Page 42 of Brazen Deceits

The weight of his chin settles on top of my head. “Maybe a little. But that shouldn’t scare you.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” I say, nuzzling my nose against his chest. So yummy.

“Now that I believe.”

I’m fed three more crackers and some more water, the glass almost empty.

“Were you planning on texting back?” he asks.

I try to pull out the answer I need, but it’s as wibbly wobbly as any other thought. “Maybe.”

“Honest. I’ll take it. How’s your stomach? Okay? Pukey?”

I shake my head, the muscles of my neck actually kind of doing what I wanted.

“Then I need you to take these pills. Tomorrow’s going to be shit for you no matter what, but this will help.”

I peel my eyes open, forcing myself to sit up on my own, a few inches of space between Trips and me. I keep one hand on his chest in case I tip over, trying to get a read on him. But the world is still moving without me, so I close my eyes again. He shifts, pulling me back against his chest, before tapping my chin with his fingers. “Open up.”

He tosses the pills in my mouth, carefully tipping the last of the water in after, and this time, I get all the water in with none escaping. I pull my legs close, suddenly cold, burrowing into Trips. He stretches around me and gathers my blanket, tucking it around us both, one of his hands settling on my naked knee, and it feels right. Good.

I must sleep, because when I next open my eyes, the room isn’t spinning, my mouth tastes like a dead hamster, and Trips is gone.

And I still feel like I’m fucking shit up.

Chapter 20

Clara

Monday was hell. Trips came to wake me up much too early, his usual grumpy self. I barely got myself dressed without puking, but he somehow got me in the car with my bag, water bottle, ibuprofen, and snacks. He even went through a drive-thru and got me breakfast and a coffee. I didn’t drink the coffee. It seemed like too big of a risk.

But I made it. I took notes that made sense when I got them back home, despite not remembering taking them, and I didn’t vomit once. Small wins.

By Tuesday afternoon though, I’m eager for Jansen and RJ to get back. I still haven’t seen Walker, but I’ve heard him in the kitchen a few times. Whenever I go out to “accidentally” bump into him, though, he vanishes. I’ve considered texting, but I don’t think I could handle seeing my messages left on read. I don’t know how we’re going to pull off a lovingcouple this weekend if he’s still avoiding me, but I guess that’s Friday’s problem.

When I turned in my time off for the weekend, my boss Carrie was thrilled I was going on a mini vacation. I couldn’t help but notice her fingering the restraining order she keeps in her pocket when I’m working with her, and I know I’m lucky to have a boss who cares about me as a person. Now I just need to see if I can get my not-boyfriend to care enough about me to at leastfakeliking me for a weekend. Yay.

Tuesday evening I’m trying to study and failing when Trips sticks his head in my bedroom. Not knocking. Now that I think about it, he hasn’t knocked since I passed out on the lawn Sunday and he carried me in, fed me crackers and water, then disappeared. I guess that does merit a certain level of familiarity.

“Meeting in forty-five minutes. We’re ordering pizza.”

I throwThe Red Tentonto the other pink chair, my brain just not kicking on. I felt shitty enough to skip today’s run, and I kind of wanted to wait for RJ, so I’m all kinds of weird today.

Trips goes to leave, and I melt into the chair, stretching. The door clicks, but when I look up, Trips is leaning against it, watching me.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

He glowers, arms crossed, before coming farther in, swiping the book off the chair, and settling in, barely fitting within the confines of the soft pick curves. “I never asked.”

Well, if that isn’t cryptic, I don’t know what is. “Asked what?”

He looks down at the book in his hands. “If you wanted to help with,” he looks around the room, blue eyes focused on anything except me, “well, with all this.”

I take a deep breath, trying to parse out what he’s asking, and how I should answer it. “Are you asking if I want to help you guys steal shit?”

Trips glares at me. “Well, fuck. You don’t have to be crass about it.”

I roll my eyes. “Listen. I don’t really know where I stand on ‘all this,’ as you so eloquently put it. But I know I’m not happy with who I was. And I want to find out how you all do what you do, to understand it, to try it on and see if it fits me. Do I want to, I don’t know, steal a Ferrari or something?” I shrug. “Not today.”

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