“What are you talking about? You’d strip for free,” I tease. Val has told me before that she has exhibitionist tendencies. When we go to the Moonglow club’s eighteen-and-over night, Val makes me dance in the cages suspended from the ceiling.
“True. But I wouldn’t mind getting paid.” She gives me a thoughtful look. “How much did you say you earned while you were working at these clubs?”
“I didn’t. And stripping is a lot different from cage dancing in front of a bunch of hot high school and college guys,” I caution. Most strip clubs reek of desperation and regret and I’m not just referring to the strippers’ dressing room. The guys on the floor waving their singles around over their eight-dollar steak lunches are as needy as the girls on the stage.
Val wrinkles her nose. “I don’t know. It’d be nice to have the extra cash, and you must’ve been making serious bank to be able to support yourself and your mom on it.”
“The money is the only good thing about it. Besides, you wouldn’t want to strip around here. Think if someone saw you and then you had to have classes with him or something. That’d be a hundred different kinds of awkward.”
She sighs. “It was just an idea.”
I feel a stab of sympathy. I know that Val’s status as the poor relation really bugs her. I wish I could give her part of my stash—it’s not like I need it—but she’s not the kind of person who’d accept a handout. She’d see it as charity, which she already has to accept from her aunt and uncle.
“How about I hire you to be my bodyguard? Because everyone’s looking at me right now like they want to murder me. Especially that one over there.” I jerk my head toward the second row of the student section, where a familiar golden-haired girl keeps swiveling around to frown at me.
“Ha. Abby wouldn’t hurt a flea. She’s too passive. Do you think she wears that Eeyore expression when she comes?”
I slap a hand over my mouth to muffle my shout of laughter.
But it’s true. Reed’s ex is pale, quiet, and mild-mannered, as opposite from me as you can get. Someone said that Abby reminds them of Reed’s mom. At one time that made me nervous as hell, because Reed adored his mom. These days, I don’t give a crap about trying to impress Reed Royal.
Abby obviously still does, though. And she obviously views me as competition, because she won’t stop staring at me. If she’d asked, I could’ve given her a pretty good tip about how to win Reed over. First and foremost, don’t sleep with his brother.
“Did she really hook up with Easton when I was gone?” I ask Val.
“Yup. What an idiot, right? I mean, that’s a surefire way to send Reed running in the opposite direction.” Val purses her lips. “Or wait, maybe not. You made out with Easton and that didn’t scare Reed off.” Then she changes her tune again. “But you’re special. Abby isn’t. No way is Reed getting back together with her now.”
“Even Abby is too good for him,” I grumble. “He deserves to be alone for all of eternity.”
Val snickers.
“Actually, I was really hoping someone would break his legs in the game, but unfortunately it looks like he’s still up and walking around.”
“We could break them.”
“Take a baseball bat to him in the middle of the night?” I say wistfully.
“Sounds like you’ve already got this all planned out.”
“I might’ve fantasized about it a few times,” I admit.
“After we’re done with Reed, can we drive up to State?”
“Obvs. Then we’ll put an ad on Craigslist offering our services to other women. We’ll name our bat ‘Vengeance.’”
“Your bloodthirstiness is turning me on so much right now.”
“Save it for one of the herd,” I tell her. “You have your eye on any of them?”
“No. I’m still considering my options.” Meaning, the only thing she can see right now is Tam. I have the same problem, except my vision is blocked by Reed.
We slump in the bleacher seats and turn our attention back to the game.
The Riders win, as expected, and talk after the game immediately turns toward Winter Formal that Astor Park puts on after Thanksgiving and before Christmas. The dance talk is like foreplay for Jordan. She’s glowing when Val and I descend the stadium steps. Our progress is slowed by all the parents stopping to tell Jordan how much they liked her routine and how talented she is.
Jordan thrusts out her boobs a little more with each compliment. The dads stare at her with lusty hunger and she looks like she’s getting off on it.
“Nice show,” I tell Jordan as we draw even with her. She looks pretty fantastic in her form-fitting costume, and there’s a dewy glow on her cheeks left over from the exertion on the field.
Her eyes flick over me with disdain and then dismissal. She turns to her cousin. “You’re too good for this piece of trash, Val. Why don’t you come to Shea’s party with me?”
“Pass. I wouldn’t climb into your car if we were on Fury Road and the warboys were after me.”
A few kids snort with laughter behind us. That only makes Jordan angrier.