“They recognized me,” she retorts.

“So why put the video back up?”

“Because fuck you, that’s why.”

I stare at her, despising that I don’t have a comeback.

“Was that what the locker room was all about?” She moves in closer. “You had somebody filming me again?”

We’re both five-seven, but she feels taller somehow. Like she hasn’t been thinking about it in the same way I have.

“Or maybe you came tonight to try to get me into the same position,” she says, “so you could humiliate me some more?”

She thinks it was a ploy. Kissing her in the locker room.

She doesn’t think it was real for me.

“Yeah, it’s that easy with a queer, isn’t it?” she taunts. “You think I’m just going to drop down and thank my lucky stars to fuck anything pretty, any time, any place, right? Because I’m desperate? Because gays are hypersexual, is that it?”

“I don’t know…you seemed pretty into it,” I whisper.

The woman’s whimpers turn to cries, and his panting grows more ragged as we hold each other, our gazes locked.

“Turn me around,” the girl tells him.

We listen as they shift positions and continue, Liv’s lips so still as she watches me.

Her brown eyes hold mine, and I don’t know if she’s two seconds from pulling me into the empty stall or hitting me, but my heart thunders against my chest as the couple kisses and breathes, and I can feel the wet heat on their skin from here.

I stare at her, the world spinning around us, and we almost don’t notice a man entering the room. He pauses briefly as he passes us before making his way for the urinals.

But I don’t look away from her.

He pisses, and I see a smile peek out on her mouth as the steady stream fills the air and it makes me want to laugh too.

Wow.

I take out my phone again. “I need a picture of a water feature.”

But she snatches the phone. “Let’s see the real list.”

I grab for it, but she pulls the phone away, looking at the screen. “Seminole flag,” she reads and looks up at me. “The one at the lighthouse, I presume?”

I clamp my mouth shut.

The couple in the stall comes, and I hear the man at the urinal laugh, banging on the door twice as he zips up.

“Keeping the spark alive in there, Mr. and Mrs. Torres?”

The woman laughs, followed by the man’s voice. “Eat me.”

The guy walks away, washing his hands and smoothing back his hair. “Sounds like your wife beat me to it.”

He passes us, stopping and speaking to Liv. “¿Está todo bien?”

Liv doesn’t look at him, staying focused on me. “You expressed an interest in Macon?” she asks me.

Huh?

And then I remember teasing her about it in the theater.

But without waiting for my answer, she hands me back my phone and says to him, “Take her to my brother, will you?”

He looks at me.

“What?” I blurt out.

But he doesn’t hesitate. Bending over, he sweeps me up and throws me over his shoulder, and I yelp, snatching my hands off his back, because he’s all sweaty and wet.

“Let go of me!” I bellow, lifting up and glaring at Liv.

We’re out the door in less than two seconds, and I flail, kicking and screaming. “Hey!”

“You wanted to know what was on the Bay list?” I hear Liv ask.

I lift my head up, breathing hard as the guy carries me outside and she follows.

“Only one thing,” she teases, a wicked smile playing on her mouth. “You.”

Me? What?!

What the hell is she doing?

“Clay!” I hear someone call. I twist, looking around me, but I can’t see shit.

“Clay!” Callum barks next.

I see shoes and hear splashes through puddles as my friends find me and follow.

“You’re going to pay for this!” I growl at Liv.

“I’ve been paying since the day I met you,” she retorts. “It’s about time I enjoy it.”

“MACON!” SANTOS CALLS out as if announcing the pizza’s here. “Got some problems for you, man.” And then under his breath, “As if you don’t have enough already.”

“Put her down now,” Callum tells him, but no one listens.

We enter the body shop, Clay’s party following close and yelling, creating a ruckus as Dallas, Trace, and Army head over to see what’s up.

“Let me go!” Clay shouts.

The bar is only a hundred yards from the body shop, so it was as easy as carrying a sack of potatoes for my brother’s friend.

Trace smiles wide, his plaid pajama pants hanging low on his hips with no shirt. He fits his baseball cap on backward, covering his messy hair. “Oh, I’m gonna enjoy this,” he mutters, and then to Santos. “Drop her.”

Dallas wipes off his hands, and the rest of the Sanoa Bay patriarchy with an average age of twenty-seven crowd around, leaving their hobby bikes and beer, ready to drip all their machismo at any given opportunity. Normally, I shun it, but it’ll be useful tonight.

Santos flops Clay over and drops her on the old sofa, the brat shooting up, her eyes spitting daggers. I lean back against a worktable, ready for the show. She deserves this.

I can’t believe I dropped my guard in that locker room. She just felt so good.

I watch her, every muscle primed and ready and the fire in her eyes. God, she felt good.

But she’s not good. Emotions just bottled up over years without any outlet, and I was finally able to take them out on her and I guess it didn’t matter how. That’s all that was.

Macon steps out from underneath a car, grabbing the shop rag out of his back pocket as he looks around to see what the commotion is.

Taking one look at Clay, he turns away, bored. “Get ’em out of here.”

But Trace steps up. “Oh, come on, Macon—”

But Macon twists his head, the look we all know well leveling Trace. He shuts up.

“Liv said we were welcome tonight,” Callum points out. He walks over and takes Clay’s hand in his, pulling her to his side.

“My sister doesn’t get to extend invitations,” Macon tells him, tossing me a warning look.

I shrug. “What’s the harm in letting them absorb some local color?”

“Keep it up.” He wipes his hands. “You’re gonna absorb my boot in your ass.”

Yeah, yeah.

“Finish your fucking Night Tide on your side of the tracks,” he tells them.

Clay stares, her eyes shifting between my brother and me, looking like she expects me to intervene, and why the hell would I do that? Honestly, they’re lucky to get out of here unscathed. Macon is taking it easy.

“Come on, Clay.” Amy pulls at her friend.

“It smells like shit over here anyway,” Milo adds.

They start to drift toward the bay doors, but Clay refuses to budge. She pulls her hands free. “No.”

“Come on,” Amy urges. “I’m already fucking bored.”

You mean scared, Amy? I hold in my laugh.

“I said no.” Clay steps up toward my brother, and my heart stops for a moment. I stand up straight.