[Darlene has her back to Jesse. Her elbows are hooked on the side of the hot tub, keeping her head above the water and her hands free. Her hair is tied in a knot on top of her head, but a strand has slipped free and is plastered, wet, to her bare back.
Fingers wiped dry on her discarded shirt, she's busy sectioning off a line of coke on the back of a book. Not as 70s disco fantasy glamorous as a mirror, maybe, but you take what you can get. And Jesse can get a lot. Not just Darlene, and check that one off the easy list. He can get a lot of stuff, too. This house, for one, which looks like the ultimate shore house, the kind of house Darlene might consider squatting in, except he apparently owns in.
Clubbing was fun, the drive was fun, hooking up was fun, and the afterparty is fun, but Darlene's hands still as she makes sense of the question. She grabs her glass and takes a mouthful of vodka and club soda before she answers.]
I wasn't with those dicks. Not like you're thinking. I was, [and this is half a lie she has used, often enough that there's a twist of humor to it,] freelance.
[She smirks over her shoulder at him before she turns away again, throws another sip down her throat and goes back to sectioning out her line.]
Most guys go for, you were so good, baby. Gotta say, it is weirdly turning me on that you would do the semi-criminal organization membership angle, but you are a founding member or whatever, so I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. Are you sad?
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Fingers wiped dry on her discarded shirt, she's busy sectioning off a line of coke on the back of a book. Not as 70s disco fantasy glamorous as a mirror, maybe, but you take what you can get. And Jesse can get a lot. Not just Darlene, and check that one off the easy list. He can get a lot of stuff, too. This house, for one, which looks like the ultimate shore house, the kind of house Darlene might consider squatting in, except he apparently owns in.
Clubbing was fun, the drive was fun, hooking up was fun, and the afterparty is fun, but Darlene's hands still as she makes sense of the question. She grabs her glass and takes a mouthful of vodka and club soda before she answers.]
I wasn't with those dicks. Not like you're thinking. I was, [and this is half a lie she has used, often enough that there's a twist of humor to it,] freelance.
[She smirks over her shoulder at him before she turns away again, throws another sip down her throat and goes back to sectioning out her line.]
Most guys go for, you were so good, baby. Gotta say, it is weirdly turning me on that you would do the semi-criminal organization membership angle, but you are a founding member or whatever, so I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. Are you sad?