Page 21 of Revelry

Six hours later, I’m slightly tipsy on account of Zed and I doing shots all afternoon. Okay, so maybe tipsy is an understatement. I’m practically paralytic, and I’m whisked into a cab and headed for Zed’s home with the rest of the boys, Leif included. Though she scares me—more often than not—I kind of wish Deb was around. Most of the time they treat me like one of the boys, which I’m more than happy with, but all this testosterone, tattooed muscle and booze makes me think dangerous thoughts. Very, very dangerous thoughts, especially where Cooper is concerned.

I follow Zed into his Darlinghurst loft. It’s huge. The ultimate bachelor pad, decked out with a kitchen, matte black appliances, neon signs and a stripper pole in the middle of the lounge room. Deep red couches are arranged in a U shape around the pole, which sits on a glossy black podium lined with little red lights.

“You have a stripper pole?” I ask, staring at the shiny gold post in the centre of the room. It’s bolted to the ceiling, and it glints like something forbidden in the podium lights.

“Yup,” Zed says, as he hands me another drink. I don’t even look at what it is before I’ve downed it in one go. I’m sort of numb, so the burn just kind of permeates my chest with warm and fuzzy feelings.

“In your lounge room?” I ask.

“Yup.”

“Do you know any strippers?”

He sits down on the podium, sipping his beer. “No, it’s for me.”

I blink in surprise. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s how I work out. You wanna see?”

“Oh god, please no,” Levi says. “Every time we come here I leave with the vision of you mounting your giant gold pole seared into my retinas.”

“Pole dancing is one of the only sports that incorporates a head to toe work out.”

“Yeah, which head?” Leif says, licking the flimsy paper of the joint he’s just rolled and then lighting it up.

“You know, Zed, you could invite any one of our groupies back here to use this thing. You wouldn’t even need to throw money at them, and yet you use it all wrong. You’re using it wrong, man.” Levi accepts the spliff that Leif offers and brings it to his lips, sucking in a deep breath. I watch on, mesmerised at the way the paper burns. “It’s like somewhere along the way you lost your cock and grew a vagina.”

“I don’t know.” Zed shrugs. “I get plenty of pussy out of it.”

“How?” Ash asks.

“Pole dancing classes,” Zed says, as if it’s self-explanatory. The room erupts with laughter, but Zed just grins. “Don’t laugh. I’ve been going to that class every week for a year and I haven’t once come home alone.”

“Say what?” Levi says.

“I’m telling you, man, it’s the ultimate place to pick up bendy chicks.”

“Zed, I wanna see your pole,” I remark, and I may be just a little too drunk to let their ribbing affect me. “Oh shut up, I meant his dancing. Pass me the fucking joint.” I flop down on the long couch beside Cooper. Levi sits on my opposite side and hands me the joint. I haven’t smoked weed since uni—which I guess wasn’t really all that long ago, but I never had premium shit like this.

When I pull back on the joint, smoke burns my lungs, and my head spins until I exhale. I cough and splutter for a bit and then I hand it to Cooper. I try to ignore the buzz of electricity that shoots straight to my vagina when his fingers touch mine and his eyes meet my gaze. And here’s the dumb thing—I watch his mouth as he puts the joint to his lips. I watch those lips and I imagine what they would feel like on my body, and my stupid traitorous snatch pretty much floods my panties as if it’s trying to purge the earth of all things unholy. When I lift my gaze I discover Cooper is staring just as intently at me.

“Jesus Christ, would you two just fuck it out already?” Ash murmurs, snatching the smoke from Cooper. I glance at him, wondering why he seems so mad about Coop and I sharing a … okay I don’t really even know what the hell we were just sharing. A moment? No. That’s impossible, because we hate one another.

Zed Jumps up from the floor, where he was apparently doing push-ups. Something I might have enjoyed watching if my whorish Hoo-Hah hadn’t been plotting and scheming ways to get Cooper Ryan’s penis alone. Zed takes off his shirt and tosses it at me before unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them down his hips.

It’s not wrong that my mouth is hanging open, right?

“Are you getting naked?” I slur. “Not that I mind, but like, is it necessary to take your clothes—”

Zed grins, stepping out of his jeans, and suddenly I don’t care that we’re in his lounge room and he’s preparing to wrap his big-arsed body around a pole for me because Zed’s standing on the podium in boxer briefs and his tattoos and nipple rings are on display and—

“Oh, wow, that’s … hmm.” I trail off, crossing my legs and squeezing my thighs together. “That’s hot.”

“Close your mouth, Red,” Levi says, “You’ll only encourage him.”

“Surprisingly, I’m really okay with that.”

Zed hits a button on the remote in his hands and the stereo explodes to life. I expect some kind of death metal music, but a song from what sounds like a Russian caravan filters out of the speakers, drowning the room with accordions, percussion, guitars and some gravel voiced singer who sounds like he chews cigarettes for breakfast. Zed tosses the remote onto the couch beside Ash and grabs the pole, starting out slow with a simple turn and then moving into a series of complicated positions that look as though they require a crap tonne of patience, practice and overall body strength.

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