My blood warms under my skin, the hair on my arms rising, and all of a sudden, the possibilities seem endless tonight. An inch… I rub the inside of my finger, brushing my tattoo. I got it on my birthday in December to remind me that there’s a piece of myself I hate and love and it drives me nuts, but I need it, because it’s the only thing I look forward to. That place I can escape to in my head where I can have the only thing I want anymore.

“As long as it stays secret,” she points out again.

Yes.

“That is the price, I’m afraid.”

I nod once. I can live with that. As long as I can have her. Thank you, Mimi.

She gives me her cheek, and I leave a quick peck before climbing to my feet and hurry out of the hall before my mother sees. Once outside, I send her a quick text, letting her know I’ll be home late and to grab my stuff from the dressing room.

I’m about to text Callum that I’m ready and waiting, but I see a tattooed neck in a dark gray T-shirt straddling an old Triumph. I forget my phone and stare at the middle son of Tryst Six, cigarette smoke drifting into the air above his head.

He was the one checking me out last week when he dropped Liv off at school. I smile, tucking my phone back into my bag.

Oh, she’ll hate this. I walk up to him. “Hi.”

Turning his head, Iron sucks on the cigarette, the end burning orange before he takes it out of his mouth.

He doesn’t say hi back. He knows who I am.

“I’m Clay,” I tell him anyway.

He faces forward, blowing out the smoke. “Yeah, I know.”

Well, what a peach. Maybe he knows about the video. How could he not, I guess?

I take my chances anyway. “I’m doing a senior scavenger hunt. I need to take a selfie with a stranger.”

He shoots me a look, taking another drag. “Is that school-sanctioned? Sounds unsafe.”

I pull out my phone again. “Can I take a selfie with you?”

“No.” He shakes his head, turning away again. “Like I said, I know who you are.”

He doesn’t really seem angry, though. Maybe she didn’t tell her family about the video. Maybe he’s just prejudiced, because I’m a Collins.

I pass him and his bike, step into the street, and stick my thumb out, feeling my loose denim shorts slide down my hips as I move.

“What are you doing?” I hear him ask, a sudden edge to his voice.

“I need a ride across the tracks.” A car passes, honking its horn, and I see it’s some rusty old Honda filled with young guys. “I’m meeting Liv.”

“Pretty sure Liv is the last person meeting you.”

“Hey!” someone calls.

I look behind me to see the Honda has stopped, one of the dudes poking his head out of the window.

I look back to Iron.

“Don’t you have a driver or something?” he spits out. “Hitching is dangerous.”

I back up toward the Honda, giving him a wicked smile.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, stop,” he barks, rolling his eyes and taking up his bike. “I’ll take you.”

I grin wider and leap into a run, climbing on the bike behind him and taking the helmet he offers.

He starts the engine, the bike vibrating under me, and I watch the Honda pull off when I don’t take their ride.

“You’re good, kid.” He looks over his shoulder, his sarcasm pretty thick. “I wish you’d use that brain for better rather than worse.”

A car pulls up, and I see Krisjen peek her head out the back window. Milo sits next to her.

“Clay, let’s go!” She looks up me like ‘what the hell are you doing?’

Callum sits in the driver’s seat, a small smile tilting his lips like he’s ready for anything I have planned.

“I got a ride,” I tell her.

I hear Iron groan, probably because there are witnesses now, and I wrap my arms around him, damn near laughing as my heart races.

“Clay!” Krisjen urges. “What the hell?”

But I just whisper to Liv’s brother, “Go.”

He shakes his head, his greasy brown hair kind of good-looking against his tan face. “My gut told me you were trouble,” he grumbles. “Hold on.”

He launches off, and a whimper escapes as my heart leaps into my throat. We fly forward, the moisture thickening the air as the clouds hang low, and I chance a look behind me to see the tires of Callum’s car spinning and burning rubber as he sets off after us.

I squeeze Iron, the wind picking up with the speed, and I peer over his shoulder, watching as he flies us down the road, through the warehouse district, and onto Frontress Lake Drive, speeding along the canal and toward the tracks.

The bass from Callum’s car booms on our tail, and I can tell he’s gaining by the how loud his Nine Inch Nails song is getting.

But not for long.

Iron grabs hold of my hands locked in front of him, holding me to him, as he kicks the bike up a gear, the front tire catches air, and we bolt ahead faster. I giggle—actually fucking giggle—in his ear, and I spot a little grin on his face, too.

Settling into the man’s back, I watch as St. Carmen falls away, the lush lawns, boutiques, centuries-old churches, and the opulent edifices of the mansions tucked deep among the bald cypresses and strangler figs.

Green, gorgeous land lies beyond, the sky growing dark with the stars covered by clouds. My skin buzzes with something I hardly ever feel anymore.

Anticipation.

Henry would love this. I don’t think he ever got to ride on a motorcycle.

“Iron, get her off your bike!” someone barks.

Iron pulls to an abrupt stop at the stop sign and I press into his back, looking over my shoulder to see Liv.

A pain hits my chest. I watch her cruise up next to us, her bike black, smaller, and older, but God…I rarely get to see her out of school clothes or lacrosse gear, and I can’t take my eyes off of her.

She puts her boots on the ground and scowls at her brother through her aviators. “This isn’t a joke!” she yells at him.

And she flashes a glance back at Callum’s car racing toward us.

My tongue feels like it’s swelling so much I’ll choke on it. Her legs in her tight black jeans. Her knees bare through the holes, her low-cut white top, and her faded leather jacket… Her hair wild and loose down her back, no helmet, and dog tags hanging around her neck. I notice the key she flashed on the lacrosse field last weekend hanging in between.

I loosen my hold on Iron, thinking about holding onto her instead. She’d fit perfectly.

“Aw, Jesus.” She looks at me. “You ever experience a Cuban temper? You’re about to.”

I look behind me once more, seeing a Toyota Tacoma racing side by side Callum, the cab filled with three, long-haired individuals. Women?

I look at Iron. “A girlfriend?”

“Ex,” he points out.

Oh, Jesus. I hop off his bike, climbing on behind Liv instead.

“Get off!” she yells, trying to shake me.

But I wrap my arms around her, feeling the switchblade hooked onto her jeans. “Scared of me?”

She breathes out a laugh. “I’m sick of you getting your way,” she mumbles, more like she’s arguing with herself than me. “What the fuck do I care if Aracely rips out all your hair?”