Page 118 of Brazen Mistakes

“Clara, it’s yours. I made it for you, so you can take as good care of it as you please.”

Peeling my gaze from my image, I turn to him. “Really?”

The side of his face I can see shows something that’s equal parts mirth and exasperation. “Yeah. Everyone gets one. That’s what I made them for.”

“RJ too?” I ask, strangely caught on dumb questions, the workmanship somehow turning off the part of my brain that lets me stop asking things when I already know the answers.

“Of course. I put his by his chair in the corner. I figured you could set up there and it might give you good luck.”

Nodding, I swallow back emotions that feel too big. Wrapping my arms around Walker, I whisper in his ear, suddenly shy, the overwhelm making me wish I wasn’t caught in the gaze of these three men. “Thank you, Walker. It’s beautiful.” I press a kiss to his exposed cheek, the faint outline of my lipsleft from my recently applied lipstick. I go to wipe it off, but Jansen steps close, stopping my hand.

“Leave it. It suits him.” I twist to look at him, and his eyes are dark, the teasing light absent. “Actually. I want one too.”

An incredulous scoff comes from me, but Walker turns me to face Jansen, and I stretch to press my lips to his cheek as well. Jansen holds my gaze longer than is comfortable, like he wants to say something, but he stays silent, his eyes serious.

I feel my brows crease, and his grin returns before he gently pushes me from the safety of his and Walker’s arms toward Trips. “Your turn, man. It’s part of the dress code now.”

Tracing my gaze over Trips’ all black ensemble, perfectly tailored to his broad body, and now I can tell, horrifically expensive, I take my time to reach his eyes, afraid of what I’ll see there. When I force myself to meet them, I find longing so strong my chest aches. I take a step forward, needing him despite the risks, but a chime sounds, the spell broken.

“Food’s here,” he says, his voice muffled from the mask, and he turns away, rushing down the stairs and out of the attic.

Jansen presses a kiss to my head before trailing after him to help, leaving Walker and me alone in the cavernous space, spanning the width and breadth of the house.

“Stubborn ox.”

I close the space between us, needing his arms around me after that subtle rebuke, and he holds me close, the mask digging into my cheeks the tiniest bit. I shake my head against his sternum. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

A pathetic little noise comes from me, and I mentally kick myself. That isn’t the sound the woman in this mask would make. “I love you, Walker.”

“I love you, too. I’m not the only one, you know.”

Pulling back, I lead him to the chair, picking up the pack of bobby pins that I’d discarded there. He sits and I struggle to hook the pins in his short, silky hair. “I know,” I mumble.

“Who?”

“Jansen. He was mostly asleep. I don’t think he knows I know.”

“How do you feel about that?”

The ribbon cuts diagonally across the back of his head, tucking under his ear, and I can tell the top desperately wants to slip off. The pins dig into his scalp, and he flinches. “Sorry. This is going to be hard to keep on.”

“It was the first one I made. I should have at least crossed my face at some point. I did better with RJ’s. If you don’t want to answer, you don’t have to.”

I add more pins, hoping more metal will make it more secure. “I want to. It’s just, it feels like a lot of responsibility to love Jansen. Not bad responsibility, nothing like that. I just have the feeling that he falls hard.”

“He does. Dangerously so.”

Finished pinning, I move to the front of the chair. “What do you mean?”

He shakes his head. “Not my story to share.”

A rustling on the stairs draws my attention, and Jansen and Trips return, aluminum vats of food in their arms.

Glancing back at Walker, I find he’s already moving to help them, organizing the food on the chafing dishes. What did he mean?

I go to help, eventually getting set up in RJ’s usual chair, Trips explaining a bit more about the plan for tonight.

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