Page 56 of Revenge At Raleigh High
Female. Bright. High-pitched. Alabama accent.
Delilah.
The connection between Silver and I snaps. Suddenly, we’re standing back at a bar, in a sex club of all fucking places, and there’s a blonde woman leaning over the lacquered wood, sliding a manicured hand up my bare forearm. “Alex Moretti, I have begged you to come hang out with me down here and you have shut me down every time. Who is this gorgeous young thing you’re eye-fucking, and more importantly…are you planning on sharing her?”
Delilah’s probably not bisexual. The girls here will flirt with one another all the time if they think it’ll make a customer hard. I’m not a customer, and Silver isn’t just some other stripper, but Delilah’s a resourceful girl. She’s been doggedly trying to bed me for at least six months. I think it’s become a game to her now, purely because I keep saying no. More than likely, making eyes at Silver is just another crap shoot on her part, throwing something at the wall to see if it sticks.
I withdraw my arm, finding Silver’s hand and lacing my fingers through hers. “Sorry, Lilah. We’re doing research for a school project. Do all strippers have Daddy issues? Care to comment?”
I’m joking. I’m never cruel to the girls. She needs to knowthisisn’t happening, though. She drops the act, rising out of her, popped-hip-check-out-my-delicious-curves lean—the same lean that pays her fucking rent—and throws back her head, laughing loudly. “Such a shit, Moretti. And wow. How do I keep forgetting you’re still in high school? Thanks for the unpleasant wake-up call. I probably need therapy, but I can’t quit the chase with you, Jailbait.”
“Age of consent is sixteen in the glorious State of Washington,” I remind her. “I’m legal. Just not interested. This is my girlfriend, Silver.”
“Huh. Yeah, the intense staring contest gave away the fact that you two weren’t just fucking. Girlfriend, though? Bold move, Alex. I am impressed. Monty tried to fuck you yet, sweetheart?” she asks Silver. “If he tries anything, don’t bother trying to talk him down. Go straight for the balls. He barely feels it anymore, but it’s the only version ofnohe understands.”
Silver blinks. Her face has gone completely blank. Takes longer than it should for it to click: any joke about a guy trying to force himself onto Silver is going to go down like a lead fucking balloon. I squeeze her hand, shaking my head. “She’s fucking with you. Monty doesn’t even hit on the girls. He’s all business.”
Delilah pretends to pout, sighing dramatically. “Honestly, I think he’s a eunuch. I’d suspect he was gay, but the guys who dance here sometimes have all taken a run at him, too, and…”—a quick shrug of her shoulders—“…nothing.”
Silver doesn’t really know how to act. This is a strange situation, an exchange that commenced with a sexual proposition. Her awkwardness is plain in the way she tucks her hair back behind her ear, and then repeats the motion less than a second later. Trouble is, Delilah’s a pain in the ass. She’s as blatant as a hammer to the side of the head. But she’s also super bubbly and genuinely likeable. Silver’s probably having a hell of a time deciding if she’s supposed to hate the woman on sight or want to go gossip about boys with her in the bathroom.
“Since you two high schoolers are only here to research a school project, I obviously can’t serve you alcohol,” she says formally. “But can I interest you in some soda?” The bottle of Patron Silver Delilah holds up in her hands looks nothing like soda to me. I bite back a smirk as she pours two healthy measures into a pair of rocks glasses in front of us. When I try pay, she rolls her eyes like I’m the most tiresome creature she’s ever come across. “What do you think this place is? We don’t charge staff members forsoda. Get the hell out of here before you really offend me.”
I plant a twenty down on the bar for her as a tip instead, we collect our drinks, and I lead the way toward the stage. The place is packed so the booths are all taken. Luckily, there’s a table free right in the middle of the madness, though. Silver sits, eyes fixed on the dark-haired dancer, twin spots of color burning high on her cheekbones.
“I don’t wanna bethatperson, but I can’t help it. I have to ask,” she hisses. “How many girls have you slept with here?”
“Inside the actual building? Or who work here, you mean?”
Silver does a terrible job of containing her horror. It’s difficult not to laugh. “Who work here, I suppose,” she answers.
“In that case, none.”
She looks like she doesn’t believe me. “All right. I’ll bite. How many woman have you fucked inside the actual building, then?”
Damn, my cheeks are killing me. I want to laugh so fucking bad, it hurts. I take my time, pretending to count out my conquests on both hands. Twice. Eventually, I nod, face her, and say, “None.”
“What?”
“I’m not gonna lie. There have been plenty of opportunities on both accounts. Monty doesn’t like drama, though. He’d kill me if I brought it to his doorstep. I’m not stupid enough to dip my pen in company ink. This is hardly the kind of place you’d bring a date to get laid, either.” A glaring lie, apparently, since that’s exactly what the rest of the people sitting in front of this stage have done this evening.
The burlesque dancer stalks on her high heels down the steps from the stage, into the crowd in front of us, and the people around us draw in a collective breath. Her fans are still in her hands, covering her breasts, but she’s being more daring with them now, letting her hands drop for a second or two longer when she teases them across her body.
Silver sips from her drink, hiding her face in her glass, but her curiosity pours off like smoke from a raging forest fire. I watch as she peers at the dancer over the top of her tequila. Her breath quickens when the woman with the black hair, smooth and straight as a ruler, selects a guy from the audience and straddles his lap, winding her arms and legs around him. She grinds herself into his lap for a second, painted lips parted, her fans dropping, pinned between their bodies, and she leans down, a millimeter away from kissing him…
…but then she quickly turns to the woman sitting beside the guy, obviously his wife from the tortured look of disbelief on her face, and grabs her by the neck, pulling her into a deep kiss.
“Holy shit,” Silver hisses under her breath.
I take a sip, hiding my face in his glass. I’m trying not to smirk.
Silver elbows me in the ribs. “Don’t laugh. This is all new to me,” she complains.
“You’re adorably innocent for someone who loves fucking so much,Argento.” A flush of color climbs up her neck. She doesn’t know what to say to that. She knows I’m right. She’s acting like a little school girl who’s never been touched before.
“I guess you’ll have to rid me of my last scraps of innocence then, won’t you, Alessandro Moretti.”
Oh, Silver. Silver, Silver, Silver. Sounds like she’s feeling brave. She has no clue what it would be like for me to do what she’s asking of me, though. “How about we just stay here and ride this thing out. See how comfortable you are first.”
