Tryst Six Venom
: Chapter 8

“CLAY.”

I draw in a breath, pulling my head out of the clouds where it always seems to be now, and turn around.

“Take these to the kitchen,” my mother says.

I take the tray, the empty bowls on top clanking together as I carry them away.

Fondue with Father is one of the many dumb alliteration-inspired events Omega Chi sponsors every year, members of the alumni never missing an opportunity to sweep back into town to support the sorority and the school.

And maybe show off that new Birkin, of course.

I toss a glance over my shoulder, seeing poor Father McNealty drowning in a sea of moms, daughters, aunts, and grandmothers, all of them wanting to hear about how that new collection of first editions to the library they donated is making all the difference, or if their ‘hefty’ contribution was used to buy new buses or the latest computers.

The latest computers… I shake my head, dropping the tray onto the counter and hearing a dish break just as I turn and leave. I keep walking.

The best athletic equipment, the highest-quality organic food in the cafeteria, the most state-of-the-art science lab…

On-site tutors, language learning, counseling, and college prep.

Liv Jaeger benefits heavily from the people she loves to look down on. Her family makes no donations, and although our tuition is steep, it would never be enough to cover the overhead Marymount incurs if you figure in utilities, taxes, salaries, staff… These women here, however shallow to her, are necessary to the success of the school that helped her get into fucking Dartmouth.

I head to the back of the banquet hall and retrieve my backpack from one of the dressing rooms, digging out some jean shorts and a T-shirt.

So high and mighty, she is. Maybe if she’d ever acted a little more grateful…

She brought that video on herself.

So why do I regret posting it? I can’t look at the comments online and what they’re saying about her. That’s why I took it down in the first place. I just wanted her to see that I had Megan Martelle’s life in my hands. I wanted Liv to know that she wasn’t powerful. That I am.

But really, I was just angry. Jealous. I want her, I can’t have her, and I’m angry that I can’t have her.

So I take it out on her.

I pull on my change of clothes, blowing out a breath and clearing my head. But that’s not it. I don’t want her. The affection felt good, and when you’re starved for it, you’ll take it from anywhere. That’s all it is. I’m not bisexual. I’m straight.

I trust Liv not to talk, and I don’t trust Callum. That’s it. I’ll trust him eventually. Or another man.

I swing my crossbody bag over my head with my money and phone in it and leave my clothes and backpack in the dressing room. My mother will bring it all home.

I head for the entrance, sneaking past the doors quickly, so my mom doesn’t catch me. It’s almost six, already getting dark out, and I’m late.

But then I hear someone say, “Come here, darlin’.”

I turn, seeing my grandmother sitting in a chair in the lobby. Her hair is as white as her pantsuit, and she clutches a cane, propping it up on the floor in front of her.

“Mimi.” I walk over, absorbing the look from her that falls down my attire, assessing. “I was wondering where you were.”

“Sure, you were,” she retorts. But a smirk pulls at her lips, and I know she’s teasing me.

Falling to the carpet at her feet, I sit down and lean against her leg, the dull hum of the party droning on in the next room.

“You knew I’d sneak out,” I say. That’s why she’s sitting out here.

“It’s Night Tide.” She threads my hair through her fingers, and I hear laughter pour out of the banquet room. “I remember being unable to stand the anticipation when I was your age.”

Mimi is still my age. She just hides it well.

“So, what’s on the agenda tonight?” she asks.

I shrug. “Standard scavenger hunt, maybe some burgers…”

I used to love spending time with my mother’s mother more than I did my actual mother, but I started to enjoy it less the older I got. Mimi’s the reason my mom is the way she is.

I guard my words, because even though I may admire her ruthlessness, I also know I’m not safe from it. My grandmother is the most dangerous person I know.

“You be home at a decent hour.” She caresses my hair. “It’s not right for your mother to be home alone so much.”

“She’s never home,” I tell her.

Mimi takes my chin and tips my eyes up at her. “A great deal has been asked of you in your young life, but you need to see the strength it’s building, too.” Her gentle eyes don’t do enough to disguise the stern gaze underneath. “It’s not enough to not be a burden, Clay. You need to be a comfort, and if you don’t like that, that’s too bad. You get in line. Your family needs you.”

I almost nod, as always. It’s better to just agree with my elders, because arguing wastes time, and I’m just going to do what I want to anyway, but something slips out of me that I don’t feel like curtailing tonight. “A family doesn’t live in that house anymore.”

She thins her eyes, holding me closer. “Don’t let them see,” she says in a low tone.

“Who?”

