Jerrie Oneshots

Clichés

"Perrie Louise Edwards, this better not be what it sounds like," Leigh-Anne shrieked as she felt the knot holding the blindfold together loosen. The fabric then fell off of Leigh-Anne's face and unceremoniously plopped onto the ground as the woman's mouth opened and closed multiple times as she tried to organize her not-so-pleasant thoughts regarding her best friend's decision.

"Ta da," Perrie mumbled halfheartedly, waving her hands meekly next to her head as if she was attempting something along the lines of jazz hands as she presented the venue to her very unamused best friend.

"You. Are. So. Dead," Leigh-Anne grunted through gritted teeth as she clenched her jaw and crossed her arms over her chest, sending an extremely menacing glare straight at the blonde. "I said no clichés. I made that very clear. So I'm rather curious as to how you've picked possibly the most cliché of all of the clichés possible."

Perrie glanced around at the bridesmaids nervously, all of whom refused to make eye contact with Perrie or offer her a lifeline. She realized she was completely on her own with this one; she was screwed.

Before Perrie was able to muster out any possible sentence that could save her ass, Leigh-Anne glanced up, eyes settling on the blaring neon sign above the entrance to the club. She scoffed and rolled her eyes exaggeratedly so that everyone could pick up on the gesture even though aside for some lights and the glow of the sign, it was dark.

"And, to top it all off, you seemed to have picked a place with the most cliché name of all! 'Cherry Bomb'? Really, Pez?! Honestly, if you were gonna take me to a strip club, the least you could have done is pick a place with a clever name."

"I don't think finding a clever name is really on the list of priorities when it comes to making a place like this," Perrie grumbled as she scratched at the back of her neck awkwardly. Apparently that response wasn't what Leigh-Anne was looking for because the woman with the afro threw her hands up exasperatedly and made to storm off in the direction she assumed they had come from previously.

Before she could make it very far, Perrie had managed to get her wits about her and reached out and grabbed Leigh-Anne's wrist. The woman stopped walking, but didn't turn around to face the girls.

"You don't have to go for that long," Perrie started uncertainly, hoping she could bullshit something that would coax her dark-haired friend inside, "but if you really think about it, this isn't cliché at all. I mean, most women have male strippers come to their bachelorette parties and all of the women ogle at them as they undress and shake their business around for a while and leave.

"But then, there's our group. We're a bunch of young women standing outside of a female strip club. That's definitely something new. Plus, all of us are straight except for one of us, and that's you. All of us straight women are willing to walk in there and watch fit woman strut their stuff around just because we know you'll get a kick out of it.

"And this doesn't mean we think you're unfaithful to Jesy or anything, trust me. We know you're way beyond whipped when it comes to that girl that you wouldn't even chance taking a glance at anyone besides her. But there is alcohol in that club, and even if the name totally sucks, the music doesn't sound half bad, right?

"So instead of trekking around anymore for a place to go, why don't we just go inside? If you don't want it, we won't set up a private dance or anything; we can just drink and laugh a lot and watch a bunch of pathetic men get rejected by extremely fit females; I feel like we could even turn it into a fun drinking game. So what do you say?"

Leigh-Anne's features seemed to soften slightly by the end of Perrie's little speech, causing all of the women gathering around her to let out a collective sigh of relief. Now that they knew that Perrie's idea wasn't a failed cause, they seemed more than willing to help coax the woman inside.