Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

“Caveman!”
“Love bug!”
“Gorilla!”
“Sweetie, honey pie!”
I snort, nearly dying.
“Ape!” she cries.
“Buttercup.”
“Ugh!”
Then, I hear a door slam, and I let a laugh escape. I’ve never seen anyone
handle her like that.
“You know…” I head out from under the balcony and across the
driveway toward him. “One of these days she’s going to decide your hedge
sculptures aren’t worth it and have you fired.”
“And quickly realize her mistake.” He pulls out his shirt but uses it to
wipe his back dry. “She loves me.”
Sure. I look over the load of tools in his truck bed, everything he needed
for landscaping today. The rest of the crew is already gone.
“Can you give me a ride back to school?” I ask, glancing over my
shoulder at the house. “Like quickly?”
Before I’m caught and before I’m late. It’s after seven already.
He opens the door for me, and I hop in, the smell of rust and dirt
immediately hitting me.
But I pull the door closed and wait for him to round the truck to the
driver’s side.
The ripped imitation leather pinches the backs of my thighs, and I find
some footing through the takeout bags and empty soda cans on the floor.
Trace gets in, starts the truck and turns up the radio, peeling out of the
driveway like he’s unaware he has to stop and wait for the gate to open.
As soon as we’re through, he rolls down the window, and I do the same,
the wind blowing through the cab.
“So you want me to put my shirt on, too?” he asks.
I turn my eyes on him, not seeing a shirt in sight, so I don’t know how
he’s going to do that.
“Didn’t even notice, did you?” he teases, lighting a cigarette. “I guess I
don’t have to worry that you’re faking it with my sister.”
Smoke puffs up as the end burns orange, and I kind of want to ask him for
one.