I turn my head, a couple guys shouting down the hall.
The new girl from my math class stands next to me, holding a folder and a book. Her blonde hair ends just above the shoulders, straightened with layers. She carries a Hermès backpack that even my mom probably wouldn’t treat herself to.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to ambush you,” she says, smiling, and I notice the subtle pink gloss that plumps her lips. “My name’s Chloe. We have calculus together.”
She holds out her hand, and she stands so close the hair on my arm touches the hair on hers. Awareness rises.
“Right.” I put my practice clothes in my duffel bag to take home and wash. “You’re from Texas. How are you liking it here?”
She shrugs, her navy-blue Marymount sweater vest not something we really wear anymore, but I like her retro style. “Still getting used to it.”
“Yeah, I know people in Texas are maniacal.”
“Maniacal?” she broaches. “About what?”
I pull out my pencil bag. “About being Texan.”
She smiles big and nods. “Can’t argue there. Texan first. American second.”
She doesn’t sound southern, though, so she’s definitely from the city. A bigger city than St. Carmen probably.
I close my locker and finally meet her eyes, seeing her watch me. I straighten, not sure if I’m imagining a signal or not. I look around for Liv.
“Anyway,” she finally goes on, “I just wanted to introduce myself. And see if you need a study partner? Maybe some help with derivatives and integration?”
A study partner? Are those still a thing since Google?
She laughs. “Okay, I need help with derivatives and integration.”
Ah. “Well, I’m no genius,” I add, “but two heads are better than one, I guess.”
But time with a new friend means time I won’t have with Liv, and I can’t do that right now.
I search my brain for an excuse to get out of it, but then I catch sight of Liv approaching behind Chloe.
She stops at my side, her hair in the two French braids I did this morning. She leans her shoulder into the lockers and pins Chloe with a look. “Excuse us.”
Her words are flat, commanding, and void of patience, and I bite back my smile even as a flush rises up to my cheeks.
Chloe’s eyes flash to me and then to Liv again, and I turn, spinning the dial on my locker. Awkward.
“See you around,” I hear her say, and when I turn around again, she’s gone.
Facing Liv, I give her a scolding look, but I’m sure she can see my amusement. “She was just saying hi.”
“She can wave.”
And that look and tone—possessive and jealous and all for me—sets me on fire again.
“Get in the bathroom, Clay,” she mumbles as she rubs an imaginary itch on her chin, trying to look covert in the school hallway.
Butterflies swarm my stomach, and slowly, I make my way past the special committees’ bulletin board and the couple making out. I push through the locker room door and head for the restroom.
I think Liv likes our secret, and although I’m grateful, because I just want her to myself, I have to wonder why she’s not putting up more of a fight to go public. I know she said in the hotel that this probably wouldn’t turn into a relationship, given that we’re both leaving for college in a few months, but something is eating at me. I told her I loved her last night. I don’t know if she forgot, is ignoring it, or she thinks I was lying, but when she said it back, she said she was kidding, so that doesn’t count.
She hasn’t said it back yet—not really—and I don’t know why it hurts a little.
Part of me wants her to fight me on this. To demand we walk down the school hallway hand in hand.
Liv checks the stalls to make sure we’re alone and then follows me into one, the door locking and my books dropping to the floor in a flurry right before she grabs me into her arms.
Slipping my hand under her skirt, I press my body into her as she holds my face, and we kiss. I moan, taking advantage of however many seconds we have alone to let her know how good she feels.
Her tongue caresses mine, and I inhale her scent and the taste of her watermelon-flavored lip tint.
“Mine.” She pants, rubbing her thumb across my lips. “Until graduation. Okay?”
“Yeah.”
She tips my chin back and kisses slowly down my neck. “No one has to know, but you better.”
“I know.” I nod. “Don’t worry, I know.”
I’m yours. Just don’t stop.
We grind on each other, but whenever I try to go faster, she slows us down, and I’m going insane, because it’ll be hours before we can be alone again.
I lift my leg, setting my foot on the toilet seat, and she slips a hand inside her black bandana that she tied around my thigh. Hidden underneath my skirt and from everyone except her who tied it there this morning.
I look down, lifting her wrist and turning it over to see the octopus I drew on the inside, hidden from everyone but me. I drew it there this morning.
We weren’t going to get to talk much at school, but we wanted a constant reminder of each other.
“I know why you like octopi,” she teases.
“Octopuses,” I correct her, moving in for her mouth again. “And there are so many reasons to love them.” We nibble and bite. “You know they can detach limbs at will? Like not rip it off but detach it when they’re in danger?” I keep kissing her, her warm body making chills spread across my arms. “They all have venom, even just a little, and they have nine brains, each arm can act independently from the others. Isn’t that wild?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And they use tools,” I tell her. “They have three hearts. They eat their arms when they’re bored.”
“They can slap eight people at the same time,” she adds and then cuts off my laugh with a kiss that grows deeper and deeper until I’m breathless.
And I can’t take it anymore. I wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her neck, just holding her.
Just hugging her.
She stills, and I know she’s probably wondering what I’m doing, but I just need to memorize this. I don’t know if I really love her, but it’s going to hurt to lose her. I know that.
