Stripped

by Allie Juliette Mousseau

“The one and only.”

  “Wow. You aim high.”

  “Always do.” That was a reference to her. “I have the space to rehearse all I want at the studio, but testing out your moves to the pulse of a feverish audience puts the pressure on like nothing else.”

  Em snorts. “So you’re stripping so you can become mentally prepared for an audition?” Her eyes read, yeah, right. “You know, it looks like you’ve got your hands full with help already.”

  “Trust me, I don’t. I need someone… I don’t have anyone with your level of expertise or creative talent—your critical eye to scrutinize each number I’ve put together. You’re a professional dancer. If you worked with me and tutored me to be the best I can be, I could really blow the judges away and have a serious shot at this audition.”

  Her lovely mouth gapes.

  “It’s a little more than three weeks away. Will you be here that long? I could pay you.”

  Suddenly Katy starts singing again.

  I’d love to get a look at the wanker who fucked up so badly that Emilie’s best friend gives her fuck-you-song phone therapy.

  Emelie looks down at her mobile then again at me. “Let me think about it.”

  Ladies and gentlemen, that is as good as a yes! “Excellent.” I snatch her mobile from her hand and retrieve my own from my pocket.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Syncing our mobile numbers so you can ring me later today to tell me yes.” I pass it back.

  “Like I said, I’ll think about it,” she says all sassy and walks away.

  I wait expectantly. “Come on, baby, turn around,” I say once she’s far enough away that she can’t hear me.

  She walks with purpose, but I know I’m on her mind.

  “Prove it, Sunshine. One look is all it takes.”

  Crowds of people push pass me as I hold my ground against the flow in the middle of the pier.

  “I’m not giving up, Em.” The quit gene isn’t in my DNA.

  And there it is! Her little pause. The oh-not-so-simple shift of her body. She turns her head. Her slender neck twists to reveal her beautiful profile as her eyes seek out mine. The soft curve of her forehead, the graceful slope of her nose, the royal lift of her chin. When she discovers that I’m watching her, her entire face glows, breaking into a smile.

  When she turns back in her intended direction, I’m almost positive I see her shoulders shake. A giggle?

  What an awesome fucking day! I smile and continue down the pier. I’ll talk to my goddess again.

  Chapter Seven

  Emelie

  Stone is sinful, lustful, wild, unbridled sex appeal

  (And I’m so in trouble)

  “What the hell took you so long? Where have you been?” Vi is incredulous as I hand off the smelly gas container to her.

  “Traffic got crazy.” I shake my head, trying to sell the lie.

  “It’s like eleven-thirty on Sunday. Even in LA the traffic isn’t bad at this time.” Her eyes narrow in suspicion as she pours the fuel into her empty tank. “You look… I don’t know. Different.”

  At that observation, my brow lifts. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you’re smiling, for one thing.”

  “I always smile.”

  She snorts. “Not since you got to LA.”

  “Why do you have to question it? Why shouldn’t I be smiling? I mean, look around you: the sun is shining, the sky is the perfect, uninterrupted shade of blue, and it’s a balmy seventy-eight degrees. Maybe I’ll go take a walk along the beach.”

  “Who are you, and how did you take over Emelie’s body?”

  “Stop it,” I say. “Have you ever watched Then Prove You Can Dance?”

  “Of course. Who hasn’t?” She puts the now empty safety gas container in her trunk, then her face lights up and her eyes grow as large as saucers. “Are you thinking of—?”

  “Me? Oh God, no.” I shake my head. “No way. I was thinking it might be fun to catch a couple of last season’s episodes on Netflix.”

  “Great, so now you’re going to park your kitten on the couch to watch dance-porn?”

  I bust up laughing. Dance-porn. That is a perfect description of Stone.

  “Are you on drugs?” she asks seriously.

  “No!” I don’t think I’m very convincing. I can’t seem to stifle the giggles.

  Vi leans into me and sniffs my breath. “You haven’t been drinking.”

