Page 168 of Brazen Mistakes

Which just leaves Walker, Jansen, the jewels, and me.

“How worried are you guys?” Jansen asks.

Walker closes his eyes. “I don’t want her to go.”

“None of us do,” I say, needing to convince myself to ease up on guarding her from the world. “It’s just a party, though.”

“A party, yeah. But Trips barely survives visits home. What’ll that place do to Clara? Especially right now?” Jansen asks.

Not one of us has an answer to that. And the only guy who has an answer has already left, only a mostly full bottle of beer on the table remaining of his presence.

My chest stays tight.

Chapter 59

Clara

The crowd that waits for me at the front of the house makes me feel like I’m getting the prom I missed, only I want to take all the guys as my dates.

Walker’s eyes are bright as he takes me in, meeting me before I’m fully in the front hallway, taking both of my hands in his, then having me spin, one hand at the small of my back, his palm fitting against my skin like it belongs there. Because it does.

Jansen, meanwhile, is taking picture after picture before turning and taking pictures of RJ and Trips, muttering about adding it to an album, whatever that means.

RJ’s already seen half of my reveal, but his smile is as soft as his gaze, even if he stays two steps up, not joining the rest of us, his hand clenching the banister.

And Trips.

His glare coats me from head to toe, then slides back up. “Fuck.”

“A good fuck?” I ask, a second before I realize what that sounded like.

Jansen laughs, RJ smiles, and Walker leans in with a chuckle, whispering for only me, “Always, princess. And as a bonus, you’re especially gorgeous tonight.”

Trips, though, he just rolls his eyes. “I think I’m glad we brought Summer in for this. You’ll do.”

Damned by faint praise.

If I hadn’t seen the rest of the guys’ reactions, I’d take it more to heart. But the tightness of Trips’ jaw tells me he’s already on edge about tonight and tomorrow. He’s going to struggle to find the nicer guy I know is hiding in there. That Trips doesn’t belong where we’re heading, just the same as the Clara itching to stretch out from under my skin has no place there either.

He bends down, picking up a box, popping it open without ceremony. “We got you earrings and a bracelet. Put them on and we’ll go.”

Walker shakes his head, snatching the box from Trips and presenting me with the jewels.

Peeking out is a pair of earrings about three inches long, dark silver winding from stud to stone like branches of a tree, grasping an ebony stone. There’s also a similarly dark silver bracelet, with the same dark stones cut into neat squares, chained together like so many boxes in a row. Not a set, but somehow singing to each other.

“You guys. I—”

Walker gazes into my eyes as he removes the plain silver hoop I’d put on, then slips the silver fairy-magic-made earring into my ear. “These are Art Nouveau, from around the turn of the last century.”

Before I can figure out what to do with that statement, he tilts my head to do the same with the other earring, then clasps the bracelet around my wrist, his fingertips brushing against my pulse, lingering.

“And this is Art Deco, probably from the 1930s. You’ll look like old money for sure now.”

His words state facts, but his face darkens the longer he traces the underside of my wrist, teasing the clasp. Like he’s claimed me.

I swallow back the need to dive into him, to say fuck it to the whole plan and vanish into heady pleasure. “Where’d you guys find them?”

“Stole them,” Jansen says, pulling me from Walker’s gaze, taking in the apparently finished look. “They look good on you.”

---