Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

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