  “Stop judging. You’re the one who used kitten and dance-porn in the same sentence.” I steer the conversation in another direction. “Remember a couple weeks ago when you wanted to take me clothes shopping?”

  “And you wouldn’t go? Yes, I remember vaguely.” She tilts her head and flashes a sarcastic expression.

  “Do you have plans for today?”

  “When today?” She perks up at the mere suggestion of shopping.

  “How about now?” I draw out the word slowly, wondering if I’ve really made my decision.

  “What do you want to buy?” she scoffs. “Couch covers?”

  “Maybe some outfits.”

  “Clothes??”

  “I was offered a job today…”

  “A JOB?!” Her voice squeaks. “OH MY GOD! Have you decided??”

  “About moving here long term? No.”

  “Yeah, but a job is a step in the right direction!” Her happiness will not be deterred. “Where?”

  “Where what?”

  “Where’s the job, silly?”

  With Foreplay’s hottest act. Oh, she’d love that. “Santa Monica Dance Studio, teaching five-year-olds the fundamentals.” Another lie. I’m keeping a straight face, so I’ve got a chance.

  Vi throws her arms around my neck. “I’m so happy! You said you never wanted to teach. I’m so proud of you! This is a huge step forward! Have you told your dad?”

  I groan inwardly. “Not yet.”

  “Yeah, he’d probably have a crisis. Your mom, on the other hand, will be thrilled!”

  She’s right on both counts.

  Violet has me at the mall in record time. After about two hours, we have several bags of clothes—dance gear, some casual outfits, and a couple dressy ensembles. Of course, Vi wouldn’t let me leave without a heavy dose of accessories and several pairs of shoes compatible with any outing.

  “Now that was almost as good as sex!” She falls into a chair at the food court. “That statement has nothing to do with a quality lover’s abilities, just my absolute adoration of shopping.”

  I laugh and remove the top off my salad—light-on-the-dressing, thank you.

  “Hmm… you’re laughing. It’s so sudden, but I like this change that’s come over you. It’s more like the old you, the real you.” She nods, seeming satisfied. “This job is going to be good for you.”

  “Thanks, I think.” I take a bite that’s too big and cover my mouth with my hand as I talk. “It’s not completely written in…” Really??! I had to go there? “…Stone.”

  “But you bought all these clothes.”

  “You’ve been right all along. I’ve been hiding. I left my heart in New York in too many ways. Maybe it’s time to get it back.”

  Ginuwine’s “Pony” reverberates from my handbag.

  “What is that…?” Her eyes widen.

  “Oh… shit!”

  “Since when do you put ringtones into your phone?” she grills me. “If I didn’t do it for you, you’d have whatever lame sound came with the device.”

  Ginuwine is crooning—most stimulatingly—about getting it on. At this point, all the patrons at the surrounding tables are watching us intently. I smile apologetically while I rummage through my purse, grappling for my loud phone.

  “Wait a minute… who is it?” Vi moves in closer.

  “My new job.” IF I keep it! IF I don’t kill him for this, too. I still owe him for his shenanigans at the studio.

  “You put ‘Pony’ in as your work ringtone?” she barks incredulously. “LIAR! I’ve
been your best friend since third grade. I know you and I know you’re not telling the truth!”

  She latches onto my cell phone with her glittery manicured claws. “Let’s just see who exactly your work is.” Checking out the screen, she reads, “Stone. Who is Stone?”

  “Vi!”

  “Don’t you Vi me!” She takes the call. “Hello,” Vi purrs, somehow sounding a lot like me.

  “Oh yeah, I’m really interested in proposition three,” she says sensually then covers the receiver with her hand before she throws at me, “Fuckhot accent. What were propositions one and two, I wonder?”

  I cringe. Now she won’t stop until she uncovers the truth.

  He’s obviously still talking. What the hell could he be saying? From what little I know of him, Vi’s going to think I’m really working as a phone-sex girl.

