Page 102 of Brazen Deceits

Trips saves my window for last, and in a fit of bravery, I press my lips to the glass, glancing up at him. His nostrils flare as he stares at me, the scraper forgotten. Just as I’m ready to pull back, he raises his hand, pressing it to where my lips spread over the glass.

We gaze at each other, the wind buffeting his hair, the snow piling on him, melting into silver puddles the longer we stay like this.

A gust picks up, a sheet of snow drifting into him, and he blinks twice, turning away, glaring over the hood of the car. But his hand stays, the glass slowly warming between us.

Shaking his head, he steps to the front of the car, cleaning the headlights off, before finally coming around to join meinside. I crank the heat to max now that the car’s warm, and he holds his hands in front of the register.

“Thanks for the ride through the snow. And for scraping the car,” I say, the words scratchy against my sore throat.

A tiny smile creases his cheek. “Don’t thank me yet. If we can’t get out, maybe it’ll be your turn to give me a piggyback ride back in.”

The laughter bubbles up in me, and I squint at the beast beside me. “I don’t want to jinx this, but did you just make a joke? I’m so confused right now.”

He gives my shoulder the tiniest shove. “Don’t get used to it. I’m just in a good mood.”

“Right. It’s not that you’ve been hoarding jokes for years while silently brooding. I bet you already have at least half a lifetime of snarky comments in that vault by now.”

He chuckles, clicking on the four-wheel drive and throwing the car into reverse.

The drive to West Bank is long and tedious, only a handful of roads fully plowed. The campus buses chug along, albeit slowly, so school is happening despite the weather. When Trips claims one of his coveted spots in the West Bank parking garage, I’m grateful he has the cash to buy the annual pass. My toes will thank him, if nothing else.

I miss out on a second piggyback ride as we stroll down the shoveled sidewalks and into the same twenty-four-hour cafe we visited this fall. Deciding on an omelet so full of junk that I’ll never be chilly again, I couple it with a plain mocha, or as I like to think, hot cocoa for grownups.

Trips orders a black coffee and a stack of pancakes with extra bacon on the side. His warm hand rests against mylower back all the way from the car to the booth. Pretending it’s normal seems smart—there’s nothing like starting the way you plan to continue.

Once we’re set up in the booth in the corner, the first few bites of food gobbled up, I clear my throat. “So. Not that I don’t mind a good breakfast date, but what are we doing here?”

Trips finishes a piece of bacon, a hint of a grin still lodged in the corner of his mouth. “I’ve been thinking.”

His good mood must be contagious because I can’t help but flirt. I glance down at where his crotch would be if I could see through the table, then back up at him. “Hopefully not too hard.”

He locks eyes with me, scanning me from head to chest and back up, licking his lips. “I think it’s just hard enough.”

My breath vanishes, but I feign nonchalance. “I know a way to help with that.”

His eyes drop to my lips, tension rippling between us. “So do I.”

The energy between us builds, a storm waiting to break, but I need to be clear. I can’t handle any more confusion, not right now, when things are just starting to be good again. “You know my requirements. I won’t be tied down. Not again.”

He keeps watching my mouth, but he slowly nods. “I’ve taken it under consideration.”

Under consideration—what does that even mean? “I’m sure you have,” I say. Forcing my brain out of the gutter, I clear my throat. “Unfortunately, I think if playing with hard things had been the plan, we never would have left the house.”

He huffs, diving back into his food. A mouthful of pancakes later, he takes a sip of coffee. “No. You’re right.” Cutting another pancake, he glares out the windows at the storm. I make it to the middle of my omelet before he gets to the point. “We’re here because I need to figure out how Jasmine’s client found out about us. I need to stop the leak. I need to fix it.”

“All I’m hearing is ‘I’, Trips. Where does my lack of expertise come in?”

“RJ’s tracking down any digital leads. But I need someone to brainstorm with me.” He looks up, his gaze holding a hint of pleading, and I’m floored. “Clara, I need someone outside of this mess to find potential leads.”

He’s asking for help. From me. About a major problem with his burgeoning criminal empire. “I’ll try, Trips. But I don’t know everyone’s history, who you guys have come into contact with, let alone who might know what kind of work you all do.”

Picking up his last piece of bacon, he taps it against the rim of his plate. “I know. I just, I need help thinking it through. I have ideas but want to make sure I’m not missing something obvious. And you won’t let me miss anything.”

I take another sip of my mocha, hoping it will help with the ache in my throat. It doesn’t. Finally, I nod. “I’m in. When should we do our heads-together time?”

“I thought this morning.”

I glance at my phone. “Don’t you have class in five minutes?”

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