faster, my brothers clapping behind me to help me keep time.
“Faster,” Callum orders.
I move faster.
One-two, one-three, one-four, one-five, one-six, one-six, one-five, one-four… Moving through Clay’s and my fingers and back again, the heat from her hand moving through mine and up my arm to my chest.
I dig faster and faster, and harder, but after a moment, all I feel is her eyes on my neck, and I swear she moves in closer, inhaling through her nose.
Smelling me.
And that’s when I recognize the other scent on her. Vodka.
“Don’t stop,” she pants.
My eyelids flutter as her heart pounds against my arm.
The boys clap. Callum, Milo, Becks, and Krisjen watch the knife.
And even though Clay and I aren’t alone, it feels like it. They don’t hear her words.
“I dread the anticipation of pain more than the pain, don’t you?” she says in a low voice. “Most people don’t know when it’s coming. It’s worse when you know it’s coming.”
She speaks so softly. It’s not like her. What is she doing?
“Especially when you know it’s there every day,” she tells me.
I blink long and hard, heat flooding my body as the adrenaline rushes, because if I take my eyes off what I’m doing, I’m going to get hurt, but shit looks blurry now. Goddammit.
The girl is tail. That’s it. She’s a gutter human being and good for nothing else.
Her eyes linger on me, and I watch the timer, dropping to ten seconds left. One-two, one-three, one-four, one-five, one-six, one-six, one-five, one-four…
Her warm breath hits my neck. “Your skin looks like it’s on fire,” she whispers, and I swear I can feel her tongue.
Fuck. I groan, my stomach shaking, because she says it like she’s in pain.
“Olivia,” she pleads.
And my clit throbs, my hand trembles, and the knife slips, slicing right into the side of my middle finger.
Shit! Pain shoots through my hand, I drop the knife, and pull away, gritting my teeth.
Goddammit, Clay.
Laughter erupts at the table, and I turn back, seeing her slide onto Callum’s lap, a self-satisfied smile on her stupid face.
I suck the blood off my finger, looking for any on hers, but it doesn’t look like she was cut at all.
“She does have that effect on me, too,” Callum says, pulling Clay back into his body by her throat and kissing her cheek.
I glare down at her. “You did that on purpose.”
She leans forward, out of his hold, but his hands remain on her, roaming her back like she’s his.
Clay plucks a fry out of the basket, Krisjen’s all smiles as she relishes her bestie’s suave skill with the dyke.
“So what do we get now that we won?” Clay asks me, eating the fry.
“You get to stay,” Trace replies behind me.
“We could stay anyway.”
I pick up my blade, sheathing it and sticking it into my pocket.
“You know,” Clay continues, “I will actually be sorry when my father levels this place. Just think…” She looks over her shoulder at Callum. “We’re sitting right about the ninth hole, right? You’ve seen the blueprints?”
He nods, and Dallas steps forward, but I hold up my arm, keeping him back.
“Such a waste of good key lime pie,” Milo offers.
“Well, the new community needs restaurants,” Clay tells her. “We’ll give Mariette a job.”
And then she pins me with a look, and no matter what we do, they know they’ll win. Not today, but eventually.
“A key lime pie!” Callum calls out to the server. “To go!”
They all start to get up, but I stop them. “Cancel that!” I tell Mariette. And I look at Clay. “Night Tide. You can cross the tracks.”
This isn’t her against me. It’s Saints versus Swamp. Let’s have some fun before everything is gone.
Clay hesitates. “The administration doesn’t allow that. We have to stay in St. Carmen.”
Night Tide is a senior tradition. A scavenger hunt around town. All night. There’s usually unsanctioned drinking and a secret scavenger hunt that is also not allowed by the administration.
I give her a loaded look. “We won’t tell.”
Callum listens close as Clay ponders, her friends letting her make the call.
“All of us,” she says.
I nod.
“All night.”
I nod again.
“And we can go anywhere.”
“You can try,” I say.
I won’t lose again.
“Deal,” she says.
They rise from their seats, Callum dropping some money on the table as they filter past us, toward the door.
But Clay stops at my side, speaking low and close again. “And you owe me a new dress,” she says.
She leaves, and I smile to myself. Yeah, good luck with that.