  The wheels and cogs are spinning furiously behind her eyes. She moves the phone away and asks curiously, “He sounds vaguely familiar. Why? And when did you meet a guy from Australia?”

  “Give me the phone!” I’m obviously going to have to fight her for it.

  “Not a fucking chance!” she hisses then runs away between tables. “So, tell me Stone, when am I supposed to start at the—”

  Vi stops mid-sentence. Her entire body freezes.

  She turns on me with the force of an F-7 tornado; her green eyes bulge out of her head, making her look like one of those Blythe dolls—really cute but a shade scary.

  I am so screwed.

  “OH MY GOD!” Vi starts pointing and jabbing the phone at me to emphasize her words. “You are working with Stone Wright the dancer… and stripper… from Foreplay!!”

  This is not a question.

  She throws her head back and wails in hysterical laughter.

  Perfect.

  I look around us. We are officially a spectacle.

  “Will you please give me the phone now?”

  “Yes, but you have a lot of explaining to do.” She places the hunk of plastic into my palm. “I can’t wait to hear how this all transpired.”

  I put the receiver to my ear. “Stone?”

  “Emelie?” Oh, I love the sound of my name when he says it.

  “Yeah it’s me now.” I elbow Vi when she teases me about the wide smile that’s just taken over my face. “How long?”

  “HA! Probably twelve inches!” Violet cackles.

  “I figured out it wasn’t you in the middle of her first sentence.” He chuckles. “Your friend Violet, I assume?”

  “Yes. She commandeered my phone,” I admit. “Of course, you didn’t leave her much choice. ‘Pony’? Really?”

  “Sexy, right?”

  So much so. I blow out a breath—it’s hot and heavy… like a crank caller.

  When I don’t say anything he continues, “Since I didn’t get to thank you over lunch, would you like to come over to my place tonight to discuss proposition three?”

  “We really need to call it something else. It sounds like we’re arranging a threesome.”

  “Is that a joke, Sunshine?” I hear the grin in his voice.

  “Maybe.”

  “Good. I like your dirty mind, but just to let you know, I would never be able to share you, especially during a threesome—male or female. Too jealous. I’d want you all for myself.”

  My panties combust and burst into flames.

  Kitten down, kitten down!

  “What’s he saying? Your face is red as a fire truck!” Vi stealthily points out.

  That’s appropriate, I think. I’m going to need a big fire hose to douse these flames.

  OH MY GOD! What did I just think?!?

  “Now you’re resembling a cinnamon red hot candy.” She wriggles closer to me, trying to jam her ear next to mine. “Are you having phone sex?”

  “What did she say?” Stone breaks in.

  “Yes. Yes! Just sex… I mean, text me your address. I’ll be there at seven. Bye!” I end the call so fast I almost sprain a finger.

  “You, me, debrief in the car on the way home. We have to get you ready for your date.”

  “It’s not a date.”

  This time when she starts laughing she doesn’t stop until we get to the car.

  When the taxi stops at Stone’s address I realize I’ve misjudged just how much strippers earn. His luxury condo sits on a hill overlooking the lights of the city. He didn’t mention living with his parents, and I wonder if I’ll be meeting them.

  I run my hands down my clothes to straighten the wrinkles. Plus, I’m now uber-nervous, but very happy about my outfit decision. Violet—like a flesh-peddler—had immediately demanded I come in a silk bodice and thigh high hooker boots under a trench coat. I reminded her it was a business meeting and not an interview for high class call girls. She didn’t like that and moved on to pushing the sexiest dress I bought during our outing today. When I shot that idea down too, she threw her hands up in the air and stalked off mumbling something about how I just don’t care if the kitten lives or dies and I might as well pull the plug if I’m going to dress like Aunt Bee.

  I’m wearing a straight, navy knee-length skirt, white jacket, and a delicately flowered cotton blouse. And sexy woven stiletto boot-shoes—that last bit was Vi’s condition if I still wanted us to remain friends.