Finally, I pull away and kiss her again, knowing we’re pressing our luck.
“Let’s go,” I tell her.
I pick up my stuff, and we head into the locker room, clearing out our gear for the day. Only a few people remain, and I’m due at my grandmother’s in the next fifteen minutes.
I really should put in an appearance at Wind House soon too. I’ve only been doing what I absolutely have to if it doesn’t involve Olivia. But…I don’t want to lose Mrs. Gates, either. I know I help her, and it feels good.
“What time are you home tonight?” I ask quietly, keeping my eyes peeled despite our row being empty.
She passes me, tosses something into the trash can, and then grazes her hand under my skirt as she comes back.
“I’ll be in the theater until at least seven,” she whispers. “You?”
“I’m free by then,” I tell her. “Can I come over?”
She tosses discarded towels into the laundry basket and walks over, stopping behind me and pretending to be interested in something in my locker.
“Or my house?” I ask instead.
My mom knows the Jaegers and she might know about Liv, but she’d never suspect.
“You need sleep,” she murmurs. “I need sleep.”
“We don’t have to do that,” I clarify, even though she’s pressing her body into mine and sending me completely different signals. “We can sleep. We can do anything. I don’t care. I just want to be somewhere where I can touch you.”
We both look around, seeing the coast is clear, and her nose brushes my cheek, her warm, fantastic breath sending chills down my spine.
“Pick me up from here at seven thirty,” she says.
“I’ll be here.”
“I’ll be here,” I say again.
I won’t let her down again.
She dives in again, inhales me, and then kisses my temple. “Okay.”
Something moves behind us, and we both jerk our heads, seeing Coomer frozen mid-step between the rows of lockers, her clipboard about to spill out of her hand.
Her mouth hangs open, gaping at us, and Liv backs up, heat seeping out of every pore on my body. How long has she been standing there?
But our coach just blinks, clears her throat, and purses her lips to hide her smile. “Well, that makes a lot more sense now,” she mumbles and keeps walking.
I close my eyes, mortified, not so much out of fear, but because she’s well aware I’ve acted like I hated Liv for nearly the past four years.
Jesus.
“She won’t say anything,” Liv tells me.
“I know.”
But that was close. It could’ve easily been another student.
Liv takes her things and walks past me. “See you later. And if you stand me up again, I’m going to kill you, okay?”
“Understood.”
She leaves, and I bite my bottom lip, because there’s just something about how even her threats are a turn on.
I shake my head clear. But yeah, I won’t stand her up. She’ll really kill me.
• • •
“Clay?”
I twist my head, seeing my mom through the open passenger side window of her white Rover. Her huge, cat-eye sunglasses make her look like a movie star sunbathing on a yacht in Monaco.
Or a big bug. I’m still not sure.
I move toward her, away from my car. “What are you doing here?” I ask. “I have my car.”
School let out eight minutes ago, and the parking lot swarms with students trying to make their getaway.
But my mother tells me, “I’ll bring you back for it.”
I shift on my feet, releasing a sigh. I want my car, because I want to leave Mimi’s when I’m ready.
Mom cocks her head. “I haven’t seen you in almost two days. Get in.”
I click the key fob, locking my car again as I walk to the Rover. Opening the door, I climb in and drop my bag to the floor. We’d be back way before seven thirty. My mom will probably be ready to escape Mimi long before I am.
She pulls out of the parking lot, taking a left onto the quiet street, and I take out my sunglasses, shielding myself against the afternoon sun.
The silence consumes the car, and I can almost hear her breathing it’s so quiet. I glance at the radio, wishing she’d turn it on, but I know if I turned it on it will be playing The Giver audiobook she and my brother were listening to before he died. My mother can’t bear to hear it, but she won’t listen to anything else. That would be like moving on.
“So, I spoke to Cara,” she finally says. “She’s quite concerned because Krisjen didn’t come home last night.”
I turn my eyes out of the window.
“She probably wasn’t worried,” my mom adds, “just that Krisjen wasn’t there to make breakfast for Marshall and Paisleigh this morning.”
Krisjen’s dad left them for another woman about a year ago, and her mom is in a rut she can’t seem to pull herself out of. Not that the marriage had been faithful on either side, but Cara enjoyed her position through the marriage and maintained it for appearances. Without her husband and being Mrs. Lachlan Conroy III anymore, she’s now stuck with a family she no longer wants.
Krisjen is the oldest, and while she never talks about it, I know she’s raising her siblings while her mother tries to chase down another husband.
“I was also concerned,” my mother says, “considering you were supposed to be sleeping over at her house last night.”
I don’t reply.
The silence stretches, and I hear my mother exhale. “You know, you scare me, Clay.”
Her tone is soft. She’s not yelling.
“I admire how you don’t rush to cover your tracks when caught,” she tells me, “and I appreciate you not wasting my time with another lie, but it’s also off-putting.” She hesitates. “It means you don’t care if I find out.”
I am scared, and I do care if she finds out. I won’t tell her the truth, though. I just won’t say anything.
“It’s frightening when you realize you’ve lost control of your child.”
