Strip Me Bare

by M. Never

  Ryan: Don’t walk away from me . . .

  And therein lies my problem. Do I run screaming from him, or sprint right back into his arms?

  I have no idea. My head says run, but my heart says sprint. It says forgive. It says second chances do exist.

  My entire life I’ve listened to my head. Except once, five years ago, when I listened to my heart. And it was the only time I was ever truly happy.

  The train pulls into my stop at 6:23 p.m. Dinner time, perfect. Surprisingly, I’m starving, despite my stomach being in knots. I hop into my little white Audi and head over to the Italian restaurant Emily suggested. It’s a little hole-in-the-wall, but it has the best Ruffino and penne alla vodka this side of Little Italy. I pull into the parking lot and quickly turn off the engine. When I get inside I find Emily sitting at a table in the back, the lights are dim and there are candles in Chianti bottles dripping with wax, providing the room with a romantic glow. And she’s not alone. Shit.

  “Uncle John,” I plaster on a smile as I walk up to the table, “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

  He stands and gives me a bear hug. I shoot icicles at Emily behind his back. She shrugs apologetically.

  My uncle is the warmest, most affectionate man I know. I consider him more of a father than my own. “I missed my girl.” He looks down at Emily fondly. “She said she was meeting you, so I thought I would crash the party and have a drink. See how everything went last night.” He winks at her knowingly.

  I nearly tear at the seams. He wants details about last night? Where’s the wine?

  “Dad, please. Like I would give you details.”

  “Probably for the best.” He grins. My Uncle John has all the same physical traits as my father. He’s a tall, stocky man with warm brown eyes and jet black hair. Except his is thinning and not gray yet.

  Their biggest difference is he is always smiling. I’m not even sure if my father has teeth.

  “Are you eating with us?” I sit tentatively.

  “No, Emily made it very clear this dinner is strictly girl business. So she promised me breakfast tomorrow morning. You can join us if you’d like,” he offers.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

  “Nonsense, you’re both my girls. And I miss spending time with you, too.”

  Emily nods, agreeing vigilantly. I guess I don’t have much of a choice.

  “Sounds great.” I give in. I’m a dead duck in the water when these two gang up on me.

  “It’s all settled, then.” My Uncle John is pleased. He always gets what he wants. Maybe that’s why he smiles so much? “I’ll see you two at the beach club at ten.” He kisses our foreheads and then heads for the door, both of us watching him like hawks. As soon as he is out of sight Emily immediately turns to me. “So spill. What happened? Did you hook up?” She nearly jumps out of her chair.

  “Down, girl. How easy do you think I am? Before we get to the down and dirty, I need some vino.” I motion to the waitress. If I don’t get some alcohol coursing through my system soon, this conversation may get ugly.

  “Alana, you’re absolutely glowing. And this is Ryan.” She exaggerates his name. “Ry-an.

  I touch my face. Glowing? “So, what are you getting at? Ry-an?” I mock.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she sings annoyingly. “You only spent the last five years pining over him.”

  “I wasn’t pining,” I object, scrunching my nose. “You make me sound like some lovesick puppy.”

  “Weren’t you?”

  “No.” I fiddle with a bunched-up piece of the red plaid tablecloth as the waitress pours my wine. “I was more confused than anything else. I thought it was my fault he left. That I did something,” I admit. You give a man your heart, and soul, and virginity, and then have him up and disappear on you the very next day, it kinda messes with your head. Your whole life, really.

  “So, what happened? Where the hell did he go?” Emily is chomping at the bit.

  Ahhhh, the million dollar question. The one that’s been burning a hole in my brain for five years.

  I start at the beginning and share every single detail about the morning. The coffee shop, the skank, Ryan’s brother, the drug charge, the stolen identity, and my father convicting him. She’s quiet throughout the whole story, listening intently, her eyes wide and glued to me.

  “Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.” Is about all she can muster. “That’s like the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Right?” I swallow down the last bit of my wine.

  “But you believe him?”

  “I do. He may be older, and a completely different person, but inside, he’s still Ryan.” I reflectively run my thumb and index finger down the stem of the glass.

  I could feel it. See it. The way he touched me, looked at me, it was exactly the same, and it’s a lot to take in.

  “So, you going to give him a second chance? See if it sticks this time?”

  “I have no idea.” I shrug, at a loss. “He wants to try, he made that perfectly clear. But honestly, I just don’t know. I don’t know anything. There’s a whole world of shit we need to work out.” It’s daunting.

  “So, when are you going to see him again?” Emily continues with her interrogation as the waitress refills my glass with wine, the liquid I desperately need.

  “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.” Emily leers conspiratorially.