“Everyone who is waiting with bated breath to see you unhappy.” She releases me and tips her chin up, straightening her back. “Don’t give that to them.”

I’ve never given that to them. I never let my friends know how I hate being home. How my parents barely know each other anymore.

How they barely know me.

But I’m tired of the façade, and for a few stolen moments this week, I got a glimpse of what life was like without it. I was too high to reach.

I spot a cardboard tube on the table, Biscayne Bay written on the label featuring my father’s letterhead. Biscayne Bay? He’s working on a development called Palm Biscayne, somewhere on our coast, but I’ve never heard of Biscayne Bay.

Bay… Not Sanoa Bay.

The gears in my head turn, and I’m afraid to ask. Nothing happens in this town without going through my grandmother, but I’m not sure I want to know. I was joking with Liv about Sanoa Bay being leveled for a golf course, because it’s been a threat since we were born. No one ever thought it would actually happen.

I tuck the suspicion away for the moment and smile up at her. “We can’t all be as strong as you, Mimi.”

“You see what I want you to see.”

Her eyes fall away from me, something else playing behind them.

“Every woman has her secrets, Clay,” she tells me. “We all have our sins, and I’m not special. You can have whatever you want, as many times as you want, for however long you want.” She nudges my chin again. “As long as it stays a secret.”

I can’t hold back my smile. “I can’t believe you’re telling me that.”

“Refusing yourself the things you need to feel alive only brings two consequences: detriment or death. We would break.”

I stare at her.

“We can have what we want,” she tells me again. “Quietly.”

“What if it hurts to hide?”

“Oh, Clay.” She shakes her head like I’m so naïve, but it’s not in a way that offends me. “Everyone hides. The generations before you devoted their lives to building something that lasted. Working for the duty and legacy they inherited. It was important.” She pauses before she continues. “But that inch—those quick minutes they carved out in the shadows—that’s what they lived for.”

My blood warms under my skin, the hair on my arms rising, and all of a sudden, the possibilities seem endless tonight. An inch… I rub the inside of my finger, brushing my tattoo. I got it on my birthday in December to remind me that there’s a piece of myself I hate and love and it drives me nuts, but I need it, because it’s the only thing I look forward to. That place I can escape to in my head where I can have the only thing I want anymore.

“As long as it stays secret,” she points out again.

Yes.

“That is the price, I’m afraid.”

I nod once. I can live with that. As long as I can have her. Thank you, Mimi.

She gives me her cheek, and I leave a quick peck before climbing to my feet and hurry out of the hall before my mother sees. Once outside, I send her a quick text, letting her know I’ll be home late and to grab my stuff from the dressing room.

I’m about to text Callum that I’m ready and waiting, but I see a tattooed neck in a dark gray T-shirt straddling an old Triumph. I forget my phone and stare at the middle son of Tryst Six, cigarette smoke drifting into the air above his head.

He was the one checking me out last week when he dropped Liv off at school. I smile, tucking my phone back into my bag.

Oh, she’ll hate this. I walk up to him. “Hi.”

Turning his head, Iron sucks on the cigarette, the end burning orange before he takes it out of his mouth.

He doesn’t say hi back. He knows who I am.

“I’m Clay,” I tell him anyway.

He faces forward, blowing out the smoke. “Yeah, I know.”

Well, what a peach. Maybe he knows about the video. How could he not, I guess?

I take my chances anyway. “I’m doing a senior scavenger hunt. I need to take a selfie with a stranger.”

He shoots me a look, taking another drag. “Is that school-sanctioned? Sounds unsafe.”

I pull out my phone again. “Can I take a selfie with you?”

“No.” He shakes his head, turning away again. “Like I said, I know who you are.”

He doesn’t really seem angry, though. Maybe she didn’t tell her family about the video. Maybe he’s just prejudiced, because I’m a Collins.

I pass him and his bike, step into the street, and stick my thumb out, feeling my loose denim shorts slide down my hips as I move.

“What are you doing?” I hear him ask, a sudden edge to his voice.

“I need a ride across the tracks.” A car passes, honking its horn, and I see it’s some rusty old Honda filled with young guys. “I’m meeting Liv.”

“Pretty sure Liv is the last person meeting you.”

“Hey!” someone calls.

I look behind me to see the Honda has stopped, one of the dudes poking his head out of the window.

I look back to Iron.

“Don’t you have a driver or something?” he spits out. “Hitching is dangerous.”

I back up toward the Honda, giving him a wicked smile.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, stop,” he barks, rolling his eyes and taking up his bike. “I’ll take you.”

