Page 24 of Rawest Venom

“Now who’s the brat?”

Gathering my corset, I tighten it enough so that I can leave without flashing anyone. What a prick. He’s lucky I didn’t break his arm while I was there. Or worse.

Once in my car, regretting my decision not to cancel, I bang on the steering wheel a few times. It’s definitely a self-care night. I haven’t been allowed one in a long time.

That thought has me popping into a convenience store. I find the freezer section and frown at the sparse selection. Not that it was much better when I was a child, but I do think there was more then. It’s hard to recall. Maybe someonetoldme there was more once, and the lie got spread so much, we all just believed it to be the truth.

It doesn’t matter, because even with only vanilla or chocolate ice cream to choose from, it’s impossible. Staring at the paper pints makes my eyes go blurry until I see myself in the reflection of the glass door, haggard and scared. Why is it that I can take down a big man without a care in the world, but the thought of having to pick a book or a flavor is terrifying?It’s just a dessert, I keep telling myself. But the more I do, the more panicked I become.

“Hey, do you need help?” The sound of a young man’s voice breaks my spiral. He’s probably in high school and thinks I’m an insane woman standing in front of an empty case in a miniskirt and corset. Crossing my arms, I point a tucked finger at my current nemeses.

“Which would you choose?”

Slowly creeping toward me as if I may bite him, he peeks at the products. “Uh, which do you want?”

“That’s the problem! I don’t know!” Tears burst from my eyes. It’s not a manipulation for once. These water droplets rush from the dam of what I believe to be frustration.

Skirting past me, the kid opens the door and shoves the cold cup in my hand. “Sorry. Chocolate. Here, take the chocolate.”

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and give him a small smile, sniffling. “Thank you.”

Behind the glasses of the old man at the register, his eyes scan my frame with judgment, but he doesn’t say anything except the price as he rings up my defeat. Skirting out of the place, I hold my little carton of ice cream in front of me all the way home, another piece of sad evidence of my lies.

But nothing true survives.

As I place my back to the apartment door, I gaze at the half-melted strings of milk chocolate running down my hand, then toss it in the sink. Maybe I don’t want ice cream.

My muscles don’t relax until twenty minutes into my hot bath. And once I slide into my bed, I’m able to fall asleep easily,notdreaming of Rainier.

Eight

JANE

By Monday morning, I’d forgotten about the fake dominant dating debacle. All I fantasized about over the weekend was where Cal could be taking us the following week, and even spent time trying on at least ten different looks I thought he may like.

Is he outdoorsy? He seems to like the cold. Though he never talks about outside activities, he was at home in the park the night we went. Did he enjoy it?

Just as I plan an after-work sweater shopping session, Cal’s handsome face greets me at the front door of the store but looks to be in poor shape. He looks like my reflection in the freezer on Friday night, as if he hasn’t slept in a few days and had to make some tough decisions. Dark blue circles line his eyes.

As he stalks toward me with a big smile, I gasp. “Oh, you’re hurt!” Running around the counter, I snag a tissue from the nearby box and hold it up to a cut along his cheek. His face leans into my palm, the heat of his skin warming the coldness of mine.

“Oh, no. I must have scratched myself while I was asleep. It’s not bad.” Holding up his fingers in the air, he gives them all a wiggle. “Don’t worry. Cut my nails this morning.”

“Yeah, it’s scabbed over already.” Standing back, I pop up and down on my toes, giving him a flirty smile. “Huh, I would think a big fancy guy like yourself would have a manicurist on call to take care of these precious hands.”

Weaving his fingers through his wavy chocolate locks, he breathes a laugh. “I should. But I have this weird thing about random people touching me. Doyouknow how to do nails?”

My stomach does a little flip. Stepping back around to my spot, I smile to myself. That means he thinks I’m not random. I’m not random! “I do… Next time, you can call me.”

Cal leans over the counter on his elbow and lights me up with his jade eyes. “Maybe I will.” A moment passes between us, and all I can think of is what his lips must taste like. Perhaps sweet herbal tea or non-fluoridated toothpaste. Before I delve further into his intoxicating trance, he says, “I mean, I do have some pretty innovative nail clippers you could use.”

My brow furrows. “Oh?”

“Yeah. They’re on thecutting edgeof technology.” One side of his mouth kicks up into a smirk, and the smile that stretches across my face is unstoppable.

“You know, I used to file my nails, but I thought…what’s the point of keeping them?”

With full gusto, he laughs at my pun, then reachesout and pushes a lock of hair behind my ear. Delicately. Softly. And the little hop in my belly rolls to a tumble.

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