  “Isn’t it?” I agree in the same manner.

  “You know he’s going to shit a canary if he finds out about the two of you. Ryan’s a stripper, for Christ’s sake,” she hisses.

  “Yeah, that’s definitely one of the issues we have to address.” I chug my wine. A fucking stripper. “I have no idea what’s going to happen with Ryan, but as long as I keep my grades up and don’t do anything to mar his pretty image, my father will leave me alone. I’ll be lucky if I see him at Christmas.”

  “Sounds like you have it all planned out.”

  “Not in the least.”

  Emily laughs. “Well, you know I’m here if you need anything.”

  “I do.” I smile sweetly. Without Emily, I don’t know where I’d be.

  “And I better goddamn see you at Christmas.” She snatches up her wine glass and threateningly shoves it in my face.

  Yes, ma’am.

  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 will approve. It’s the perfect place for the perfect judge’s perfect daughter.

  The realtor says the current tenant’s lease is up in July, and then it will be move-in ready August 1st, which is perfect since orientation at Columbia starts mid-August.

  I look down at my watch, a rose gold Michael Kors. My favorite one. It’s 3:15, and I’m wiped. Who knew apartment hunting could be so taxing?

  Ryan and I decided to meet at Bryant Park again. So, here I am, pacing the walkway waiting for him.

  He’s late. Again.

  The birds are chirping, and the waterfall is echoing, but the serene sounds do nothing to calm me. I find myself worrying if my trust in him will ever return.

  We’ve been texting nonstop for the last two days, but right now that doesn’t mean shit if he doesn’t show. I keep replaying the last words he said Sunday night.

  It will take an act of God to keep me away.

  I continue to pace. This is agony.

  Without warning a pair of strong arms encircle me from behind. “You need to chill out.” His voice is sultry.

  “Have any ideas how?” I inquire mischievously. Two seconds together and all of a sudden I’m a flirt. And happy. Shit, I’m happy.

  Ryan plants a soft kiss on my cheek. “I may have something up my sleeve.”

  I turn to face him, still imprisoned in his grasp. Jesus, he’s beautiful. All t
oned and tanned and sharply defined. He makes me feel weak, like he emits fucking pheromones or something.

  “You’re here.” I muse.

  “So, I am.” Ryan beams, blinding me with his smile. My stomach flips. “And so are you. The question now is, whatever shall we do?”

  “Stop rhyming for one.” I giggle.

  “Agreed.”

  “I’m starving, actually. 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 slides his hands leisurely down my bare arms. I suppress how much I love him touching me. Too soon. Too fast.

  “I thought we could grab an early dinner here, in the park,” I suggest, collecting my bearings.

  It’s a perfect day for alfresco.

  “As long as we’re together, we can do anything you want.” He steals my hand.

  “Anything?” I test the waters.

  “Anything.” His eyes burn and so do my panties. Fuck.

  “Good, let’s go then.” I cool my jets. “I want to eat.”

  “Baby, so do I.” Ryan responds suggestively, pulling me toward the restaurant. I silently pray I survive this dinner.

  The Bryant Park Grill is a quaint little place with a great view of the park and rooftop dining. After waiting a good half hour, we’re finally seated. We get a table right next to the railing with a sprawling view of the park’s gravel walkways, paved 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-consuming thoughts of that kiss. The one by the stairwell of New Jersey Transit. And how, God help me, I want him to kiss me like that all over again. And again, and again, and again.

  “Alana?” I distantly hear my name and look up from the napkin I’m fiddling with. Ryan is staring pointedly at me. “Where did you go? You checked out for a second?”

  “I’m here. I’m just thinking.”

  “About what?” He’s guarded. Me thinking is never good, and Ryan knows it. I get lost in my own head and that is a very dangerous place to be.

  “How long have you been dancing?” I fire away, no beating around the bush. I want to know. I want to know . . . everything.

  His expression hardens. “About a year.”

  He had to know this conversation was inevitable.

  “Why do you do it?” I continued, sipping my wine for emotional support,

  “Money, women, sex.” He shrugs.

  Of course. The big three.

  “I see.” His answer disappoints me. It’s so aloof. So shallow. So unlike Ryan. Or, at least, the Ryan I used to know.

  “Well, I just do it for the money now.” He sucks on the skinny straw sticking out of his clear drink.

  “Woman and sex suddenly lose their appeal?” Yes, I’m being surly. It’s painful visualizing the love of your life stripping off all his clothes for money, then fucking the women who stuffed the dollar bills down his pants.

  “No, they’re still as important as ever, I’m just interested in having sex with only one woman now.” He states as if he’s laying claim.

