God, I love this chapter. I hope you guys like it too(:

I don't own The Clique. Just in case you thought I did.

Decemeber 17, 2021

"So I heard about the divorce. Totally sucks."

Claire Lyons was getting ready for work, now that she was finally returning after a weeklong break. She did not feel like talking to Alicia Rivera on her cell phone, but she was too nice to tell the bitch to get a life.

Okay, so Alicia wasn't really a bitch anymore. She was kind of a slut, at times, but Claire wasn't really bothered by her any more. The first month or so that Claire and Josh dated, she'd send them both hateful text messages, but that was way behind them.

Not that Alicia was any better at sympathy. Claire sighed heavily into the phone and tried to formulate an answer to Alicia's insensitive comment. She was having trouble focusing on that and her giant, intimidating closet.

"Thanks. And it does suck. But I'm doing good." There, that wasn't mean, was it? But it wasn't really nice. Exactly how Claire and Alicia had communicated since they met.

Alicia was quiet on the other end. Then Claire heard her talking to someone else in the background for a few seconds. Probably that sexy Calvin Klein model she was dating. Mmm. Claire could use one of those.

"Hey, me and Dylan were gonna go for drinks one of these nights. I'll call ya, okay?"

This genuinely surprised Claire. Alicia was not mean to her, but she also hadn't invited Claire anywhere in a long time. It was nice. Maybe her life was headed in a better direction.

"Okay," Claire agreed and hung up, once again surveying her closet. What to wear?

She was invited to do a shoot with the Victoria's Secret models in a winter setting and was really excited. She had planned on not working until New Years was over, but had said yes immediately. She was unbelievably excited. These girls were famous, talented, and the money would be dazzling. This would be beyond awesome for her already flourishing career. She just couldn't decide what to wear, though. It had to be stylish, yet comfortable. And new. And expensive. She picked up her dark wash skinny Hudsons and her bright pink Converse shoes. These would have to do. She slipped on her favorite beret, making her feel wonderful and whimsical and Euro. Maybe she could work the casual-cute-french photographer look. Yeah, she could. Be confident! Massie had always told her. Claire had always been good at listening.

Her top was black and ruffled, very tight but the fabric was soft and stretchy. It felt nice against her skin.

She took a picture and sent it to Massie, for some confirmation. She wasn't twelve anymore, but she still sometimes liked her best friend's advice.

Ugh. Love the beret and the skinny hudsons. Are the shoes necessary?

Claire rolled her eyes. She knew Massie wasn't a Converse person, but she didn't care. The shoes were her favorite and comfortable. Massie and her would always butt heads, no matter what, when it came to some of Claire's tastes.

Suck it Claire sent.

You first! Massie texted back.

They went back and forth on this for the next forty-five minutes as Claire got ready, putting on her makeup and making sure the beret was secure with a few bobby pins. She couldn't have it falling out today at the studio.

As she gave herself a final appraisal in the mirror, she smiled. Yes, she could work this. She was ready. She looked down at her bare ring finger and then sighed. When she was nervous, she used to twirl her wedding ring in errant circles. She hadn't even realized how often she did it until the ring wasn't there. Now she felt bare. She'd found herself reaching down and pinching skin, suddenly wishing something, anything, was there, for her to grab and hold on to.

She quickly walked over to her bureau and pulled out an emerald ring, one that Cam Fisher had given her years ago. She slipped in on her right hand and immediately being twirling it around her finger. Okay, so she was a little nervous about the shoot. But how bad could it be? She was good at her job, and obviously they wanted her or they wouldn't have asked.

Claire then looked out her window and sighed. It was still snowing. She kicked off her shoes and put on some Uggs, then pulled on her long, white, faux-fur D&G winter coat. There. Now she was ready for the winter weather.

She texted one last picture to Massie, who answered back with a myriad of smiley faces and exclamation points, then slipped outside of her apartment for a cab. Thankfully, there was one right outside.

She hadn't had anything alcoholic to drink since the day she signed the divorce papers, a week ago, and hoped this day would go well enough so that she wouldn't feel the need for one tonight. She was tired of feeling sick and lonely in crowded bars. She was sick of being lonely, period. She'd been lonely, for a long time, since way before the divorce had even been official.

