Everywhere.
Even the slightest brush.
There’s a little bit of shade from the awning overhead, making it comfortable to sit outside on the warm summer day.
“How was your weekend?” he asks.
“Long. How was yours?”
“Even longer,” he smirks.
“Anything interesting happen?” I ask, and I sort of want to take the question back because I know it’s a loaded one.
Ryan just grins, “No, the only interesting day I had this week was Thursday.”
“And what made Thursday so interesting?” I tease.
“I got to travel.”
“Oh really? Did you go anyplace interesting?”
Ryan nods devilishly, “And I’m not done exploring yet.”
My thighs burn from his insinuation, and I try not to picture the wicked things Ryan can do that go right along with his stare. The waitress drops off our coffees and I’m not sure if I’m grateful for the distraction, or pissed off from the interruption.
I watch Ryan dump some sugar into his cup and then some cream.
“Where did the name Jack the Stripper come from?” I ask curiously as he stirs.
Ryan looks up with just his eyes, his facial expression unreadable, “It’s sort of a play on words.”
“Do tell,” I cross my arms interested.
Ryan exhales, “When I started at Culture, I was a bartender and trust me, that’s all I ever intended to be. One night I was working the Male Revue and a dancer didn’t show up. Desperate for someone to fill in, one of the managers asked if I’d be interested.”
“And you were?”
“No, not in the least. It took a lot of persuading. I was in the back room with a bunch of half naked guys trying to talk me into it. They flashed cash in my face, told me about all the women they’d had, and about all the women who’d want me.”
I grimace a little.
“I won’t get graphic.”
“Thanks for sparing me.”
“Anyway, in a panic I blurted out that I didn’t know jack about stripping. That’s when Divan slapped me on the back and said ‘that’s perfect, we’ll call you Jack the Stripper,’ the rest is history.”
“And that’s the night you got wasted and told Lorenzo all about me?”
Ryan looks down at his coffee and fiddles with the spoon, “Yes, the girl I danced for. She looked like you.” He glances back up.
I’m not sure how I feel about that. I know I told Ryan I would try to deal with his occupation, but I’m not sure how well I can handle the details. On the flip side though, I’m curious as hell. I’m stuck in-between a prying rock and a perturbed hard place.
“I wasn’t out of prison very long when I started working at Culture,” he goes on, and I’m suddenly at the edge of my seat. “Mac hooked me up with the job.”
“Mac?” I bat my eyelashes, surprised. Mac is, or at least was, Ryan’s best friend. He always reminded me of one of those cute, popular guys in high school who had a quirky side. And he was always wearing one of those stupid T-shirts’ with the goofy sayings like, This Is What Awesome Looks Like.
“Yeah,” Ryan rubs the back of his neck. “He was living in the city by the time I got out and promoting for a few big night clubs.”
“Mac knew where you were?”
“Yes.”
I huff, and sort of feel stupid. “I went to him looking for you.”
“I know,” he says apologetically, “I told him, ordered him actually, not to tell you where I was.”
I’m kicking myself right now. I knew I should have pressed Mac harder, recalling our last conversation. I was convinced he knew something and I just didn’t listen to my instincts.
“Where’s Mac now?”
“California. He met a girl, got married and moved out there. Bang, bang, bang. I was crashing on his couch when it all happened.”
“Wow. Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“You must miss him.”
“Yeah, I do. But he’s happy. So I’m happy,” he smiles sincerely.
I can’t help but smirk. That statement is so Ryan; Mr. Empathetic.
“So, Mac got you the job…?” I urge him on.
“Mac got me the job,” Ryan sighs, “he had had enough of me moping around. I was in a pretty dark place after I got out. I was angry, drinking a lot, unfocused. A mess really. Then they threw me up on stage and all my demons were right there staring back at me. All long blonde hair and chestnut brown eyes. I almost chickened out, but then I sorta felt like if I bailed on her, I was bailing on you all over again. So I went for it. And it was, I don’t know, rehabilitative.”
“Are you telling me stripping is therapeutic?” I raise my eyebrows.
“It was. You’re my therapy now.”
I shake my head at him; smooth talker.
“Is that why you didn’t come find me when you got out? You were in a bad place?”
“That’s part of the reason. I didn’t know how I would handle it if you rejected me.”
Ryan’s eyes change and there’s no longer that light in them; the light that I love so much.
“What was prison like?”
Ryan’s expression morphs into something dark. Something unrecognizable and I know I just stepped over the line.
“I don’t really think you need to hear about it.”
“I think it might be good for you to talk about it.”
“Not with you,” he looks away and crosses his arms.
“Why not? You just said I was your therapy.”
“Alana, no. I don’t want to go there with you.”
“I want you to.”
“Why?” he snaps.
Because I’m crazy.
“Because if we’re going to be together, I need to know.”
“Are we together?” Ryan immediately fires back.
I stare at him impassively. I said maybe I’d try, but that was no declaration.
Am I even ready to full-on commit? It’s so fast, but it feels like we’ve never been apart.
“If that’s what you want,” I say with my heart beating like a bass drum in my chest.
“You know what I want. You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted,” his eyes are like daggers stabbing into my soul.
