Page 110 of Brazen Mistakes

His fingers dig into my arm, and I barely hold back another inappropriate sound. “Back to the question, yeah. We have a whole series of food-related codes.”

“Why food?”

“Because we were nineteen, it was breakfast time, and we were almost out of groceries.”

I laugh. “Fair enough. I’d love to learn them.”

“I’ll teach them to you on the drive home.”

Glancing around the space, I don’t see anything suspicious, just a middle-aged guy with his back to us across the way, but my paranoia is omnipresent. Now that Bryce has included the guys in his threats, no matter how obliquely, the severity of the situation has sunk in.

“I was thinking about coming up with my own code so I can take notes and make lists. I feel like half of myself without being able to put my thoughts on paper, and I’m terrified I’ll forget something important if I don’t write it down.”

Walker thinks about what I said, like he’s not sure if he can give me permission to do this.

I keep talking, though, not able to pretend this isn’t important. “Also, it just feels amazing to check stuff off my list. I miss that.”

“If your code is good enough, it might work. I know Trips has something similar for his little black book. I can’t make heads or tails of it, but it makes sense to him.”

“Run it by Trips once I think it’s good enough?”

“Nah, run it by RJ. If it’s easy to crack, he’ll have it translated by the end of the day. Then bring it to Trips and tell him RJ said it was good, and voila, you have your very own code.”

“We have a plan.” I grin up at him.

“I’m going to hop on the wall for a few more goes. Sadly, I’m a bit out of shape after how busy things were at the end of the semester, so I’m pretty sure I’m not going to flash anything too crazy.”

“Flash what? Me? Here?” I whisper-shout.

He stares at me, confused, before bursting into laughter. “Oh God, no, I didn’t mean like that. Flash means to make it to the top on the first try,” he wheezes out.

“Oh.” A chuckle escapes me as I think about my faux pas. Yikes. There’s a lot of lingo here that I just don’t know.

I spend the next forty-five minutes mostly trying not to be distracted by Walker’s ass, shoulders, and even his fucking calves as he follows routes that are all but impossible for me. I don’t succeed, and I’m okay with that.

Hopping back on the wall a few times seems like a good idea, but my arms are so shaky it makes me miss my shitty, smelly high school weight room for the first time since I graduated. My haphazard push-ups haven’t done anything for my upper body strength.

After we’re both too tired to continue climbing, which is apparently called “pumped,” we return my rental shoes and load back into the car.

“Want to grab something to eat on the way home?”

No.“If you’re hungry, sure.”

Walker’s gaze is heavy on me, and I scramble to find something to distract him. “You promised me secret codes.”

“Do you like fish?”

“Is that a code?”

“That’s a question. I know a place with the best fish tacos. Want to hit it up?”

“Sounds good.”If I could eat more than a few bites, that is.“So, secret code me up.”

He shakes his head, winding through a neighborhood, the snow black and crusty at the curb. “They’re really dumb, but they work. Blueberry muffins means meeting, hot coffee means danger, donut holes means police, and scrambled eggs means scatter. Then we have locations. Home is just home, but then we have three secondary locations. Red is the student union, gold is the MacDonald’s by campus, and blue is Trips’ other house.”

My brain stutters. “Wait. Trips’otherhouse?”

“Oh. Yeah. It’s how we launder money. He just bought two more a few blocks from home.”

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