Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

overstock here for rehearsals when someone gets covered in fake blood, rain,
or whatever else the production calls for.
Clay’s footfalls hit the steps, and I grab my sizes and turn, leaving the
cabinet open as I brush past her.
“What’s the key for?” she asks.
I head back up to the stage, ignoring her, and pull off my shorts and tank
top. Clothes drop to the table next to me, and I hear her start to strip her wet
stuff.
“You wouldn’t have shown me it if it wasn’t important,” she continues.
“Your dress is ready,” I say, ignoring her question. “Unless you want me
to fuck it up in all the ways your mother will hate. But it’ll cost you.”
She arches an eyebrow, tossing her wet leggings.
Will I really redesign her dress? If she pays, sure. I kind of like the idea
of her wearing something I made, because she wouldn’t if she didn’t like it.
Plus, she’ll remember me every time she sees pictures of herself in it. For the
next fifty years.
“What was that key?” she asks again, pulling on some dark gray sweats,
matching mine. Marymount runs down the left leg in big yellow letters.
I don’t answer her.
I pick up my sweats and lift my leg to put them on, but she lashes out and
pushes me. I chuckle, stumbling back and drop the pants.
Darting out my hands, I shove her back. She stumbles but rights herself,
squaring her shoulders.
I swipe my pants off the ground, not backing down. Clay doesn’t lay her
hands on me unless we’re on the field. She might use the opportunity from
time to time to be rough at practice, and the fact that she’s upped her game
off the field means she’s desperate to get under my skin.
Because time is running out.
“What is that key for?” she demands again.
I shake out the pants again, dusting off any dirt from the floor. “It’s to a
party.”
“When?”
“It’s kind of a pop-up.” My eyes go to the ceiling, trying to act casual.
“And you need a key to get in?”
“I guess so.”
She snatches the sweats out of my hands, approaching me in her pants
and sports bra. “And who will be at this party? Anyone I know?”