Tryst Six Venom

I SLIDE THE scissors up the fabric, cutting in short snips, but the day has taken its toll, and I jerk the tool, sliding the blade until there’s a huge slice right through the middle.

“Son of a bitch,” I bite out, rising off the floor and wiping the sweat off my forehead.

Dammit.

I grab the bolt of fabric off the table and start unraveling, measuring more.

Clay’s never going to stand out by choice. She was always going to wind up with Callum or someone of the like, because that’s what perfect looks like.

I know that. I’ve always known that. But God, it sucked to see her in someone else’s arms. I didn’t expect it to suck that much.

I’m pretty sure she didn’t invite it, but she will choose him. Ultimately. That soulless, arrogant prick who hires people to do all his thinking for him. He doesn’t know what she likes.

But then I falter. Does he?

Clay is really hot in bed, and my ego didn’t even take into account that she would ever be that good with anyone else. I thought it was just us together.

Not likely. Someone else will be holding her in a few months. She knows what she likes now, and when we’re off to college, she’ll find someone else to pass the time.

“Miss Jaeger?” Lavinia calls.

Shit. I dive over to the cabinet and grab the container of pins. “Got it!” I call, jogging out of the workroom and into the dressing room. I hand Lavinia the container I’d forgotten minutes ago. “Here you go.”

I hand it to her, and she takes a few out, sticking them to the magnet on her wrist. Amy stands on the riser, her debutante dress a strapless A-line with a simple belt around the waist tied with a bow. She pulls on her long white gloves as Lavinia walks over to grab her matching shoes.

Amy meets my eyes in the mirror, her black eye from the fight the other night just about gone. “You can tell that bitch I always have the last word,” she says.

I pick up a couple of discarded tiaras and the flowers Amy probably ordered Lavinia to cut off the dress. “Too bad for you Aracely isn’t interested in talk,” I tell her, knowing the only way Amy can win anything is because of her daddy. And I back away. “You should also be wearing champagne. You look like death.”

Her red hair looks horrible against the dress, and I know there’s rules about the colors they’re allowed to wear, but progress, people. Come on.

Heading back to the workroom, my phone buzzes with a notification.

I lift it up, seeing a missed text from Clay. That’s two in the past hour. At least she waited until I was out of rehearsal before she started blowing up my phone to do damage control about Callum.

I turn off the screen and go to set it down, but it buzzes again.

I can’t stop myself. I glance over. I don’t want him , the text reads .

Yeah, but you’ll choose him . I toss the phone down. I’m not mad. I just don’t want to act like it’s okay, because it’s not. While she’s mine, she’s mine, and no one else’s and that’s it.

The phone buzzes again, and every muscle tightens. I have work to do, Clay.

But then it vibrates again, and I can’t resist.

You don’t care, right? She challenges me. We’re both leaving? This is just fun, right?

My eyes burn. Yeah, it’s just fun, and.. .

I want you to care, she types. I want you to come and get me and take me anywhere or just come inside my house.

I stare at the words, my longing for her twisting unbearably in my stomach.

I love that my bed smells like you , she writes. I love it when I smell like you.

I smile softly, my anger fading.

Do you ever think about doing what Alli did? she asks. We want out until we remember why we want to live. If only she had hung on. If only she’d felt this.

I grip the phone. But when I don’t respond to her texts, she sends another.

Hey, quick—what can jellybeans do that we can’t?

I narrow my eyes.

Come in different colors! she replies. Hardy-har *tap-step-hand clap*

I snort, more at the fact that she’s trying so hard to get my attention than the actual joke.

Please.

I’m sorry , she texts. I just… I wish I was looking at you right now.

God, she’s killing me. Why is she doing this? It’s not forever, right? We can keep this up for fun, but she needs to know she’s not the only one moving on to a different life when this is over.

I’m not waiting for her.

Megan asked me to go to prom , I type. With that new girl, Chloe. As friends.

I wait, seeing the Read receipt, but seconds turn into a minute, and she’s not replying. She’s not even typing.