I grin wider and leap into a run, climbing on the bike behind him and taking the helmet he offers.

He starts the engine, the bike vibrating under me, and I watch the Honda pull off when I don’t take their ride.

“You’re good, kid.” He looks over his shoulder, his sarcasm pretty thick. “I wish you’d use that brain for better rather than worse.”

A car pulls up, and I see Krisjen peek her head out the back window. Milo sits next to her.

“Clay, let’s go!” She looks up me like ‘what the hell are you doing?’

Callum sits in the driver’s seat, a small smile tilting his lips like he’s ready for anything I have planned.

“I got a ride,” I tell her.

I hear Iron groan, probably because there are witnesses now, and I wrap my arms around him, damn near laughing as my heart races.

“Clay!” Krisjen urges. “What the hell?”

But I just whisper to Liv’s brother, “Go.”

He shakes his head, his greasy brown hair kind of good-looking against his tan face. “My gut told me you were trouble,” he grumbles. “Hold on.”

He launches off, and a whimper escapes as my heart leaps into my throat. We fly forward, the moisture thickening the air as the clouds hang low, and I chance a look behind me to see the tires of Callum’s car spinning and burning rubber as he sets off after us.

I squeeze Iron, the wind picking up with the speed, and I peer over his shoulder, watching as he flies us down the road, through the warehouse district, and onto Frontress Lake Drive, speeding along the canal and toward the tracks.

The bass from Callum’s car booms on our tail, and I can tell he’s gaining by the how loud his Nine Inch Nails song is getting.

But not for long.

Iron grabs hold of my hands locked in front of him, holding me to him, as he kicks the bike up a gear, the front tire catches air, and we bolt ahead faster. I giggle—actually fucking giggle—in his ear, and I spot a little grin on his face, too.

Settling into the man’s back, I watch as St. Carmen falls away, the lush lawns, boutiques, centuries-old churches, and the opulent edifices of the mansions tucked deep among the bald cypresses and strangler figs.

Green, gorgeous land lies beyond, the sky growing dark with the stars covered by clouds. My skin buzzes with something I hardly ever feel anymore.

Anticipation.

Henry would love this. I don’t think he ever got to ride on a motorcycle.

“Iron, get her off your bike!” someone barks.

Iron pulls to an abrupt stop at the stop sign and I press into his back, looking over my shoulder to see Liv.

A pain hits my chest. I watch her cruise up next to us, her bike black, smaller, and older, but God…I rarely get to see her out of school clothes or lacrosse gear, and I can’t take my eyes off of her.

She puts her boots on the ground and scowls at her brother through her aviators. “This isn’t a joke!” she yells at him.

And she flashes a glance back at Callum’s car racing toward us.

My tongue feels like it’s swelling so much I’ll choke on it. Her legs in her tight black jeans. Her knees bare through the holes, her low-cut white top, and her faded leather jacket… Her hair wild and loose down her back, no helmet, and dog tags hanging around her neck. I notice the key she flashed on the lacrosse field last weekend hanging in between.

I loosen my hold on Iron, thinking about holding onto her instead. She’d fit perfectly.

“Aw, Jesus.” She looks at me. “You ever experience a Cuban temper? You’re about to.”

I look behind me once more, seeing a Toyota Tacoma racing side by side Callum, the cab filled with three, long-haired individuals. Women?

I look at Iron. “A girlfriend?”

“Ex,” he points out.

Oh, Jesus . I hop off his bike, climbing on behind Liv instead.

“Get off!” she yells, trying to shake me.

But I wrap my arms around her, feeling the switchblade hooked onto her jeans. “Scared of me?”

She breathes out a laugh. “I’m sick of you getting your way,” she mumbles, more like she’s arguing with herself than me. “What the fuck do I care if Aracely rips out all your hair?”

“My crew plays dirty.” I hug her close. “Yours plays bloody. Don’t worry, I know we won’t win tonight.”

“No, you won’t.”

“So, let’s go,” I say and then whisper into her ear. “Just you and me for the next five minutes.”

She turns her head away from my whisper, but I feel her chest cave and her stomach shake. I love feeling what I do to her.

“I hate you,” she growls. But she revs the bike and takes off, and I smile, tucking my chin onto her shoulder.

Ditto.

I close my eyes, squeezing her until I’m sure she can’t escape. The wind whips through my hair, and the scent of the palms hits my nose, and I wish it was day. I wish I could see the clouds.

Heat pools low in my belly, and I hug her with my thighs, aware of her everywhere.

