Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

of my chair slide out from behind me. “It’s the best jacket,” Chloe says. “I
want one. Can you buy them aged like this?”
I force a little laugh, like I’ve done all week, so Clay knows she didn’t
beat me. “Yeah, that one was brought to maturation in charred oak barrels.”
She goes wide-eyed.
“I’m kidding.”
I guess I’m the only one here who knows how to make bourbon, thanks to
Army.
“It’s actually just years of wear and tear,” I tell her. “Gotta put in the
work.”
She hops up, standing next to me as she slips her arms into my jacket, and
I don’t even mind that she doesn’t ask permission. I want Clay to see me
have as many interactions that don’t include her as possible.
I look up at Chloe, her blonde hair just grazing the shoulders as she grips
both sides of the zipper and models the distressed leather. Her skirt flares as
she spins, and she could almost be Clay.
“It suits,” I say.
“Definitely hot,” Curtis Harbor coos to my left. “Even hotter if you didn’t
have anything on underneath.”
“Ugh,” Chloe gags.
But then her eyes turn on me, and something passes behind her eyes,
almost like she’s wondering herself if I’d like how that would look.
But I picture Clay, instead. Lying in my bed as I peel the jacket open and
kiss her body underneath.
I clench my thighs.
“All right, point me to your supplier,” Chloe tells me, slipping out of the
jacket. “I’m getting one.”
But I stop her. “Wear it,” I say, hoping Clay hears every damn word, and
I don’t care how childish I seem. “You can wear it today, if you want.”
I hear a crunch, a gasp, and then Amy’s yelp, “Clay!”
“Shit,” someone growls, and I can’t hide my smile, recognizing Clay’s
voice.
Oops. Someone just spilled their Starbucks.
“Are you sure?” Chloe asks me.
“It looks good.”
She puts the jacket back on and takes her seat, and it’s funny that I was
jealous of Clay talking to her, and now I’m using her to make Clay jealous.