God, Josh, she thought to herself once more. Why did you have to screw up so badly? We could have worked it out, you know, but you took it too far. I couldn't fix our relationship after that.

She couldn't fix their relationship, that was true, but it was also true that Josh hadn't even really tried.

As she got out of the cab and paid the driver generously, she could only stare at the studio that awaited her. It was nondescript. From the outside, nobody could tell it was where photography for the world's hottest labels was done. They probably preferred it that way. She shivered and tilted her head all the way back, trying to get a glimpse of the top. It was huge. She'd received a phone call that said she'd be on the fifteenth floor. All she had to say was "Victoria's shoot" and she'd be ushered to where she was supposed to be, given equipment provided by the company, and handed free-reign of the complete shoot. She felt her fingertips tingle from excitement . . . or maybe it was the cold. She didn't care.

Claire adjusted her beret and did a quick hand-mirror check for mascara clumps or messy lip gloss. When she was finally satisfied, she confidently walked through the giant, glass doors. She kept herself from twirling her emerald ring and didn't smile at the lady at the front desk. That was what Massie would tell her to do.

June 15, 2017

It's been over a month, and they've been doing this weird little dance. Kissing and flirting, joking and teasing, but not sex. Never sex.

So when Claire finds herself pushed up against the door of her apartment, Josh's tongue trailing against the rim of her ear, the only thought she's able to think is finally.

She moans loudly and he covers her mouth with his, laughing and shushing her. She has momentarily forgotten that she lives in an apartment building, and that her neighbors will complain about her if they wake up to her loud moaning at two in the morning.

They've been out dancing to Arcade Fire in Central Park, and she's sweaty from the dancing and the foreplay that Josh is currently engaging himself in. She brings up her hands, one around his neck and the other on his face, cradling his sharp jawbone. His hand rubs weird circles on her collarbone. His lips leave hers and he's making her head fall back because his mouth is on this special, certain place on her neck that Cam never seemed to find.

"Let's get inside . . . the key is somewhere . . ." She's frustrated, because she had to turn away from his wonderful kissing and tongue and lips and smile, and her key seems to be hiding in her tiny clutch. "Damn," she whispers. Finally his hand dips in her purse and he pulls out her key, already knowing which one opens up her door. They fall inside and she realizes that her dress is already unzipped. How he did that without her noticing, she doesn't know, but he's making her bend backward over the couch and pulling the straps of her dress down her shoulders.

Claire's head is a jumble of breathless thoughts and her hands are fumbling, nervous, shaking, while she tries to pull his shirt over his head. He smiles against her lips and chuckles, a whoosh of air coming over her lips. She can feel his hardness against her thigh and it makes it difficult for her to breathe. She pulls him into her on the couch and then he stands up.

"What?" she asks once, in one breath, but Josh has already picked her up, one arm under her knees and the other, under her head. She's being taken down the hall to her little bedroom. He places her on her bed, in nothing but her bra, her panties, and her heels. She kicks them off and watches him undress.

Josh is a work of art. She stares at the lines on his chest, how his muscles ripple on his back and his shoulders, so big and broad. His legs are long and lean and strong. When he gets on her bed, the lamplight illuminating his eyes, his arms, his chest, his hair, she feels herself stirring. She feels need, and want, and urgency. She wants him, all of him, right now, so much that she can't stand it.

He takes his time undoing her bra, and even more hooking his thumbs on the lace of her panties, pulling them down slowly. His fingers trail down her legs, reaching her ankles, pulling the panties completely off. She's fully naked now, in front of him, light splashing across her breasts. He openly stares, and she squirms in front of his gaze, partially from her own insecurities, but mostly from her arousal.

"Josh . . ." she moans softly, her voice a little higher than usual. He comes out of his trance.

He doesn't think he's ever seen anything more beautiful than her.

Her hair is spread around her head and her skin is smooth and soft. When he pulled off her panties, she looked at him with eyes that showed trust, and love.

And god, when she said his name. He doesn't think he's ever heard a voice as beautiful, or his name said in such a way that made him want to cry and laugh and love all at the same time.

"Yeah?" he asks, not failing to notice that his voice is husky and quiet. He just wants her, so much. He leans down and kisses her deeply before she can answer. She pulls away, gasping and licking her lips.