Iron didn’t feel like this. She smells like—I tip my nose up under her ear. Like one of those artisanal perfume oils popular in the hippie shops where they suck up all the oxygen, burning incense, and then wonder why they don’t have any customers.

But I like it on her. She smells like cherry lollipops and…summer. I dip my nose in more, grazing her skin.

“Fuck me or cut it out, Clay,” she says, throwing me another scowl over her shoulder. “Your bullshit isn’t funny.”

I keep my smile to myself. I pull my nose out of her neck, but I stay close as we cruise into the Bay. This neighborhood was incorporated into St. Carmen in 1942, but its residents only admitted that when they were forced to give their addresses on a job application. To them, Sanoa Bay still lives, and if anyone says they reside here, then you know their families have been rooted on the land since the sixteenth century. No one moves into this shithole by choice.

Liv zooms past overgrown properties and turns onto a muddy road, sporadic streetlights lining the dark path before we come to the village center, which is basically Mariette’s, a small motel, a gas station, a bar, and an autobody shop where the kiddies can feed the alligators marshmallows while you wait for your oil change.

Past the shop is a long street, homes and dilapidated mansions of the old landowners, before they lost their land to St. Carmen, sitting hidden among the trees.

Liv stops the bike, a flurry of activity in every direction in the Bay. Lights decorate Mariette’s where groups of men and families enjoy dinner and beers, and the doors to the auto shop are open, their lights shining and “Crimson and Clover” pouring out from inside.

I hop off the bike and immediately head for the bar. “I need a condom from the men’s room.”

But before she even turns off the bike, she reaches out and grabs my arm. “Not from in there.”

Why?

I cock my head. “Get your hands off me. You agreed to this.” Or better yet… “You offered this.”

She holds my eyes for another moment and then finally releases me. “Fuck it.” She shakes her head, parking the bike. “Go.”

Pivoting on my heel, I pull out my phone and bring up the list in my Notes. I hear her footfalls after me, but I make it to the door before she can change her mind and grab me again.

I pull open the wooden door, some kind of classic rock playing inside as the smell of cigarettes, fried food, and rotting wood hits me.

People turn and look, two ladies shooting darts, a few people at the bar, and two pool tables filled with guys who clearly didn’t shower after work today. I pause for a moment, taking in the red neon lighting around the bar and the plywood tables, their veneer chipped and surrounded by mismatched chairs. I immediately picture my mother, clutching her handbag and refusing to sit for fear of staining her white blouse.

The bartender—a skinny, bleached blonde with black roots, dressed in a black T-shirt with some kind of tattoo around the outside of her eye narrows her gaze. “Liv, what are you doing?” she asks, sounding more like a warning than a question.

“She needs to, uh, use the bathroom,” Liv tells her, humor in her tone.

The woman takes me in for another moment and then sighs, waving her hand. She resumes counting her register.

“You don’t have to babysit me,” I mutter over my shoulder. “I know Sanoa Bay made their own list tonight. What’s on yours?”

She doesn’t respond, and I don’t look back. Starting off, I spot a hallway to the right and assume that’s where the restrooms are. I walk for it.

I would really love to know what’s on her scavenger hunt. The school uses a template they designed a generation ago, but they fine-tune it every year, keeping up with the times and all. Since it’s school-approved, everyone “officially” plays from that one. If asked.

That didn’t mean any of us really use it, though. I still need to get that photo with a stranger, and there are plenty in here.

Sticking my hand inside my T-shirt, I use it as a glove, twisting the handle of the men’s room door.

A twist knob on the restroom door. That’s a good indication of the shitshow I’m going to replace inside. Unnnnnnnsanitaryyyyy .

I open the door, the hinges whining as I look around. Three urinals cover the wall to my right, the porcelain stained after years of use, and two stalls, one without a door, sit across from them, reflected in the mirror.

Something bangs into a stall wall, and then I hear something else, but I don’t see anyone.

Letting the door fall closed, I step farther inside. Liv enters behind me, and I’m not sure if she’s protecting them from me or me from them, but whatever. My friends will replace out where I’ve gone. They’ll be here soon.

Panting hits my ears, followed by a woman’s whimper, and I listen, hearing the screech of shoes across the tile and a steady rhythm start to hit the stall. The loose screws holding the walls in place clank as the pace speeds up.

People are fucking in here. Is this why she didn’t want me in this dive?

I look at Liv. “Classy.”

“At least they’re not on YouTube.”

They can be. I take out my phone, but she presses her hand down on mine, forcing it away. “Stop it,” she mouths.