But it’s not like that. If I tell her about Liv, she’ll ruin it. I just want to enjoy it for a while before the stress.
“Some days I still feel your age,” she tells me. “And I know even less about what I’m doing than I did the day before. You think you’ll reach an age where you finally know your place in the world, but nothing ever gets easier.”
I look at her out of the corner of my eye, her lips pursed as she stares at the road, her beautiful clothes and jewelry the image of perfection. Not a blemish. Barely a wrinkle. Not a single dry patch on her hands or a pore on her face visible from where I sit. I want to ask her about the pregnancy. I want to know if it was my father’s. I want the stalemate in our lives to end.
But I don’t want the unknown, either. Not all change is good.
So, I stay quiet.
She clears her throat. “You’re being safe, right?” she asks, seemingly resolved to the fact that I’m sleeping with someone and now wants to make sure I’m not an embarrassment. “We’ve had this talk. I’m not raising any more babies. Don’t be careless.”
“I know.”
I don’t know if I’m relieved that she hasn’t caught my scent yet or disappointed. She thinks I’m sleeping with Callum. I wish I could tell her the truth. I want to tell someone about this excitement I feel every time I look at Liv. I want to share it with someone.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she broaches all of a sudden.
I squeeze my eyes shut behind my glasses, almost breaking into a laugh because the words are on the tip of my tongue.
When I don’t respond, she slows the car, and I turn, watching her pull over to the curb on quiet Levinson Lane, under the canopy of some Spanish moss.
God, just go. Please.
She puts the car in Park, and I feel her twist her body toward me to speak. “Sex is a big deal,” she says, “no matter all the images you see on TV and in movies that try to prove otherwise.”
Yes, yes. We’ve had this talk. Years ago. Just go.
“Sex isn’t just two people being physical, Clay. Young women, especially, can get attached and emotionally invested very quickly. It’s important we feel connected to the people we’re physical with.”
Mm-hmm. I nod.
“And it’s very easy to be hurt when we believe they feel the same and we find out they don’t,” she continues.
“You don’t need to worry,” I tell her, gesturing to the road ahead. “Can we go now?”
I don’t look at her, but I can tell she’s studying me. “I want to know things, okay? If you’re excited and falling in love, I want you to know you can talk to me and share it with me.”
My jaw flexes, my throat swelling.
“Is he making you happy?” she asks.
I draw in a breath. Jesus.
“Is he gentle? Does he make it special?”
I bite the corner of my mouth. I want to tell her how good Olivia Jaeger feels. Yes, Mom. She’s gentle. And I love it when she’s not gentle, too. She makes it special. I don’t want to be anywhere else when I’m with her.
She threads a lock of my hair through her fingers. “You’re stunning, you know? Anyone would be lucky to have you.”
As long as it’s a young man, right?
I open my mouth to say it. To tell her it’s a girl and not a boy, and maybe I’ll lie and tell her I’m just experimenting. I mean, maybe I am.
I could tell her Liv means nothing and we don’t date, but I like what she does to my body and it’s nothing to
worry about. But I catch sight of my brother’s picture hanging on the rearview mirror, and I close my mouth again.
One kid dead. Another who’s… Not normal.
Yeah, her whole world will fall apart. She’s hanging on by a thread as it is. My family is hanging on by a thread. I don’t want to put something out there that I can’t take back.
“It’s okay, Mom,” I whisper. “Just go.”
She stares at me.
“I’m not going to get pregnant,” I blurt out. “I promise.”
I know she’s hurt I won’t talk to her, but if she knew, she’d wish she didn’t.
After a moment, she sits back in her seat and pulls away from the curb, driving us to my grandmother’s.
My mother won’t eat after five o’clock, so these dinners with my grandmother happen early in the afternoon and every week now, given that I’m so close to the ball and getting my ducks in a row for college. Mimi likes to be kept abreast of everything.
Tucker opens the front door before my mother has a chance to and steps aside for us to enter. I swipe my phone from my school bag before he has a chance to take it for me, and then I follow my mom into the foyer.
“Good afternoon,” I hear Mimi say.
My mom embraces her, their lips not quite touching each other’s skin as I shiver in the cold marble room. I look around, inhaling the scent of talcum powder and lavender that always pervaded this house, like my grandmother was ninety when she’s only sixty-five.
The white walls are only discernible from the white floors by the streaks of gray in the stone under my feet. I like white, but this house is like 1980s white—white wood with gold fixtures, splashes of yellow, and beveled mirrors where the frames are also mirrors. I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to look art deco, but it just looks stupid.
“Hi, Mimi.” I smile, mimicking my mother and embracing her with a kissing sound.
“Oh, you’re getting so pretty,” she coos.
She says that every time. Getting pretty. Not quite there, but getting there.
We walk toward the dining room, down a long hallway, interrupted sporadically with doors on one side and a wall of photos on the other. Black and white portraits from years ago, childhood photos, some of my brother and me, my cousins, Easter Sundays, family picnics on the lawn, and my mother—at sixteen at her ball, on the arm of my father as he stands next to her in a tux, his chin high and a loaded smile on his lips. I pause as my mom and grandmother head into supper.
Tryst Six Venom Page 27