Page 43 of Brazen Deceits

A smile crinkles around his eyes. “But maybe someday?”

I have no idea how to answer that. Instead, I stand up, stretching, noting the way Trips watches me, no longer pretending he isn’t. “I take it that RJ and Jansen are almost back?”

Trips stands up too, one eyebrow raised to acknowledge that I’m dodging the question. “RJ dropped Jansen off for class a while ago, then ditched the car. They both should be back in the next half hour.”

“Great. I’ll go get drinks and plates and stuff.” I shove my phone into my pocket, but Trips snags my arm before I leave the room.

“You never answered.”

I tilt my head, Trips’ eyes locked on mine. “Which question?”

“My text. It’s not an offer I usually extend.”

I set both of my palms on his chest, still unsure about how to move forward, but touching him like this, the closeness, it sears through me. “I mentioned I would be interested, but there are caveats.”

“Like you fucking all my friends?” The humor disappears from his face, my heart cracking.

The cotton of his shirt crumples in my fists as I try to get him to understand where I’m coming from. “I’m not looking for anything serious. I don’t want to be locked down again. There’s no way I’m ready for that.”

“So instead, you’re going to play with all of them and run away, leaving broken toys in your wake?”

The anger jolts through me, his shirt falling from my fingers. He’s never been so wrong. It’s a barb meant to hurt, to dig into me and make me bleed. There’s no way he believes I’m just playing with them.

Trips should know that I’d never hurt someone I care about. I fucking broke the law to get him back, and he’s a prick ninety percent of the time.

I know what I can handle right now, and a serious monogamous relationship is off the table. Possibly forever. If the guys are willing to join me on this ride? Well, they’re grown-ass adults. I’m not forcing anyone to be with me.

“You know what, Trips? Fuck you. Fuck your ‘oh so amazing’ offer. I’m good.” I turn to leave, but he grabs me again. My fury tugs at her chains, waiting for a chance to leap free and strike.

“You’re a fucking piece of work, Clara. You play the good girl so fucking well it’s easy to forget you’re a selfish bitch. Want all the cake and to eat it too. Just so we’re clear: I’m never going to be one of your hounds, chasing after you like you’re some fucking bitch in heat.”

My free hand whips out, the sting on my palm reaching my brain before the crack of skin-on-skin echoes in my ears. I’m panting, tears blurring my vision. “You sure have a low opinion of your team, Trips. Get the fuck out.”

The fire in his gaze is bright, his lips curving into a cruel smirk as he strides around me and out the door. I make sure he’s really gone before I crumple onto the floor, silent sobs shaking me, so quiet I know he can’t hear me. No one can hear me.

My hand burns, the snap of the slap reverberating over and over in my ears. I’ve never hit anyone before. I’d promised myself the first time my mom slapped me for being smart that I’d never do that to someone else. That resorting to violence made me no better than her.

But the new beast in my chest? She’s vicious; she’ll protect with force. God, I know I’m fucking shit up, but these beautiful men? They’re no lost puppies looking for a warm body to fuck. They’re beasts that bite—a snake, a panther, an owl, all of them at the top of the food chain. They don’t dance to my tune—they wouldn’t know how. But they’ll dance with me, circling, pulling close, dodging away.

Trips is a fool if he thinks I’m leading this dance. I’m just trying to survive it with my pelt intact. I entered the dance as a jittery rabbit, but it’s changing me. And I don’t know what kind of beast I’ll be when I leave.

But one thing is for sure. I’m not a zookeeper. I’m just another wild animal, trying to find the place she belongs.

I’d hoped I belonged here.

Starting the kettle warming, I scoop some coffee into a filter, making enough for both Trips and me. Not that I want to, but acting like everything is normal will piss him off the most, and I’m in a petty mood.

He’s a fucking asshole. I mean, he’s always been an asshole, but this time it’s directed at me. So I’m going to be friendly, kind, and helpful. I can’t think of anything that will get under his skin more than acting like our fight was insignificant.

Even if his words are still pounding through my brain, telling me how selfish I’m being, how inappropriate, how not-good I’m becoming.

The fridge is mostly empty. I haven’t gone grocery shopping in weeks. Apparently, I’ve become accustomed to Walker’s family meals, and now? He’s the weird uncle that went to jail, for all I’ve seen of him.

I pull out one of Walker’s kombuchas and a Mountain Dew for RJ, taking down mugs for Trips and myself, and the cute little teapot of Jansen’s. While the coffee brews, I toss a little milk and cocoa mix into my mug, leaving Trips’ empty. I debate salting his cup, but the sliver of me that feels terrible for slapping him vetoes that plan. I pull out the bulk bag of Jansen’s tea, scooping leaves into the built-in filter of the teapot.

After the kettle whistles, I pour the water over the loose leaves. Abeep beep beepsounds next to me, and I jump, someof the hot water sloshing out of the kettle, searing the skin of my bare foot.

“Shit.” I scramble to wipe the water off my skin before it burns more, my foot already a blaze of red. I twist to find the offending sound, discovering Walker with a kitchen timer. I ignore him, checking on my foot again. It needs to go into the sink. I pop it into the kitchen one, just because I’m feeling bitchy, instead of going to my bathroom, cranking on the cold water.

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