Page 40 of Brazen Mistakes

“Oh my God,” I choke out, tears leaking from my eyes.

Hoots start up from the party house next door, and four guys crowd onto their porch, beers in hand as they rush to the edge, waiting for Jansen to sprint by again.

“What’d he do?” one guy shouts across at us.

“Told a secret that wasn’t his to tell,” Walker yells back.

“What the fuck is going on?” Trips asks from behind Walker and me.

I motion at the front yard, like that means something, while Walker says, “You’ve got to see it to believe it, man. It’s, oh my God. Here he comes.”

Jansen’s yelling nonsense as he books it past the front porch for his last lap.

“Is he…” Trips starts, trailing off as Jansen’s naked ass disappears around the side of the house, yells and jeers from next door following him.

“Yup,” Walker chokes out through his laughter.

“I…this…what the fucking hell is wrong with you people?”

The thump of Trips’ feet on the stairs disappears as Jansen dashes around the house one last time, catapulting up the stairs and plowing straight into me, as the guys next door roar with laughter. He tosses us both onto the pile of pillows scattered around his meditation space, me somehow landing on top of him.

“I think I frostbit my balls.”

“You’re an idiot, Trouble. What were you thinking?” I say, his chest chilly against my cheek as I debate the merits of ablanket from the living room or just crawling into bed with him.

“Forgive me?”

“Only if you didn’t damage any important bits.”

Walker chokes out a laugh as he slams the door shut, a box and an envelope in his arms. “Which parts are you counting as important? Because I’m not sure how his brain is faring right now.”

Jansen plants a kiss on my lips then hops up, taking me with him to the living room where he covers all that yummy, albeit chilly, skin with clothes. Walker trails us, the smile slowly falling from his face.

“What is it?” I ask, watching him finger the envelope.

“You have mail. A box and an envelope.”

The levity flashes out of existence. “Any return address?” I ask as Jansen yanks on his sweatshirt and pulls me into the circle of his arms.

“Nope. None of that mess tonight. I deny its existence,” he says, his nose burrowed into my hair.

Walker tosses the envelope onto the coffee table. “The box is safe. It’s from Emma.”

I glance at the envelope, blue this time. “Bad news first, presents second.”

“I thought you didn’t want presents?” Jansen asks.

“I didn’t want to celebrate, but I forgot to tell Emma. And she’s big on getting real mail, so she’s always mailed her gift like a weirdo. I sent her a pair of tickets to one of her favorite bands a few days ago. As I haven’t gotten a screaming phone call yet, I have to assume they haven'tmade it there yet.”

The three of us stare at the envelope. “Band-Aid off time,” I grumble, reaching down and tearing into it.

A photo of a dog gazing out a window graces the front of this card, “Thinking of You” scrawled across it in sentimental cursive. Inside, it’s blank, but once again, there’s a photo. This time, of me tucked against Trips’ chest, Walker cuddled behind me, awkwardly framed through a gap in my closed curtains. Two nights ago.

Scraped in jagged letters across the bottom, Bryce has once again left me a message. “Bad girls get punished.”

I shudder, dropping the photo and flopping back into Trips’ chair. “Still not particularly inventive there, Bryce. I agree with Jansen. I don’t want this tonight.”

Both guys look at the photo, Jansen’s fists tight, Walker’s eyes squeezed shut while his breath stutters in and out.

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