“Relax,” I whisper. “I’m texting my friends where I am.”

She releases me, leaning into the wall and putting her hand on her hip. I toss out a group text to Callum, Amy, Milo, and Krisjen, telling them where to replace me. Hopefully that Aracely chick and her friends aren’t holding them up.

I tip my head toward the condom machine, snapping a selfie as proof I was here, and then pull some change out of my bag. “So, Iron is single?” I ask as I put away my phone. “Or is that girl in the pickup still claiming status?”

She hoods her eyes.

I slide my change into the machine and twist the old lever, the moaning from the stall growing heavier and louder. “You didn’t tell them, did you?” I ask her.

On the one hand, you’d think she’d want to send all the muscle she could after me, or replace some way to embarrass my family by broadcasting my behavior; but on the other hand, I understand why she didn’t.

And I’d relied on that when I’d posted the video. Reporting me would only draw more attention to her, and Liv doesn’t play the victim. Ever.

I pull the condom out of the machine and tuck it into my bag. “It wasn’t that bad,” I tell her, continuing to defend myself and I don’t know why. “They didn’t recognize Martelle.”

“They recognized me,” she retorts.

“So why put the video back up?”

“Because fuck you, that’s why.”

I stare at her, despising that I don’t have a comeback.

“Was that what the locker room was all about?” She moves in closer. “You had somebody filming me again?”

We’re both five-seven, but she feels taller somehow. Like she hasn’t been thinking about it in the same way I have.

“Or maybe you came tonight to try to get me into the same position,” she says, “so you could humiliate me some more?”

She thinks it was a ploy. Kissing her in the locker room.

She doesn’t think it was real for me.

“Yeah, it’s that easy with a queer, isn’t it?” she taunts. “You think I’m just going to drop down and thank my lucky stars to fuck anything pretty, any time, any place, right? Because I’m desperate? Because gays are hypersexual, is that it?”

“I don’t know…you seemed pretty into it,” I whisper.

The woman’s whimpers turn to cries, and his panting grows more ragged as we hold each other, our gazes locked.

“Turn me around,” the girl tells him.

We listen as they shift positions and continue, Liv’s lips so still as she watches me.

Her brown eyes hold mine, and I don’t know if she’s two seconds from pulling me into the empty stall or hitting me, but my heart thunders against my chest as the couple kisses and breathes, and I can feel the wet heat on their skin from here.

I stare at her, the world spinning around us, and we almost don’t notice a man entering the room. He pauses briefly as he passes us before making his way for the urinals.

But I don’t look away from her.

He pisses, and I see a smile peek out on her mouth as the steady stream fills the air and it makes me want to laugh too.

Wow.

I take out my phone again. “I need a picture of a water feature.”

But she snatches the phone. “Let’s see the real list.”

I grab for it, but she pulls the phone away, looking at the screen. “Seminole flag,” she reads and looks up at me. “The one at the lighthouse, I presume?”

I clamp my mouth shut.

The couple in the stall comes, and I hear the man at the urinal laugh, banging on the door twice as he zips up.

“Keeping the spark alive in there, Mr. and Mrs. Torres?”

The woman laughs, followed by the man’s voice. “Eat me.”

The guy walks away, washing his hands and smoothing back his hair. “Sounds like your wife beat me to it.”

He passes us, stopping and speaking to Liv. “¿Está todo bien?”

Liv doesn’t look at him, staying focused on me. “You expressed an interest in Macon?” she asks me.

Huh?

And then I remember teasing her about it in the theater.

But without waiting for my answer, she hands me back my phone and says to him, “Take her to my brother, will you?”

He looks at me.

“What?” I blurt out.

But he doesn’t hesitate. Bending over, he sweeps me up and throws me over his shoulder, and I yelp, snatching my hands off his back, because he’s all sweaty and wet.

“Let go of me!” I bellow, lifting up and glaring at Liv.

We’re out the door in less than two seconds, and I flail, kicking and screaming. “Hey!”

“You wanted to know what was on the Bay list?” I hear Liv ask.

I lift my head up, breathing hard as the guy carries me outside and she follows.

“Only one thing,” she teases, a wicked smile playing on her mouth. “You.”

Me? What?!

What the hell is she doing?

“Clay!” I hear someone call. I twist, looking around me, but I can’t see shit.

“Clay!” Callum barks next.

I see shoes and hear splashes through puddles as my friends replace me and follow.

“You’re going to pay for this!” I growl at Liv.

“I’ve been paying since the day I met you,” she retorts. “It’s about time I enjoy it.”