean, Trips is still at the bottom of the list, but he made it onto the crush list with all the grumpy caretaking he did today.

Ugh. I really shouldn’t think about it. It makes me feel like a shitty person. A throbbing shoulder is enough of a punishment for inappropriate crushes.

I remind myself that I won’t be dating any of them. First off, with this whole Bryce mess, I think being single for a good long while is a solid plan. Second, they’re all criminals. As nice and kind and wonderful as they (mostly) all are, I still don’t know what to think about that. And last, it’s not like I can date all four of them.

If I’m being totally honest with myself, that would be exactly what I want. So my wants are impossible. Time to avoid the whole situation.

That decided, instead of kicking us out to the couch, I revel in some selfish cuddles in bed with two wonderful guys.

I’m not surprised when I wake up sandwiched between the two of them, Walker’s arm once again draped around my middle, Jansen’s leg flopped across mine. What does surprise me is Trips hovering over us.

“Wake up,” he says.

“I’m sleeping, go away.”

“Get your ass out of your fucking puppy pile. I’m driving you to West Bank. You have ten minutes.” He strides out of the room, but I can’t help but notice he does so quietly, not waking up the other guys. Weird.

I stretch carefully, making a plan that lets me get ready and out the door with coffee and food in less than ten minutes. Walker tugs me closer, his nose in my hair, while Jansen tucks his head and nuzzles me sleepily, dangerously close to my boobs. I drag myself to the head of the bed, shimmying out from their arms. Walker groans, annoyed, but Jansen doesn’t seem to notice, instead moving toward Walker, looking for a warm body to nuzzle. I allow myself a grin, watching these two sleepy, beautiful men in my bed. What are the chances?

“Seven minutes,” Trips calls from the hallway.

I step over Jansen, grab some clothes, shove my phone and computer into my backpack, and exit the room, leaving the door half open. On my way down the hall, I drop my clothes in the bathroom, before rushing into the kitchen to start the coffee maker and plopping my bag down next to the sink. Priorities are key, and coffee is always a priority.

Trips is sitting at the kitchen island eating the last couple of bites of toast, but he doesn’t look up as I rush through. I can already tell that moving this fast is going to make my shoulder hurt, so that sucks, but I dash to the bathroom to wiggle into my clothes, yank a comb through my hair, clean my teeth, and swipe on some deodorant. Once I’m dressed, I tuck my arm back into its sling, shoving a bottle of painkillers into my bag as I dash back to my room for sandals. Of course I forgot shoes.

Trips is in the hallway when I come back out, swinging his keys as he passes the door. “One minute.”

I dash back to the kitchen, fill my travel mug with coffee, stick my water bottle under the faucet while grabbing a granola bar, some string cheese, and an apple and shoving them into my backpack, turn off the water, twist on the lid, jam that into the backpack too, snatch up the coffee and rush out the back door just as Trips is pulling into the alley. He stops, idling in the path of anyone else who might want to come through. A second later, he hops down and meets me at the passenger side, once again lifting me into the big truck. I’m pretty sure I could get in by myself today, but I also don’t want to flop around like that again. Plus, I don’t think Trips is nice very often, so I’ll take what I can get. “Thanks,” I say as Trips slams the door in my face.

So kind and helpful. Sigh.

I drop my poorly packed bag into the footwell and buckle up before Trips slides in, and we’re roaring down the alley. “I’m not trying to be suspicious of a free ride, but why are you driving me across campus?” I ask as I rearrange my backpack.

“We’re heading to the same place.”

Once all my stuff is situated, I pull out the granola bar. “Yeah, but I don’t have to be at West Bank for another two hours.”

Trips takes a hard right, and I bang my elbow into the center council. I gasp as the jostling bolts up through my arm. I need to get food in my stomach so I can take some pills. Today is going to be rotten. I even have to work this afternoon—here’s hoping it will be a slow day. Trips curses under his breath, glancing at me rubbing my arm. “Sorry,” he mutters.

I take three deep breaths. “I’ll be fine.”

“So.” Trips clears his throat, and I just know he’s going to say something about finding Walker and Jansen in my room. I need to think of something snappy to say. My pre-coffee brain is totally blank, though. Shoot. Trips continues, “I hate to do this, but I need your help.”

That is definitely not what I thought he was going to say. Grateful, I finish chewing the first bite of my granola bar before responding. “Help with what? I’m not writing papers for you.”

Trips laughs, the sound loud in the small space, brighter than I’d expect from such a bitter guy. “I can write my own fucking papers. God,” he chokes out. After he catches his breath, he continues. “No, that’s not at all what I need. We need to deal with Bryce, and the problem is, we don’t know him. You do. I was wondering if you could, I don’t know, write a Bryce essay. We need to know everything if we’re going to get rid of him.”

“You want me to write an essay on my ex-boyfriend?” This is so weird.

“Yup.”

I shake my head, looking out the window as we cross the Mississippi to West Bank. “How will this help?”

Trips clears his throat again, and I realize he isn’t happy to say whatever he’s going to say. “If we want to keep you safe, we need to know what makes Bryce tick. What he loves, what he hates, where he goes, who he’s friends with. We have to find the right fucking screw to twist so he’ll leave you alone.”

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