  “So, plural has turned into singular?” I’m snarky, still.

  “Yes. Everything changed Saturday night. Everything.”

  Everything?

  “How many?” I push.

  “How many what?” He searches my eyes. I know they’re smoldering and not from anything good.

  “Women,” I clarify. “How many women have you slept with?”

  Ryan just about shits. “Come on, Alana, do you really need to know that?”

  “Yes, I really need to know.” I have to know.

  Ryan exhales, his cheeks puffing. “I don’t know, a few dozen or so.” He throws out a number.

  My heart races.

  “A few dozen?” I swallow a huge gulp of wine. “What’s a few? And all from the strip club?”

  “Most, yes. But not all. You have to understand.” He sits up straight, serious now. “This job, it’s money and sex and money and sex, and you get all caught up in the lifestyle if there isn’t anything anchoring you to the ground.” He leans forward, snatches my hand, and brushes the back side quickly with his thumb. “And I want so badly for you to be my anchor.”

  A world war of emotions breaks out inside me.

  “Do you understand how hard it will be for me if we’re together? Knowing you grind all over other women for money.” The waitress chooses the most inopportune moment to drop off our dinner. The older woman with thick-rimmed glasses shoots me a strange look when she places my plate in front of me. My cheeks blaze red. No one was meant to hear that comment.

  “You make it sound so dirty,” Ryan shoots back when the waitress is out of earshot.

  “Isn’t it? You strip off all your clothes and virtually dry fuck women all night long,” I hiss.

  Ryan shakes his head. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s disappointed in me. Which is completely preposterous.

  “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?” I huff.

  “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 for 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?” Ryan challenges.

  Do I really have to answer that? I pause. Did I like it?

  Yes, I did. He was sexy and alluring and I remember thinking to myself that 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, his voice morphing into a sexy, manipulative tone. No doubt the same one he uses on all his women.

  “What if it is? What then?” I offer up no ultimatum.

  Ryan is clearly disappointed. “Then I’ll quit.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll quit. If it means I have to choose, I pick you. I’ll always pick you.” He squeezes my hand, making me realize he’s still holding it. He never let go. And neither did I. “You may have to support me for a while if I do quit, because I’m not going to find easy money like that anyplace else.” There’s humor behind his bold statement.

  “How much do you make?” Ryan just royally piqued my curiosity.

  “Anywhere from eight hundred to a thousand a night. But that’s on the high end. The average guy makes about four or five hundred.”

  “That much?”

  “It’s an expensive city to live in and not all of us are lucky enough to have Daddy to depend on.”

  I clench my jaw. “I’m not lucky, I’m just privileged. There’s a big difference.”

  “And utterly lacking love.” Ryan pulls one of my cards. The most painful one. Fucker. 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 have them.

  “I love you.” He drops a grenade right on the table.

  Boom.

  “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, especially me. Who deep down wants to help people, and who loves unconditionally when given the chance. That’s who I know.”

  I glance down at our linked hands. I hate that it’s so easy for him. That it’s so easy for him to lay out all his feelings 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. “You know what’ll happen, I’ll demolish it with a battering ram.”

  Arrogant fuck.

  I bristle because I know he’s right. He’s the only person who can infiltrate my emotions. Who can break down that wall. The only person I want to let in. The only person I did let in.

  “You’re as arrogant as ever, you know that? Maybe even worse than before.”

  Ryan pops his eyebrows, like my accusation is something to be proud of. “And you’re as gorgeous and stubborn and smart-mouthed as ever.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

  “Except maybe into my bed.”

  “Only if I was one of your easy, strip club groupies.” I pull my hand away and grab for my wine glass. By the time Ryan is done with me I’m going to need AA.

  “Ouch.” Ryan stabs himself in the heart, then gazes thoughtfully at me from across the table. “No, Alana,” he muses, “you’ve never been easy.” A slow, sexy smile spreads across his mouth. That freakin’ hot mouth that is so dangerous it needs a muzzle. “But trust me when I tell you, if I wanted you in my bed, you’d be there. Flattery or not.”

  I find myself reliving all the ways Ryan touched me when we were together. How hot he could make my skin and exactly what degree he could make my body ache. Which is the Nth degree, if you’re wondering.

  I lean across the table haughtily, every muscle in my stomach clenching at just the thought of Ryan touching me. “Tell yourself whatever you need to so you can sleep at night.”

  He leans over boldly, as well, our noses three inches apart. “I haven’t been able to sleep in five years.”

  “And why is that?” I’m staring blatantly at his mouth.

  “Because I’ve been without a sexy, long-legged blonde for way too long. A feisty, fast-talking goddess who sets my world on fire.”