Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

And despite my anger, I laugh as he swings me around.
He sets me down, and Iron brings me in for a hug. “Congratulations,
kiddo.”
“Thanks.”
Dallas and Army walk up behind them, parents and everyone else on the
bleachers slowly spilling into the parking lot to head home.
I look around. “Where’s Macon?”
He said he’d come to this one.
But by the look in Army’s eyes, I already know the answer. “Had to stay
and get shit done, kid.”
Yeah. I look away. I know.
“Come on.” Trace nudges me, trying to cheer me up. “Mariette’s. I’m
starving.”
“Me too,” Iron adds, taking my gear bag from me.
They pull me along, some of the girls leaving with their parents who
came to watch, too, and others celebrating in the parking lot.
We pile into the truck, Iron tosses my bag into the bed, and Dallas starts
the engine. I peer out the window as he shifts it into gear, seeing Clay leaning
against the bus and scrolling through her phone.
It’s not unusual until I notice our other teammates laughing with friends
and getting hugs from proud parents. Don’t Clay’s parents usually come to
the games? Thinking back, I guess I can’t remember.
Maybe I should be less mad Macon never shows and just be grateful
someone does.
“So, your birthday’s soon,” Army says from the front seat.
“Huh?”
He turns his head, looking at me. “The twenty-ninth. It’s in a little over a
week.”
I wiggle my eyebrows. “What are you getting me?”
A car? Please say it’s a car.
“A stripper,” he replies.
Trace and Iron laugh, but I’m not impressed, because he’s most likely not
joking. “I have taste you can’t afford.”
“What are you talking about?” he replies. “Flamingo Flo’s has top-notch
ladies.”
“Flamingo Flo’s employs hillbilly meth-heads,” I shoot back.
Army snorts, and everyone laughs again, knowing that’s all too true, and I