Page 33 of Brazen Deceits

Clara

Walking into the house after my Friday run is like walking into an electrical storm. Lightning’s building, and if it doesn’t have an outlet soon, there’s a good chance of rumbles and fire.

I had planned on avoiding Walker this week as a cooldown, but it turned out that he’d had the same plan. According to RJ, he’s been pulling late hours at the on-campus art studios, nominally working on his showcase pieces for his end of semester show. As this was the first I’d heard of him even having a studio, it was obvious he was avoiding me.

So I hid from the guys on Halloween, heading out with just Emma. By midnight, I couldn’t fake being fun any longer. Add to that my lingering unease with being out, and yeah, I was a total wet rag.

Luckily, Emma’s my best friend for a reason, so we went to an all-night grocery store and bought tubs of icecream and a huge chocolate cake, before retreating to my room to watch old horror movies and gorge ourselves on the entirely wrong holiday’s treats.

I woke up with her hair in my mouth and a sticky mess on my floor, but I’d still call it a pretty good consolation prize.

Jansen snuck into my bed super late a few times this week smelling like gasoline, but it was always after I’d already passed out. Then I’d get up for class long before he woke up, so except for a few sleepy kisses, we haven’t revisited our wildfire connection. And even though Jansen hadn’t seemed to mind me jumping him while mad at Walker, it seems, I don’t know, mean?

With that uncomfortable thought, I take my sweaty self to the bathroom. Yanking off my damp gear and turning on the shower, I pick upt my phone while I wait. I log into the university portal, hoping that the grade for my business law midterm is up. Professor Gleim said she never gives perfect scores, so I’m not hoping for magic. I just want to beat Trips. It’s the simple things, you know?

Opening up the grading tab, I almost drop my phone.

Oh. My. God.

Somehow, I got a perfect 100. I scream, prancing around with my favorite happy dance, naked in the bathroom, so ready for some goddamn good news for once.

I’m facing the shower when the door bangs open. Leaping around, I find Trips glowering in the doorway. A second scream in as many minutes bursts from my lips.

“What the fuck?” I yelp, scrambling for a towel, awkwardly covering my front.

Trips looks dazed, his mouth opening and closing as he stares at me. “You screamed,” he says, his voice half strangled. He looks away at the mirror and flushes beet red.

Anger overtakes mortification. “It was a happy scream, you idiot. Check before you barge into my bathroom.”

Trips closes his eyes for a second, his hands curling into fists before relaxing. “Got it,” he says.

He opens his eyes again, still staring at the mirror, before turning away. “By the way, I got a 98 on the midterm,” he says, flashing a sly grin over his shoulder.

Gloating never felt so good. “I got a 100.”

He turns back from the doorway, me still clutching my towel against my torso, and I can’t tell if he’s angry or what, but with his eyes firmly turned toward the mirror, he holds out a hand for me to shake. I reach out and grasp it, his huge palm warm, my thumb brushing over the calluses on his knuckles. He takes a step closer, leaning down next to my head, so close his lips almost touch my ear. My heart races, my nakedness suddenly at the forefront of my consciousness. “Congratulations,” he whispers.

I look up at him, trying to figure out if he’s being genuine, but his face is still facing away, giving me privacy. “Thank you,” I say.

For a split second, I wonder if he’s going to kiss me, if he’ll drag me against his broad chest and explore the something that vibrates between us. I won’t lie to myself and say I’m not trembling at the possibility. Instead, his breath tickles the tiny hairs around my ear. Then he steps away, letting go of my hand.

He backs out of the bathroom, still not looking at my mostly naked self. As he goes to close the door, I decide to reward good behavior. “Thank you, Trips.”

“For what?”

“For not looking.”

He leans against the frame of the door, a grin full on his face. “Clara, you covered up your front. That doesn’t keep me from enjoying that tight, round ass in the mirror.”

I glance at the bathroom mirror, and sure enough, my towel is not doing the job I thought it was. I whip back to Trips, but he’s already backing out of the bathroom, laughing hysterically at his own revelation.

“Fuck you, Archibald,” I yell, shoving him the last few inches out the door. Tears gather in his eyes as he wheezes, so I figure, fuck it. I drop the towel so I can give him a full-bodied shove, and the combination of my sudden nakedness and the force I put behind it makes him stumble back against the wall behind him.

I flip him off before bending to pick up my towel from the floor, not even bothering to cover myself. Fuck him. It’s not like he hasn’t seen the whole package now, anyway. “Knock next time, you bastard,” I growl, before marching back to the bathroom, steam finally flooding into the hallway.

The stupid shower waited until now to fog up the mirror. I shoot the offending fixture the finger as well, which apparently is hilarious to Trips, as he’s practically howling behind me.

I kick the door shut, the sound of his mirth not nearly muffled enough. Fucker stole my good mood. And ruined his own compliment. Asshole.

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