I’ve never been good at vocalizing what I’m feeling, so I decide to deploy the show-don’t-tell tactic. I get up from the table and stand over Ryan. He puts his hands on my hips; his grip so tight it feels almost desperate. I lean over and kiss him; a gentle, affirming kiss that seals our fate. When we part, Ryan pulls me into a hug, his cheek pressed into my abdomen. I hold him firmly to me; lovingly, supportively, compassionately. Because I know Ryan has been to hell and back. I run my hand through his soft wavy hair, and when he looks up at me I smile. He returns the expression, confident in that whatever he’s about to tell me won’t affect the way I see him. And that’s exactly the way I want him to feel.
I sit back down at the table, mentally preparing myself for a conversation of epic proportions.
“So?”
Ryan huffs and I know he’s completely on edge. But we have to do this. We have to talk.
“So. Prison sucked,” he says, and then stops.
“Go on,” I encourage him. He shifts in his chair like he can’t get comfortable.
“It was confining and degrading and you fought for your life every day.”
I frown, “How did you survive?”
“I made a reputation for myself.”
“How?”
Ryan’s eyes glaze over with something ominous. “I tried to keep to myself at first. But that wasn’t really working so well. Pretty boy in prison,” he shakes his head. “I basically had bitch stamped on my forehead. One day one of the other inmates started messing with me in the chow hall. I tried to ignore him, but he just kept on pushing,” Ryan grinds his teeth and wrings his hands together. “Things escalated, got physical and then I don’t know. Something hap
pened, I just snapped. Sean’s always been the fighter. But in there, I was a different person. I beat the guy within an inch of his life. It took three guards to pull me off him and when they did, his face was unrecognizable. I remember looking at him like it was through someone else’s eyes, seeing the damage I didn’t know I was capable of.” Ryan’s body tenses all over; the muscles in his arms stretching the fabric of his tight t-shirt. “They dragged me away and threw me in solitary confinement. I spent an entire day covered in the guy’s blood before they let me out for a shower. Then I went back in for a week.”
“An entire week in solitary confinement?”
Ryan nods absently.
“That must have been unbearable.”
“It was,” he looks up at me, his blue eyes sharp, “but I thought about you. A lot. Everyday actually. For three and a half years. And then every day after I got out.”
“I thought about you too,” I say softly, and then I get up and go sit on Ryan’s lap. I just need to hold him. My heart is breaking thinking about him locked away. Being punished for a crime he didn’t commit. It makes the lawyer in me go crazy. And the girlfriend in me want to weep. But that’s not going to happen. If it came down to it, I’d end up smashing something to pieces before I let a tear roll down my cheek.
“So what happened after that?”
“I staked my reputation. I didn’t start the fights, but I always finished them.”
“Did you fight a lot?”
“Not as much as others, but there was always some jackass who wanted to start. Who thought he was tough,” Ryan shrugs modestly. “I just made damn sure I was tougher.”
“How do you feel now that you’re out?”
“I’ve gotten better over the last few months. I’m still resentful though.”
“Of Sean?”
“Of Sean, my mom. I barely speak to them,” he says and there’s such sadness in his voice. “But like I said, I can’t change my decision, only regret it.”
“Ryan,” I grab his face and kiss him. I wish I could take it all away; change the past, guarantee the future.
And I really wish I would have known.
I pull away. “What happens if Sean does it again?” I ask, with a little bit of fear in my voice.
Ryan shakes his head strictly, “Never again. I’ll never take the fall for Sean again. And he knows it. I made that very clear when I got out.” His tone is menacing.
“How’d you do that?”
“Prison made me very persuasive,” he insinuates.
“Did you beat up your brother?”
“I needed to send him a message.” And he doesn’t sound apologetic about it either.
“And did he receive the message?”
“The tooth I knocked out of his head tells me he did.”
My mouth drops open, shocked.
“Can we talk about something else now?” Ryan asks tensely.
“Absolutely. What?” I think he’s been interrogated enough for one day.
“What evil demons are you hiding from me?”
“Huh?” I glance down at him.
“You said you have intimacy issues. And I’m to blame. So tell me how deep it goes.”
I instinctually fall silent, but I know Ryan’s not going to let me barricade my emotions for long.
“Alana, no wall.”
“I know, I know, battering ram,” I huff perturbed.
As I hash out my feelings and build up the nerve to talk about all my insecurities, Ryan’s phone rings on the table. Talk about saved by the bell. He reaches over and looks at the screen, then he curses under his breath. He hesitates for a split second then answers it.
“Hey man,” he sounds annoyed.
I look down at him with an inquiring look. “Divan?” I mouth.
He shakes his head no. “Sean,” he mouths back and I involuntarily scowl.
“Yeah, in SoHo where are you? The city? Meet me?” Ryan glances up at me and I know I’m staring at him intently. “At a corner café on Prince…Okay, see you in a few.” He hangs up.
“He’s coming here?” I blurt out.
“Yes.”
I’m speechless; I’ve never actually met Sean, nor do I want to.
“Look, you can leave if you want.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I saw the look on your face when you found out it was him. It’s okay. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“I won’t be uncomfortable,” I lie. He’s only the one who stole years of Ryan’s youth, ruined his future and ripped us apart. What do I have to be uncomfortable about?