If none of us have dates, we’ll go together . I hesitate, my mouth dry as my fingers hover over the screen. I’m going to say yes .

She sees the text but still nothing. That’s good, I guess. This is the reality. If I’m not going with her, I’ll go with someone.

I wait another few moments, and I text again. We’re meeting up this weekend to dress shop .

I toss the phone down, but it immediately rings. I stare at it, the pulse in my neck kicking into gear.

Great. I answer, no time to say hello before she speaks. “That girl doesn’t take a hint, does she?”

“This isn’t about her, and you know it.”

I know very well the shit she pulled with Megan was to scare her away from me, and while I kind of like Clay’s jealous side, Megan’s not the issue.

“You don’t even want to go to prom,” she says.

“When did I say that?” I lower my voice so Lavinia doesn’t hear. “I’d actually like to go. You’ll be with Callum anyway, so why shouldn’t I? You thought I’d stay home, waiting for your call afterward when you’re ready to have sex? When I’m good enough for that?”

But not good enough to be seen with? We don’t have to go together, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t get to go at all.

Clay is silent for a few seconds, and when she speaks again, her tone is quiet. “Please don’t go with them.”

“But you can go with Callum?”

“I don’t want to fuck Callum!” she shouts.

“And I don’t want to fuck Megan!” I fire back. “I never did!”

I breathe hard, wishing she was here, so I could fucking grab her and kiss her crazy. Is she stupid? Does she not feel everything that happens between us when I’m on top of her?

That it hurts to worry that she might go looking in Callum for what she might not find in me?

I dip my head into the bulletin board on the wall, tears filling my eyes as I hold the phone to my ear. “Do you have any idea…”

But I can’t say the rest. I pull my head up, blinking away the tears. It hurts. It fucking hurts to see her touching him, and I’m sick of tap dancing around her bullshit. Does she have any idea how much that cut today, to see her in his arms?

“You’ve been the best I’ve had,” I tell her. “It’s like nothing else, Clay. Honestly. But I don’t want to ruin this. Maybe we should stop before—”

“Baby…” she bites out, interrupting me. “If I think you’re not mine, I might make a scene. Be very careful what you say next.”

Her hard voice cuts into my ear, the sudden threat a surprise.

And I smile, despite myself. I do like Clay’s jealousy.

“Are you threatening me?” I jibe. “You haven’t seen what I can do yet.”

“Oh, I know what you can do.”

And my phone buzzes with a text. I look at the screen, click on the photo, and see Clay on her stomach. She peeks over her arm, locks of hair in her face and her naked back visible just before her naked ass.

Heat pools between my thighs, and I gaze at her skin and mussed hair like she always looks after I’m done with her.

I groan louder than I expect before putting the phone back to my ear.

“You can do anything you want to me, that’s what,” she says. “And I want to take you on a date tomorrow night, to Mariette’s.”

I listen. A date?

“You ever eat raw oysters?” she goes on. “I want to watch you eat and get you drunk and hot on tequila and sweat with you and fuck you in the back seat of my car. And I want to do that as many times as I can before we have to leave each other in August, because nothing feels better than you, Jaeger. Nothing.”

I lick my lips, my whole body wired and hot, and she’s fucking right. She’s the only thing I look forward to.

“Turn over,” I tell her. “I want a topless one.”

She’s got pictures of me. It’s my turn now.

A moment later, my phone vibrates, and I see her sitting on the edge of the bed, the phone up high with a view of everything from her little smirk down to her stomach. I strain my eyes, trying to see farther down than where the picture cuts off, but I’ll have to wait to see her in person, I guess.

“I’ll meet you there at eight,” I say.

“I’ll bring the booze.”

And we hang up, an excited smile that I don’t release warming my blood.

“God, I think I like you a little,” I whisper.

She gets me going, and while I may not be holding her hand in public, I own her body. She loves it with me.

My face heats up, thinking about tomorrow, and I look in the mirror, seeing a blush on my cheeks.

I pat my face, shaking my head clear. “Snap out of it.”

But I don’t stop smiling the rest of the night.