I touch my face, “So what does that mean?”
“I don’t know, you only spent the last five years pining over him.”
“You make me sound like some lovesick puppy, Emily.”
“Weren’t you?”
“I was more confused than anything. I thought it was my fault he left. That I did something. It was all insecurity,” I try to play it off.
“So you didn’t miss him at all?” she asks skeptically.
I glare at her, “Yes, I missed him terribly.”
“So what happened? Where the hell did he go?”
I tell Emily everything, about Ryan’s brother, about the drug charge, about the stolen identity, my father convicting him. She’s quiet throughout the whole story, listening intently, her eyes wide.
“Holy shit. I still can’t believe he did time for his brother. Doesn’t he deserve the most selfless man alive award?”
I scoff, really not believing it myself.
“So, what? Are you guys like back together?”
“I don’t know,” I shrug. It sure feels like we are. “Honestly, I don’t know anything. There’s a whole bunch of stuff we need to work out.”
“So when are you going to see him again?” Emily asks as the waitress refills my wine glass.
“Wednesday. I have to go look at apartments. My father so fittingly set up an appointment with a realtor in the city for me.”
“How convenient.”
I shrug blamelessly.
“You know he’s going to shit a canary if he finds out about you two. Ryan’s a stripper for Christ's sake.”
Yeah, that’s definitely one of the issues we have to address.
“He won’t. I’ll make sure of it. As long as I keep my grades up and don’t do anything to mar his pretty image he’ll leave me alone. I’ll be lucky if I see him on Christmas.”
“Okay,” Emily sighs. “You know if you need anything I’m here.”
“I do.”
“And I better goddamn see you on Christmas.”
I smile.
I spent the whole morning looking at apartments on the West Side, and I definitely like this one the best. It’s a brownstone right near campus, all trendy and Carrie Bradshawy. My father should approve; the perfect place for the perfect judge’s perfect daughter.
The realtor says the current tenant’s lease is up in July and the place will be ready August 1st, which is perfect since orientation at Columbia starts August 20th.
I look down at my watch, a rose gold Michael Kors. It’s 3:15 and I’m wiped. Who knew apartment hunting would be so taxing? Ryan and I decided to meet at Bryant Park again and then make a decision on what to do from there.
I’m pacing the walkway waiting for him. The birds are chirping and the waterfall is echoing over the crowd of bustling people. Ryan is late. We’ve been texting nonstop the last two days, but right now that doesn’t mean a thing if he doesn’t show. I keep hearing the last words he said Sunday night.
It will take an act of God to keep me away.
I keep pacing. This is agony.
Suddenly a pair of arms wrap around me from behind. “You need to chill out,” he says, his voice sultry.
“Have any ideas how?” I say mischievously.
Ryan plants a soft kiss on my cheek, “I may have something up my sleeve.”
I turn around to face him. God he’s beautiful. All toned and tanned and sharply defined. He makes me feel weak, like he emits endorphins or something.
“So what do you want to do?” Ryan asks, grabbing my hand as we start to walk.
“Actually I’m starving, I haven’t eaten all day.” Come to think of it, I haven’t really eaten all week. The butterflies have completely inhabited my stomach.
“Is there a particular place you want to go?” he asks.
“I thought we could grab an early dinner here, in the park.”
It’s a perfect day for alfresco.
We head over to the Bryant Park Grill, where the rooftop is open for dining. After waiting a good half hour we are finally seated. We get a table right next to the railing with a sprawling view of the park’s gravel walkways, patio and extensive lawn.
I order a glass of Pinot grigio and the steamed mussels in spicy thai coconut broth. Ryan orders a tanqueray and tonic and the jumbo lump crab cakes. Our drinks are dropped off and now it’s just him and me and all I can think about is that kiss. The one by the stairwell of New Jersey Transit. And how I want him to kiss me like that all over again. And again, and again and again.
“Alana?” I hear my name and look up from the napkin I’m fiddling with. Ryan is staring at me, “What are thinking about?”
“How long have you been dancing?” I ask curiously.
His face falls, “About a year.”
He had to know this conversation was inevitable.
“Why do you do it?”
He shrugs, “Money, women, sex.”
“I see,” I say disappointed; any indication that Ryan and I are reconciling just got shot to shit.
“Well, I just do it for the money now,” he glares at me as if he’s laying stake on his claim. I haven’t agreed to anything yet. If we do get back together it will be on my terms.
“How many?” I push.
“How many what?” He tries to play dumb.
“Women.” I clarify, “How many women have you had?”
Ryan looks absolutely dumbfounded, “Come on Alana, do you really need to know?”
“Yes, I really need to know.”
Ryan breathes, his cheeks puffing out. “I don’t know a few dozen or so.”
My heart races.
“All from the strip club?” I swallow a gulp of wine.
“Most, yes. But not all. You have to understand,” he sits up straighter in his seat, “this job, it’s money and sex and money and sex and you get caught up in the lifestyle if there isn’t anything anchoring you to the ground.” He leans forward and brushes my hand with his thumb, “And I want so badly for you to be my anchor.”
