Page 66 of Brazen Mistakes

“Well, if she’s a part of me, she’s a part that I hope I never get comfortable with. She’s so fake and brittle, actual joy would break her into tiny, crumbled bits.”

Trips pulls out his phone, tapping away on it. “She moves right, so her bitterness will have to be something you just deal with for now. Now, five more rounds of the living room. I can’t have you looking like you’re having an aneurysm every time you go to take a step. It’s got to look and feel natural.”

With only minimal grumbles, I do as he demands, circling the room, stopping to titter at RJ and Jansen, once commenting on the weather, another time asking them if they’d heard what Katie had done. Who is Katie? No idea. But there’s bound to be gossip about someone with that name at any party. There are too many Kates, Katies, and Katherines for that not to be the case.

Jansen and RJ snack on their popcorn, and I sneak a few handfuls while Trips is distracted, but it doesn’t taste as good as it usually does. Nothing does.

Just when I’m about to ask a series of leading questions to my peanut gallery to get them to make up gossip about my mystery Katie, Trips snaps his fingers at me.

Yeah.

Like I’m a dog.

I ignore that shit. I don’t care how damaged that particular boy of mine is—I deserve respect from him the same as from anyone else.

And while I might still be learning what that looks like, I know that skittering around like a well-trained Labrador retriever is not what self-respect looks like.

RJ must see that in my face because his eyes twinkle as Trips huffs from the other side of the room.

“Clara.”

I turn to him. “Yes, Trips?”

“I was trying to get your attention.”

“Oh. I assumed a cocker spaniel had wandered in and you were hoping to get a look at its tags.”

RJ and Jansen snicker behind me as Trips glares.

I wait.

Finally, one hand tugging his hair, he relents. “Sorry.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“Do you feel like you’ve got the walk dialed in?”

I shrug. “It’s not natural yet, but I’m getting a feel for it.”

“Want to learn to waltz?”

Trips slouches like this is by far the worst part of teaching me how to fit into his world, and it causes the guys to double down on their laughter.

“I’m a fine dancer, Trips. I don’t think this will be awful.”

“Maybe not for you,” he grumbles, and I can’t help the smirk that stretches across my face.

Because Ilikethe bastard. And if he didn’t have shit for a father, I have a feeling we’d be a lot closer than we are right now.

But he does. So we aren’t.

And waltzing is apparently near torture based on the way he’s looking at me.

If this is the way it has to be, at least for now, then I’ll be on my best behavior. I’ll try not to make this harder for him. Things have been plenty difficult for him so far, and I’m the one who put myself on his dad’s radar when I called him this fall.

Of course, I didn’t know the risks then. But I do now. “Teach me. I’ll be good,” I say, the words more pleading than I intended.

“Right.”

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