Free Rev Girl by Leigh Hutton

hand. She walked as casually as possible in heeled boots, with her cleavage on display, in the black low-cut top she’d scored with the girls for five bucks from Kmart.
    The group filed through the back entry, down a dark corridor, checking their jackets at the coat check, and out into the main cavern of the dimly lit club. The club turned out to be dingier than Clover had expected. The crowd was less than exciting, too. No ‘Alisters’, no super-tall models. Apparently, Clover had watched too many movies and vodka ads.
    The interior of Players was dark and stank of alcohol, with a large staircase parting the cavernous room in two. Beneath the stairs was a small bar thronged with patrons, and another, larger bar ran the length of the far wall. This main bar was backlit by rows of bright lights and a pink neon sign with the club’s name, also thronged with a crowd waiting to be served. The entire floor area had been given over to a dance floor, which was already crowded.
    As Clover led the way through the dancers, catching glimpses of faces highlighted by the strobe lights, she got a pretty clear picture as to why she’d heard people refer to nightclubs as ‘meat markets’.
    Ah, Clover thought, as a guy in a tight shirt ground up to her, then spotted Dallas, and ground away, quickly. So, this is a meat market. The dance floor was packed with couples making out. Groups of young girls dressed in skin-tight spandex bandage dresses not flattering in every case and towering heels, gyrated against each other, eyeing up greasy guys who looked a little too old for them and were clearly undressing them with their eyes.
    It was a mixed crowd in the club. Plenty of young guys, in collared shirts and jeans most of them halfway to being drunk already cruised the floor, looking for a fight or a girl to proposition, doing their best to look super cool. Clover was astonished to see the number of ‘cougars’ women in what she assumed were their thirties and forties, dressed in the same spandex as the girls, hiding behind masks of thick foundation and eye shadow. Suddenly Leslie’s beige, conservative wardrobe didn’t seem so bad.
    Sera, who was looking as tiny and bleached-blonde as ever, was obviously feeling right at home. She kissed Chris, and took off for the dance floor, where she was welcomed by a group of girls she seemed to know. In no time, Sera’s little ass was in the air, twerking her best Miley Cyrus impression.
    Clover’s mouth fell open, but she snapped it shut when someone placed a hand on her arm. She spun around.
    â€˜Hey, Clover,’ said Dee Harding, the very one who’d nearly kicked her butt at Clover’s first ever party, just a few months ago. Dee moved in close, to be heard over the loud dance music, and Clover’s body tensed. ‘Cool club,’ Dee said, squeezing her arm. ‘Come get a drink with us later?’
    Clover opened her mouth to say sure, but shut it again. The corners of Dee’s mouth twitched up into what Clover would swear was a smile.
    â€˜All good?’ Dallas asked, slipping a hand around her waist.
    â€˜Yeah,’ Clover said. ‘I think it is.’ She needed a drink to celebrate. And another one. And another after that. Before she knew it she was knocking back shots.
    â˜…
    Clover pulled her knees up to her chest, her skin scraping against rough flannel sheets. This wasn’t good. The sheets on her bed were smooth.
    The headache hit her dead on. Like being high-sided and smacked into the ground, without a helmet. When she finally opened her eyes, images of the nightclub sloshed round her brain, and her stomach heaved.
    When Clover finally accepted that she wasn’t going to wake up where she wanted to be: clear-headed in her own bed, she sat up groggily. Then fell back down, pulled the blanket up to her chin she was naked from the waist up.
    She peeked under the blanket. Thank God. Her black thong was