I realize if I’m going to be with Ryan, which not thirty minutes ago I said I was, I’m going to have to deal with all the baggage that comes along with him.
Which is some serious baggage; like oversized, exceeding the weight limit, excess fees kind of baggage.
When Ryan and I were together five years ago, family problems didn’t come much into play. Both our families had issues and instead of focusing on those, we focused on each other. It was our great escape, but it wasn’t realistic. I’m sure if we stayed together, our household troubles would have eventually caught up to us. Which, I guess in a way, they ultimately did.
Ryan shoots me a skeptical look.
“What?” I challenge him. “I’m not bailing on you. Not now, not ever. It’s not in my nature,” I smirk.
“Tough chick,” he quips.
“When I have to be,” I give him a quick peck on the lips then get up and go back to my seat.
If I’m doing this, I’m going to need more coffee.
And maybe a bottle of tequila.
Ryan and I make small talk while we wait for Sean. The tension in the air is so thick that even the couple at the next table can sense it. They keep glancing at us like we’re suspected terrorists. I know Ryan is just as worried as I am about meeting Sean. The waitress pours my third cup of coffee and, thanks to Sean, Ryan has let the evil demons conversation go. For now. Man, this has turned into one hell of a breakfast.
I look down as I take a sip of coffee, and when I look back up I see a version of Ryan walking towards me. A badass, Slim Shady version. My whole body stiffens as he approaches. Sean is tall and lean like Ryan, but his shoulders are a bit broader then his torso. He walks the same, with a hint of a swagger. He’s dressed in an oversized white t-shirt and baggy jeans. His right arm, from what I can see of it, is covered with bright tattoos and if I had to put money on it, I’d say it’s a full sleeve. He has on clean white sneakers and a black hat with a stiff brim. I can’t see how long his hair is, but I can see his eyes. They’re exactly the same as Ryan’s; cobalt blue, the color of opulent sapphires. Except his have a shiftiness about them that immediately puts me on edge.
“Hey bro,” Sean says as he clasps Ryan’s hand. He pulls up an empty chair from another table and sits between us.
He looks me over and then turns to Ryan, cocking his head, “One of your groupies?”
Before Ryan can answer Sean goes on, “She doesn’t look like one of your usuals.”
Usuals?
I stare quietly at Ryan. He’s turning fifty shades of red.
“What’s Ryan’s usual?” I ask Sean evenly.
He shrugs, “You know, dark hair, light eyes. Neither of which you have.”
“Do you know all of Ryan’s girlfriends?” I ask coolly.
Sean’s lips twist up into a wicked smile, “Ryan doesn’t have girlfriends. He has fuck friends.”
Ouch. As if it isn’t enough that Ryan takes off his clothes for half the women in New York City, I now have a visual of the ones he likes to take home.
“What’s your name?” Sean asks like my presence is entertaining.
“Alana,” Ryan bites, catching us both by surprise.
Sean pauses as if connecting the dots. Then he glances quickly to me and then back to Ryan, “Is that some kind of coincidence or something, bro?”
Ryan shakes his head sternly. Sean’s eyes grow
a little wider as he gauges his brother’s response.
He must know all about me.
“Nice to meet you Sean,” I say sardonically. “I’m Ryan’s girlfriend.”
Sean dips his head and then looks up at me with a cocky grin. “Nice to finally meet you, Alana. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“And I you,” I respond audaciously, never breaking eye contact with him.
I measure up the person mostly responsible for our separation. I say mostly because Ryan played a part too, but it was Sean who lit the fuse.
“So what are you doing in NYC Sean?” Ryan asks. “I thought you couldn’t leave the state of New Jersey.”
Sean scoffs, “It’s the city, it doesn’t count.”
“I think your PO might disagree with that,” Ryan contends.
“She’ll never know.”
“Let’s hope not.”
The waitress comes over, interrupting their taut chitchat. Sean orders a coffee. Black with a double shot of espresso. Damn, and I thought I liked it strong.
I gauge him as he looks at Ryan. His voice sounds relaxed, but his body language tells a different story. His fingers never stop twitching and neither does his leg. It’s like there’s a rhythm only he can hear.
“So,” Ryan presses after Sean gets his caffeine.
“So what?” Sean sounds implicated. “I went to the clinic this morning and decided it was a nice day. So I hopped on the train to come hit up my little brother.”
Clinic?
“Hit him up for what exactly?” Ryan crosses his arms. I look at Sean. He has another tattoo on the side of his neck - the number 1254 - and I can’t help but wonder what it means.
“That hurts bro,” Sean pounds his chest faking injured feelings. “I thought we could hang out, but I see you already have plans,” he says, and I can’t tell if his words are genuine or sarcastic. He’s kind of hard to read. I do know one thing about him though; he’s on one hell of an ego trip.
“You’re right, I do have plans, and I’m going to be busy for a while,” Ryan smirks at me, then shoots Sean an irritated look.
Sean’s eyes narrow, “I gotcha brother.”
“I hope you do.”
Strip Me Bare Page 7
