“Okay…”
“I think I see where we’re going with this,” Clarin said, sidling up to Poison. “As far as plans go, it’s completely mental. I like it. Do you have any particular club in mind?”
“Well the Zevs have a school, hospital, and a college… surely they have a bar or something that they all hang out in? Hollow Ground After Hours or something?”
Poison chuckled. “Why yes they do. How astute of you. It’s called The Crow’s Nest, though.”
“Is it a respectable sort of place?”
“Definitely, but it’s right next door to a very unrespectable sort of place, so you can bet that at some point in the early morning the lines will be blurred and the respectable clientele will spill over.”
“Can you get me into the unrespectable place?”
“It has poles, and sticky floors,” she warned.
“Can you get me in?”
“As what? A customer, or…?”
“The other alternative.”
Clarin whistled low, turning to face Noah and Cabe. “You guys are okay with this?”
“Define okay?” Cabe asked, a touch of tense humour in his expression. “It’s not like she’s going to be alone. You’re both going to go with her.”
“And you guys? You’re staying behind?”
“Maybe one of us should go…” Cabe seemed to be thinking out loud, but Noah and Quillan both remained silent enough that I gathered they weren’t about to volunteer themselves any time soon.
It wasn’t hard to figure out why Quillan wouldn’t want to be there, but I was surprised at Noah’s reluctance. Maybe he was afraid that he would get into a fight. Or maybe there was another reason.
“Go figure it out in the hallway,” Clarin ordered, pointing to the door of Poison’s bedroom. “You don’t get to see the mouse in her underwear, only us awesome bitches get that privilege.”
“There were so many things wrong with what you just said.” Cabe sighed, though he headed obediently toward the door. Noah followed without a word.
“How often does that happen?” Quillan asked, a scowl pulling at his mouth. “The mouse taking her clothes off for you two?”
“Right here.” I waved my hand. “The mouse is standing right here.”
“Often enough.” Clarin’s tone was thoughtful as he completely ignored my waving hand. “You realise we’re not a threat right? Poison is all about dic—”
“Boys,” I quickly intercepted. “Poison is all about boys.”
“But like, not little boys.” Poison felt the need to correct me, her arms crossed over her chest. “I like boys my own age. Some men, too.”
“Can you go outside please?” Clarin tried again, even moving to open the door for Quillan.
Quillan didn’t seem to want to move. He set his eyes on me, his scowl growing darker. “Every time I turn my back, and even when my back isn’t turned, someone either has their hands on you, or else something is happening that I definitely wouldn’t approve of under normal circumstances.”
I opened my mouth to answer, but there hadn’t really been a question in what he had just said, and I didn’t really have anything to respond with anyway. “Are you upset?” I asked, for clarification.
“I don’t know,” he replied.
“Do you want to watch her take her clothes off?” Clarin prodded. “Because if not, you should probably go wait with the other two.”
Quillan set his jaw, turning his dark expression on Clarin. For a moment, the tension in the room swelled, and the hairs along my arms prickled, because Quillan’s temper being stirred was something that I very much wanted to avoid. The influence of his disproval was enough to melt anyone into a meaningless puddle on the ground. Clarin seemed to be withering under the force of his gaze now, and when Quillan finally turned and stalked out of the room, Clarin let out a deep breath of relief.
“I don’t envy you your future,” he told me, tapping me on the nose as he moved to Poison’s closet.
“Me either,” Poison agreed, shaking her head. “Those guys are going to tear each other apart.”
“No they won’t.” I sat down on the bed, catching each item of clothing that Clarin tossed at me. “I won’t let them.” I whispered the last part, hoping that my words would be swallowed up by the faint rustle of activity in the room.
Poison must have heard me, because she gently patted me on the back before flicking through the pile of clothes on my lap and grabbing a sequined top—which was actually just little more than a triangle of material with strings to tie it up at the back. She stood and pulled off her clothes, donning the top and paring it with the tiny denim skirt that she had saved from Noah. I watched her, giving her a subtle look of inquisition. She wasn’t dressing up for a night out. She was dressing like an actual stripper.