“My crew plays dirty.” I hug her close. “Yours plays bloody. Don’t worry, I know we won’t win tonight.”

“No, you won’t.”

“So, let’s go,” I say and then whisper into her ear. “Just you and me for the next five minutes.”

She turns her head away from my whisper, but I feel her chest cave and her stomach shake. I love feeling what I do to her.

“I hate you,” she growls. But she revs the bike and takes off, and I smile, tucking my chin onto her shoulder.

Ditto.

I close my eyes, squeezing her until I’m sure she can’t escape. The wind whips through my hair, and the scent of the palms hits my nose, and I wish it was day. I wish I could see the clouds.

Heat pools low in my belly, and I hug her with my thighs, aware of her everywhere.

Iron didn’t feel like this. She smells like—I tip my nose up under her ear. Like one of those artisanal perfume oils popular in the hippie shops where they suck up all the oxygen, burning incense, and then wonder why they don’t have any customers.

But I like it on her. She smells like cherry lollipops and…summer. I dip my nose in more, grazing her skin.

“Fuck me or cut it out, Clay,” she says, throwing me another scowl over her shoulder. “Your bullshit isn’t funny.”

I keep my smile to myself. I pull my nose out of her neck, but I stay close as we cruise into the Bay. This neighborhood was incorporated into St. Carmen in 1942, but its residents only admitted that when they were forced to give their addresses on a job application. To them, Sanoa Bay still lives, and if anyone says they reside here, then you know their families have been rooted on the land since the sixteenth century. No one moves into this shithole by choice.

Liv zooms past overgrown properties and turns onto a muddy road, sporadic streetlights lining the dark path before we come to the village center, which is basically Mariette’s, a small motel, a gas station, a bar, and an autobody shop where the kiddies can feed the alligators marshmallows while you wait for your oil change.

Past the shop is a long street, homes and dilapidated mansions of the old landowners, before they lost their land to St. Carmen, sitting hidden among the trees.

Liv stops the bike, a flurry of activity in every direction in the Bay. Lights decorate Mariette’s where groups of men and families enjoy dinner and beers, and the doors to the auto shop are open, their lights shining and “Crimson and Clover” pouring out from inside.

I hop off the bike and immediately head for the bar. “I need a condom from the men’s room.”

But before she even turns off the bike, she reaches out and grabs my arm. “Not from in there.”

Why?

I cock my head. “Get your hands off me. You agreed to this.” Or better yet… “You offered this.”

She holds my eyes for another moment and then finally releases me. “Fuck it.” She shakes her head, parking the bike. “Go.”

Pivoting on my heel, I pull out my phone and bring up the list in my Notes. I hear her footfalls after me, but I make it to the door before she can change her mind and grab me again.

I pull open the wooden door, some kind of classic rock playing inside as the smell of cigarettes, fried food, and rotting wood hits me.

People turn and look, two ladies shooting darts, a few people at the bar, and two pool tables filled with guys who clearly didn’t shower after work today. I pause for a moment, taking in the red neon lighting around the bar and the plywood tables, their veneer chipped and surrounded by mismatched chairs. I immediately picture my mother, clutching her handbag and refusing to sit for fear of staining her white blouse.

The bartender—a skinny, bleached blonde with black roots, dressed in a black T-shirt with some kind of tattoo around the outside of her eye narrows her gaze. “Liv, what are you doing?” she asks, sounding more like a warning than a question.

“She needs to, uh, use the bathroom,” Liv tells her, humor in her tone.

The woman takes me in for another moment and then sighs, waving her hand. She resumes counting her register.

“You don’t have to babysit me,” I mutter over my shoulder. “I know Sanoa Bay made their own list tonight. What’s on yours?”

She doesn’t respond, and I don’t look back. Starting off, I spot a hallway to the right and assume that’s where the restrooms are. I walk for it.

I would really love to know what’s on her scavenger hunt. The school uses a template they designed a generation ago, but they fine-tune it every year, keeping up with the times and all. Since it’s school-approved, everyone “officially” plays from that one. If asked.

That didn’t mean any of us really use it, though. I still need to get that photo with a stranger, and there are plenty in here.

Sticking my hand inside my T-shirt, I use it as a glove, twisting the handle of the men’s room door.

A twist knob on the restroom door. That’s a good indication of the shitshow I’m going to find inside. Unnnnnnnsanitaryyyyy.

I open the door, the hinges whining as I look around. Three urinals cover the wall to my right, the porcelain stained after years of use, and two stalls, one without a door, sit across from them, reflected in the mirror.

Something bangs into a stall wall, and then I hear something else, but I don’t see anyone.

Letting the door fall closed, I step farther inside. Liv enters behind me, and I’m not sure if she’s protecting them from me or me from them, but whatever. My friends will find out where I’ve gone. They’ll be here soon.

Panting hits my ears, followed by a woman’s whimper, and I listen, hearing the screech of shoes across the tile and a steady rhythm start to hit the stall. The loose screws holding the walls in place clank as the pace speeds up.

People are fucking in here. Is this why she didn’t want me in this dive?

I look at Liv. “Classy.”

“At least they’re not on YouTube.”

They can be. I take out my phone, but she presses her hand down on mine, forcing it away. “Stop it,” she mouths.

“Relax,” I whisper. “I’m texting my friends where I am.”

She releases me, leaning into the wall and putting her hand on her hip. I toss out a group text to Callum, Amy, Milo, and Krisjen, telling them where to find me. Hopefully that Aracely chick and her friends aren’t holding them up.

I tip my head toward the condom machine, snapping a selfie as proof I was here, and then pull some change out of my bag. “So, Iron is single?” I ask as I put away my phone. “Or is that girl in the pickup still claiming status?”

She hoods her eyes.

I slide my change into the machine and twist the old lever, the moaning from the stall growing heavier and louder. “You didn’t tell them, did you?” I ask her.

On the one hand, you’d think she’d want to send all the muscle she could after me, or find some way to embarrass my family by broadcasting my behavior; but on the other hand, I understand why she didn’t.

And I’d relied on that when I’d posted the video. Reporting me would only draw more attention to her, and Liv doesn’t play the victim. Ever.

I pull the condom out of the machine and tuck it into my bag. “It wasn’t that bad,” I tell her, continuing to defend myself and I don’t know why. “They didn’t recognize Martelle.”