Page 82 of The Rebel of Raleigh High
31
ALEX
This place isand always has been a dirty little secret. It's been renamed a thousand and one times in a thousand and one ways. The bank; the grocery store; the post office. When a guy's wife asks him where he's been, he'll say he was at the game. When a woman has to explain to her husband why she smells of stale booze and cigarette smoke, she'll tell him she was pulling an extra shift on the casino floor. Very few people tell the truth and admit to spending time at the Rock, though. It's tantamount to saying:I cheated on you; I fell off the wagon; I stole the housekeeping money; I broke a promise I swore I would never break.
When the door swings open and someone new arrives at the Rock, the customers already at the bar or snuggled into the booths all hold their collective breath, heads turning in unison, squinting into the dark to see if (horror of horrors) it’s someone they might know.
We walk through the winding hallways, past Monty’s empty office, and through the ‘Staff Only’ door into the bar. Fifty pairs of eyes turn on us as the patrons take a beat to assess the newcomers. It only takes a half a second for the regulars to recognize my face.
In the far corner on the stage, a Led Zeppelin cover band is murdering “A Whole Lotta Love.’On the narrow catwalks that protrude out onto the bar floor, two of Monty’s favorite girls are already down to their bikini tops and G-strings.
I’m so used to this place that nothing about it surprises me. What the hell is Silver making of all of this, though? I try to see the place through her eyes, to imagine what she’s thinking right now, but it’s impossible. I’m jaded and rotten down to my core, and Silver is a fucking innocent. She’sgood. We’re too dissimilar for me to piece together what might be going through her head as Jasmine, the stripper closest to us sinks slowly to her knees, arching her back, eyes heavy-lidded, glossed lips parted, and she slides her hands beneath her bikini top, cupping her own breasts. When one of the loggers sitting at the edge of the catwalk drops three dollar bills in front of her, she teases the material of her bikini top aside, exposing her tits, squeezing them in her hands, her pierced nipples on display, and Silver tenses beside me.
“Moretti! What the fuck, dude!”
Ah, shit. I scan over the top of the crowd, searching for Paul, the owner of the loud, obnoxious voice that just called out across the bar. Takes me a second to find him behind the altar on the other side of the room. Taking Silver by the hand I steer her toward him, doing my best to keep my face as emotionless as possible.
When we reach the bar, Paul—one of Monty’s nephews, the tallest, skinniest guy I’ve ever come across—glares at me, anger simmering in his eyes. “You fucking kidding me right now?” he hisses. “You know you can’t be here unless you’re on shift. No underage drinking at the Rock.”
“Fuck you, Paul. I’ll come here whenever I want. And you’ll shut your goddamn stupid, ugly, dumb, moronic…” I can’t keep it up any longer. He’s already started to smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and once he starts, I can never keep my shit together. I laugh, dropping the act as he leans across the bar, holding his fist out for me to bump.
“What’s up, man?” Paul arches his eyebrow, jerking his head none-too-subtly toward Silver. I know it’s absolutely killing him not to openly point at her and demand to know who she is. Paul’s barely three years older than me, attempting to graduate college this year if he can get his grades up, but he acts like he’s still in high school.
“Paul, this is Silver. Silver this is Paul. No, no, I wouldn’t do that.” I grab hold of her arm before she can shake the hand he’s offering to her. “You don’t know where he’s been.”
Paul lowers his hand, throwing a bar rag over his shoulder. “Asshole. I’m cleaner than you.”
“Doubtful. Paul lives here above the bar, which means he probably pops anti-virals like most people pop daily vitamins. Monty’s not in?”
Paul pulls a face at me in return for the jab. “He went out on a run. Be back in a couple of hours. You need him?”
“No. Just saw he wasn’t in his office.”
“You want a drink then, or are you pretending you’re a good boy in front of your beautiful friend?”
“Hah hah, dickhead. No, I think we’re go—”
“Tequila,” Silver says, leaning her elbows against the bar. “Shots. Two, please. And Alex doesn’t have to pretend to be anything around me. I know who he is.”
My dick is immediately hard, throbbing against the inside of my thigh, partly because of the way her ass is sticking out, looking perfectly fucking biteable in her tight black jeans, but also because of the sassy confidence she's emitting as she watches Paul place the shot glasses down on the bar.
“On me,” Paul says. “I knew I was saving my promo tab for a good reason. See me if you want another round. Colleen's fucking PMS-ing. She tried to choke out the new bouncer 'cause she caught him looking at her ass. She'd probably charge you double for your drinks right now sooner than comp them. Oh, and…no offense,” he says, grimacing at Silver. “About the PMS thing. I'm a total feminist. But seriously, it's a realthinghere. The girls all sync up. It’s like fucking Armageddon one week out of the month.”
“Throw down the shovel, man. Walk away. You’re not doing yourself any favors,” I laugh, picking up one of the tequila shots. Silver hardly seems bothered by Paul’s comment. The savage little smirk on her face says she’s enjoying watching him squirm, though. Paul slides us two wedges of lime on a cocktail dish and then heads off to serve someone else, flipping the bird at me over his shoulder as he goes.
“He seems nice,” Silver offers. She’s holding her shot, the back of her hand already salted.
“Didn’t realize you were such a hardened drinker,Argento. You look like a semi-pro right now.”
“Yeah, well, you forget. I was friends with Kacey for a long time before I was cut from their little squad. And Kacey Winters will drive anyone to drink, friend or otherwise. Come on. Down in one.” She licks the back of her hand, and I can’t fucking help myself. I grab her by the back of her head, hand fisting in her hair, and I kiss her. Her lips are so damn soft. She sighs into my mouth, breath sweet and warm, and I have to convince myself it’d be a bad idea to tear her clothes off and fuck her up against the bar right here and now.
Using the flat of my tongue, I stroke it against her own, stealing the salt she just licked from her hand, and my mouth aches with the taste of the sea, of a childhood spent running up and down Black Sand Beach with an icy wind pulling at my clothes. She moans, a quiet, tense pant of pleasure, and my hands almost get to work on the button of her jeans.
Silver opens her eyes and looks up at me, pupils dilated, her cheeks flushed, and I realize a little too late maybe that my thumb is rubbing along the addicting curve of the underside of her breast.
“Alcohol,” she whispers, dazed. “Shit, let’s do the shot before I embarrass the crap out of myself and climb you like a tree, Alex.”
I can’t tear my eyes away from her. I keep her in my sights as I throw back the tequila, the burn lighting me up from the inside as the booze floods my chest. I’m fucking fascinated by the way the shot glass presses against her bottom lip. The way the muscles in the graceful column of her throat work as she swallows. The tiny wrinkles that form on the bridge of her nose as she shakes her head, wiggling her fingers as the tequila hits her.
