Page 70 of Brazen Deceits

Walker doesn’t share. Which means he probably has no practice with it.

How can I get him to understand that sharing is essential? That it’s not a weakness, but a way to show love?

That thought makes my mind stutter. There’sno waythe “all the dicks, no pricks” plan includes love. I mean, it’s not like Walker just broke up with me. We were never really dating.

Only I feel like I just had my heart stomped on and flung against a closed elevator door, so maybe I’ve been lying to myself.

Maybe we both have.

How didn’t I realize my heart was on the line? I thought it was too bruised and battered to even enter the ring. And now the dang thing feels like it’s on life support.

I whimper again, the air once more thin and scarce as my thoughts spiral.

Too many labels, too much pressure to be something, to match some archaic idea of a relationship, to squeeze myself into a form that just doesn’t fit me.

But maybe the words, the labels don’t matter.

And if that’s the case, then what does matter?

That Walker and I need to talk—to really talk. After that?

I press my lips together. After that, I’ll have to figure out what I’m feeling about all these guys. And whether this is still just for fun.

RJ’s chin settles on my head.

Because I might already have stepped too far over that line. At least three times too far over that line.

Chapter 31

Clara

Itoss my copy ofThe Samurai’s Gardenonto Emma’s coffee table. Its chill vibes and my stress are not compatible. “I’m done. No more studying,” I announce.

Emma holds her highlighter between her teeth, her hands winding a braid over her shoulder, a heavy higher-level biology textbook on her lap. “Um hmm,” she hums, obviously not listening.

I haul myself off her couch, stretching, before wandering to her kitchen, getting a Coke out of her fridge. My phone buzzes twice in quick succession in my pocket, and I debate not checking it.

I’ve spent all week trying to connect with the guys and failing, but the moment I choose to spend time with someone whoactuallymakes me a priority, now I’m popular? I mean, I don’t know for sure it’s one of the guys, but my parents call,Emma’s across the room, and courtesy of Bryce, my social circle is basically nonexistent.

Of course, all week, I’ve been trying to corner Walker, but he’s as slippery as usual.

RJ’s back to spending all day and half the night scraping the internet for more information, looking for leads on the other team from the tryouts, ironing out the internal systems at the Art Institute of Chicago, keeping up with his schoolwork and whatever else he does to add to the business’ coffers.

Jansen has been in and out, crawling into my bed smelling like the chop shop right before sunrise. I’ve tried to nudge him awake, but once he’s out, he’s out.

And Trips? I’ve been unfailingly polite, playacting the best good girl version of myself for him. Every smile, every time I’m helpful, every “thanks” I say, his face twists, my sweetness sour on his tongue.

At least one thing is going as planned.

I pop the can, taking a sip, as my phone buzzes again.

Sighing, I yank it out of my pocket, seeing three texts: two from Jansen and one from Trips.

I open the series from Jansen first:

Hey beautiful! Sorry I’ve been MIA all week. Heads up, I mentioned that cute little flirtation between you and Trips to him (mmm—wish I’d been here to see how that all played out)

He added the lips, eggplant, and water emojis to that one, and I can feel my cheeks heat. The next message doesn’t help.

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