“Do you understand how hard it will be for me if we’re together? Knowing you grind all over women for money.” The waitress drops off our dinner just then. She shoots me a strange look when she places my plate in front of me causing my cheeks to blaze red.
“You make it sound so dirty.” Ryan replies after the waitress disappears.
“From what I saw, it kind of is.”
Ryan shakes his head, “You know Alana, not every woman looks like you, has your brains, or your sexuality or confidence.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Not every woman has men falling at their feet like you.”
“Men don’t fall at my feet, Ryan.”
“I did. The first time I saw you, I would have done anything you asked. Even now. All these years later.”
“Ryan-”
“That’s part of the reason I do it. When women come to see us dance, it’s not just about me taking my clothes off, some women are starved for attention and all they want is someone to notice them. And we do that. We make them feel good. Emily was having a damn good time with me until she found out who I was.”
“Can you please not bring Emily into this conversation? I’ve been working for days to scratch that mental picture out of my head.”
“You didn’t like it? Seeing me dance?”
I stop. Did I like it? Yes, I did. He was sexy and alluring and I remember saying to myself goddamn he can move. But that was before I knew who he was. Before I knew he used to be mine.
“I liked it when you had anonymity.”
“Is my occupation going to be a deal breaker for you, Alana?” Ryan asks in this sexy, manipulative tone. And if I didn’t know any better I’d think it’s the same one he uses on all his women.
“What if it is? What then?” I challenge.
Ryan looks clearly disappointed, “Then I’ll quit.”
“What?”
“I’ll quit. If it means I h
ave to choose, I pick you. You’ll just have to support me for a while, because I’m not going to find easy money like that anyplace else.”
“How much do you make?” That’s an incredibly rude question, but I can’t help it, he piqued my curiosity.
“Anywhere from eight hundred to a thousand a night. But that’s the high end. Most guys usually only make about four or five hundred.”
“That much?”
“It’s an expensive city to live in and not all of us have daddy to depend on.”
I look away from him and down at the park.
“I didn’t mean to offend you. You’re one of the lucky ones.”
“I’m not lucky, I’m just privileged. There’s a big difference,” I clarify indifferently.
“And utterly lacking love,” Ryan pulls one of my cards.
I look back at him, trying to mask the sadness. I’ve never been good at expressing my feelings and Ryan knows it. I guess that’s one trait my father and I do share. But just because I don’t show them, doesn’t mean I don’t feel them.
“I love you,” he says like he’s trying to penetrate the barrier.
“You don’t even know me anymore,” I argue.
“That’s not true. I know you’re still that girl who doesn’t take shit from anyone, who deep down wants to help people and who loves unconditionally when given the chance. That’s who I know.”
I glare at him blankly, without an ounce of emotion. I hate that it’s so easy for him to lay everything out on the table without fear or hesitation, but that’s Ryan’s way, it always has been.
“Don’t put the wall up Alana, we’ve been there before.” He leans forward arrogantly, “You know what’ll happen, I’ll demolish it with a battering ram.”
I exhale annoyed, staring right into Ryan’s eyes, because I know he’s right. He’s the only person who can infiltrate my emotions.
And the only one I want to let in.
“What do you say we get out of here?” Ryan asks, throwing his white napkin onto his plate. “I think we’ve done enough talking for tonight,” he drops some money onto the table and stands up, stretching out his hand to me. I take it tentatively.
“And where are we going?” I ask suspiciously as he pulls me to my feet. He wraps one arm around my waist and plants a huge kiss on my cheek.
“I want to show you my place.”
“Wow,” is about all I can say when Ryan opens the door. “It’s so… girlie in here.”
The walls are light lavender and there are fresh flowers everywhere.
“My roommate decorated,” Ryan laughs.
The furniture is a distressed white, like it came straight from Pottery Barn. It’s warm and inviting and I could picture myself living here.
“Your gay roommate?”
“Well, she is gay.”
“She? Aren’t you just full of surprises?”
“Baby, you haven’t even seen the surprises I’m capable of yet.”
Baby?
Surprises?
Yet?
Breathe.
Ryan kisses me on the lips then walks into the kitchen, leaving me all hot and bothered.
“Do you want to stay with white?” Ryan asks with his head in the refrigerator.
“Um, yeah, that’s fine,” I answer, secretly hoping he has a funnel. Being here, alone with him is making me so freakin’ antsy. I walk over to one of the windows and get a bird’s eye view of the city.
“You have a great spot,” I say as he hands me a glass of wine.
“I know, I totally lucked out. Rent controlled and a parking space.”
“Who needs anything more?” I tease.
Ryan leans on the windowsill then grabs my hip, “I can think of one more thing I need.”
I shift uncomfortably away from him, “So how’d you end up here?”
“I met Demi at the club. She was one of my regulars for a while.”
“I thought you said she’s gay?”
“She is. But she was just figuring that out. She would come in looking to get turned on, but the only people she would check out were the other women.”
“So how did you end up roommates?”
“I answered her ad on Craigslist. I didn’t even know. Small fucking world, huh?”
“Minuscule,” I laugh. “So where is she now?”