"I want . . . I need . . . " she says, unable to really get the words out because she's never done it like this before. It was just her and Cam, and the first time had been unsteady and scary. She doesn't really know how this sort of thing goes.

He smiles, because he knows, and he's on top of her and he has his lips on her left nipple and she's grabbing the sheets with tight fingers, because she feels like she's going to float away in the next second.

He pushes inside of her then, agonizingly slowly. His strokes are long at first, because he can hardly believe he's made it this far and it feels so good, so amazing, and he never thought, once, that his dreams could even get this wonderful.

Soon his thrusts become more urgent, more needing. She's reaching up and grasping the headboard of her bed, clutching at the sheets. Moaning, louder and louder.

She surrenders to sweet release, riding out her climax, calling out his name with his lips on her throat while he's pushed inside of her. He comes right after she does, shuddering, his teeth biting on her bottom lip. Her moan is a hum that throttles the core of his chest.

He lays next to her, breathing deeply. She pants against his chest. They are one, breathing, panting, hearts beating the same fast rhythm, a sheen of sweat on both forheads, her bangs sweaty. Her hands are in his hair, his fingers loose on her shoulders.

They fall asleep, his head on her stomach, using it as a pillow, with the lamp still on.

August 20, 2017

It's one in the morning and Claire is wide awake.

She's in some obscure, Manhattan bar that Josh dragged her to with some of his friends. She'd wanted Massie to come but she was busy with some guy that she met at one of her mother's parties. Claire's sipping at a Long-Island Iced Tea and Josh is sitting at the bar with Derrick. Their talking about something or another, baseball or football or some kind of ball, Claire doesn't really care.

She and Kemp are playing pool. He's really drunk, just at the point of stumbling, and having to squint at the balls for a long time before taking a shot. He keeps losing, but then placing bets. Claire has taken about fifty bucks from him so far.

Josh keeps looking over when she's not paying attention and staring. She keeps looking back and catching him, but he just smiles and turns back to whatever Derrick is saying.

"Your turn," Kemp says loudly, impatient, and she takes another shot. The white ball hits her stripe, knocks it near the hole. Kemp grumbles.

She sucks, really, but Kemp is so drunk that she couldn't resist playing him.

Ten minutes later and she's won, again. Claire walks back tot he bar and takes a seat next to Josh. Derrick just left, something about work in the morning, even though it's Friday. Kemp's yelling after her.

"I think he still wants to play," Josh says softly in her ear. She giggles and takes a sip from his beer because her drink is gone.

"I should really stop taking advantage of him," she says. Josh's hand is on her knee and his eyes aren't meeting hers; it makes her nervous.

He fidgets and squeezes her knee, which he knows makes her jump, and she pushes his hand away, giggling again. "What's up?" she asks.

He looks up, matching her uneasy smile. "We're, um, exclusive, right?"

She narrows her eyes. They've been sleeping together since mid-June, doing this slow, young dating thing . . . she thought they were exclusive. They damn well should be.

"I thought we were," she says, and her voice is soft and pathetic. Was he seeing other girls?

Josh catches on quick and takes her hand in his, kissing her cheek. "No, Claire, I just meant . . . we should be. I just wanted to make sure. I'm not seeing anyone else. Really."

She looks up. He looks so desperate and sad and pleading. She smiles. "Well, in that case, Josh Hotz . . . you're my one and only." Oh, God, now she's teasing him, with that little smile and glint in her eye. He's the one who's laying his heart out on the bar and asking her to be his official girlfriend, and she's teasing him.

"You deserve to be punished for that, Missy," he whispers in her ear and she stops giggling, instead watching his eyes eagerly, her vision dropping down to his lips. She swallows.

He leans in and kisses her, biting her bottom lip just hard enough, bringing a full moan from deep in her throat. Kemp is next to them, staring off into space, oblivious.

Josh pulls away suddenly. "I love you," he whispers. She can hear the song "Pretty Woman" playing in the background, the toe of her Converse tapping away out of instinct. He slides off the stool, saying something about getting Kemp home and she follows with a grin.

He's said the L word before, but for some reason, in this bar, she knows he really, really means it.

Reviews are appreciated!

Also, should it be moved to an M rating? I didn't think the sex scene was that intense, but you guys can be the judges.