Page 12 of Brazen Deceits

“Damn,” he whispers, his voice muffled by the pillows. “Just damn.”

I giggle as my body stills, flooded with happiness and ease. I wrap my arms and legs tighter, locking us together. “It was a joint effort.”

He presses his nose against the side of my head. “I’d join your team any day, princess.”

I kiss a line from his shoulder and up his neck. We both lay there, at peace, him nestled inside me while I twine us together.

Eventually, he pulls away, disappearing to deal with the condom. The bed feels big and empty without him.

Hurrying back, he slides under the blankets to join me, immediately claiming the big spoon position. The weight of his arm around my waist is familiar from all the times I’ve woken up with him tucked behind me, but also foreign, with no clothes between us.

The bang of the front door echoes down the hallway. “Do you think they need us out there?” I ask.

Walker buries his nose in the mess of my hair. “They don’t need us. We’re fine here.”

Despite the comfort of his arm around my waist and the warmth of his body behind mine, the tension slowly returns to his frame. As I turn to ask him what’s going on in his head,he twists to turn out the light. “Not tonight, princess,” he says, ending the conversation before it even begins.

Chapter 6

Walker

Clara’s soft breaths soothe me, taking the edge off my anger, letting me ignore my doubts. The flower scent in her hair lulls me; nevertheless, I can’t sleep.

This should be a perfect moment. It was a perfect moment, but it vanished under the cloud of my fear. I have to talk to the guys. We need to come up with a plan, but I can’t help but feel that, well, I have no part in that meeting. I know what part they’re going to give me in all this—Walker, just work on the art. Finish the Rubens, we’ll take care of the rest.

Only, I can’t even do that right now.

I need some detail photos that I couldn’t find online. I thought it might be a fun weekend getaway for Clara and me to hit up a bunch of museums in Chicago, but I’d been waiting for her to recover some before I brought it up.

But instead of fun, now the idea is straight up work. How can I fit in a trip to Chicago in the next week or two, on top ofschool, heist planning, and now a tryout, of all the ridiculous insults? Then there’s Thanksgiving, finals, Christmas, and the actual “doing” of our New Year’s heist. And my only team responsibility is to make a pretty picture? Yeah. Really helpful, Walker. Especially when it’s my fuckups that made this mess.

I might have slept some by the time the sun hints at the horizon, but I’m not sure. Clara’s turned onto her stomach, and I stroke down her spine, her skin smooth and warm under my fingers. A sleepy mumble escapes her, but she doesn’t wake up. Which is probably a good thing.

I roll onto my back, my side pressed against hers. What am I doing? What are we doing?

I know last night was important, special.

But I also know that wasn’t Clara picking me over my friends. She made it clear that she doesn’t want anything exclusive a few weeks ago. She even made sure I was okay with it. And I said I’d try. But now I never want to leave her side again. I want her floral scent to stick to my skin, her hand in mine.

I twist to gather her close to my chest, perfectly asleep. Perfect.

I want this.

But she wants more.

Am I not enough?

Am I a failure if she wants a relationship with my closest friends, too?

What am I compared to them, anyway? I’m not as smart as RJ or Trips, not as fun as Jansen. I can’t throw a punch better than average and I’m not a big planner. Sure, I can pretend tobe someone else, someone better, someone important, but I’m never going to be that person.

I’m just the guy who makes good cookies and fake masterpieces.

I press my nose into her mass of curls, breathing deep. Jansen makes her laugh, makes her light up from the inside. RJ takes her confidences, her fears, lifts the weight from her shoulders. Trips pushes her, makes her stronger, smarter. Where does that leave me?

The brittle glow of cold morning light cuts across the room, but Clara doesn’t wake. Instead, she burrows her face into her pillow, hiding from the dawn.

I mean, at least I can do this: I can hold her on a chilly morning, I can feed her, touch her, turn her anxiety and anger into action. But is that enough?

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