“Paris, I think.” He cocks an eyebrow, “She’s an international stewardess and usually gone. I don’t think she’s due back until Saturday.”
“I see,” I meander around the apartment looking at the photos on the wall and knick-knacks here and there. I can’t seem to stand still, I feel like a caged lab rat. “What’s down there?”
Ryan looks at the hallway, “The bathroom and the bedrooms.”
I turn around and walk in the opposite direction. So not ready for the bedroom, thank you.
“Alana, are you okay?” Ryan asks, noticing how fidgety I am.
“Fine,” I take a sip of wine and saunter back over to the window.
He watches my every move. Once I’m standing next to him again he shuffles over so our bodies are touching.
“I love the way that feels,” he says looking at the sunset reflecting off the skyscrapers.
“What’s that?”
“You, standing next to me. Like, really being next to me. I missed that feeling.”
“I did too,” I confess.
“What do you want Alana?” Ryan asks me.
“With what?”
“With me,” he turns to face me, then pulls a strand of my hair slowly through his fingertips.
“I want to take it slow and get to know you again.”
He smiles, the sunset shining through the window is lighting up his eyes.
“Good,” he leans down and kisses me and my whole body ignites. At first it’s just a soft, sweet kiss, but it’s apparent that both of us want it to be more, because before either of us know it, our arms are snaked around each other, our bodies pressed tightly together, our mouths open and hungry. Ryan walks me over to the couch, our kiss never breaking. I think I might suffocate if it did, because right now he’s the air. We fall back onto the white cushions, Ryan shifts himself on top of me and I love the feel of his body crushing mine. Things start moving fast, and soon shoes and socks and shirts and pants are scattered all over the floor. So much for taking it slow. Ryan starts kissing down my neck, then over my chest and down my torso. My heart starts pounding in my ears as he teases me right above my underwear line, licking and sucking and caressing. Then I freeze when he goes to slide them off.
“No, Ryan, stop.” I suddenly feel like I’m standing on a cliff above the Grand Canyon.
“What’s wrong?” He picks his head up, “Too fast?”
“No. Shit, yes.” I push myself up and scoot out from underneath him. I’m suddenly bombarded with images of Ryan with multiple women; touching him, caressing him, kissing him. Ugh. Insecurity drowning me.
I’ve only ever been with him, once, and one guy from college that ended in total disaster. I have no fucking idea what I’m doing or what to expect and my intimacy issues are flashing red in my face.
“Ryan, I-” I rub my head, “I don’t really know what I’m doing, and the last time we did this you disappeared. I’m kind of fucked up in the trust department when it comes to sex and men.”
“Fuck, Alana.” He pulls me into his chest, “I’m not going anywhere and we don’t have to do anything if you’re not ready.”
That’s my dilemma, my body is ready and willing, it’s my head that needs to catch up. I feel incredibly stupid. Here, the love of my life has been throwing himself at me the last few days and I shut him down the first chance I get. He told me he loved me not three hours ago, so why can’t I let him in?
“Do you have to go home tonight?” Ryan asks as he smoothes my hair with his hand.
“No, why?” I look up at him.
He shifts and then stands up, pulling me with him. He leads me out of the living room an
d down the hallway towards the bedrooms.
“What are you doing?” I pull at his hand.
“Taking you to bed,” he says as he opens a door to the right.
“Ryan-”
“Just to sleep Alana, I just want to sleep. I want to hold you in my arms and make sure you know I will be here tomorrow. If you need me to rebuild your trust, I’ll do it one morning at a time.”
I stop walking. How many times have I imagined this? Waking up and Ryan actually being there.
I step into his room and it’s such a guy’s space; completely different from the rest of the apartment. The walls are painted a dark gray, his bedspread a navy blue. There’s a pile of clothes thrown in the corner and a huge picture of an artist’s pallet with smeared brush strokes and colorful paint mixtures hanging on the wall. I love it. It’s so Ryan.
He crawls into bed and motions for me to follow. He lies on his back and hugs me into his chest, his jaw resting on my head. I could almost cry this feels so right, so why did I tell him no?
“You were the only thing that got me through those three years,” he confesses. “I thought about you every day.”
“I wish you’d called me.”
“Me too,” he says, and I can hear the regret in his voice. It permeates the room.
I think of Ryan locked up for a crime he didn’t commit. Losing precious years he’ll never get back, and a future that’s all but ruined because of his criminal record.
I hug him tighter, pity consuming me.
I watch the lights of Manhattan twinkle in the darkness. Ryan is breathing deeply, a slow soothing rhythm, and I know he’s asleep. Staring out at the nightscape, I realize I have to make a decision. If I want Ryan in my life I’ll have to learn to trust him. I’ll have to let go of the last five years and I’ll have to accept his profession.
Ish.
Ryan the stripper, Jack the Stripper. How in the hell am I going to deal with that?
It’s going to be easier to get over my insecurities, even though I’m not really sure who I am without them.
But I want Ryan.
I’ve always wanted Ryan.
It just drives me nuts that half of the women in New York City want him too.
Strip Me Bare Page 5