  Deep breath. I can do this. Just a business negotiation.

  With a fuckhot stripper.

  Consciously, I push that thought away from my brain, but I think it was on a direct-dial route to my hormones because, before I have a chance to stop myself, I’m smoothing a sweet shade of pink gloss over my lips.

  Chastising myself for being ridiculous, I walk to the buzzer panel and locate Stone’s name. Stone Wright. Probably doesn’t live with his parents, after all. Maybe his dad? I press the bell.

  A microsecond later the intercom clicks, and Stone croons my name. “Em?” Like he’s excited and surprised at the same time. The sound puts an instant megawatt smile across my face.

  “It’s me.” My entire body erupts with nervous tension. I’m trembling. This is not okay. I have to calm down.

  I rub the palms of my hands over my legs, trying to get myself grounded, and realize he didn’t beep me up. “Stone?”

  No answer.

  Maybe I misunderstood his initial inflection.

  Then I see him coming down the stairs two at a time to let me in. My heart flutters. So does my vagina.

  It’s going to be a long night if I keep reacting to everything he does like this.

  “You came. I didn’t think you would.” He’s so surprised, he’s looking right at me, but almost as if he doesn’t really believe I’m here.

  I’m taken with his sweetness—he took the time to come downstairs and let me in. Now he’s holding open the door.

  Stone releases a deep, throaty breath. “You look amazing.”

  “Thanks. So do you.” I mean it. He’s wearing a tailored gray business suit with a blue tie that accentuates his electric eyes. The mountain range of muscles beneath the fabric is so… yummy. Suddenly, panic strikes. “Is this an actual business meeting? Am I underdressed?”

  “No. It’s just you and me, and… you’re perfect.” His scorching gaze rakes up and down my body. I swear it lingers just a bit longer than it should over my boobs before getting to my eyes.

  The combination of his lusty voice and ogling eyes bombards every nerve in my body with tiny orgasmic-building sensations that demand I Kegel under the pressure.

  “Then what’s with the suit? Job interviews?”

  He chuckles lightly. “Because stripping isn’t a real way to make a living?”

  “I didn’t mean…” Yes I did.

  “Day job.”

  “Ah. What else do you do? Besides strip for zealous, horny women at night and then slip into your alter-ego on weekend mornings to teach little kids to dance?”

  “I work in real estate and property management.”

  Stone Wright is full of surprises and becomes exponentially mor
e interesting with every encounter and conversation we have.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Not much to tell. When I wanted to leave Oz, my parents relocated with me and talked me into working for them. It’s great money, but I hate it. They hate the dancing thing—as a hobby they’re cool with it, but as a career—too unstable,” he says and opens the door marked 201. “This is it.”

  He holds the door for me, so I step in. The first thing I notice are his bookshelves. I adore books and can’t help but be drawn magnetically towards them. Plus, I believe you can really see inside a person simply by seeing the kinds of books they read. The massive shelves cover three walls in the front room. He has books on dance, geography, history, travel, and world cultures, along with hundreds of novels in different genres.

  “Your library…” I begin, awestruck.

  “Growing up, my mum demanded we always have a book in our hand. Guess I never grew out of it.” He stops mid-stride and looks me over. “Can I take your jacket?”

  I nod. Stone’s fingers work under the back collar to drop the fabric from my shoulders. In the process, his fingers and hands graze the bare skin of my neck and back, sending delicious sensations through to my belly.

  Keep rational, Emelie. “When did you move to the States?”

  “It’s going on five years now.” Just then, a buzzer sounds. “Soup’s on.”

  I follow Stone to the kitchen. It’s half disaster, half spotless, and all incredible smells.

  “You cook?”

  “Yeah. I thought maybe it’d be nice to just stay in for the evening. Keep it simple. If you’d rather—”

  “No, I think staying in is… great. Whatever you made, the aroma is mouthwatering.”

  “Grilled portabella chicken mac and cheese.” He puts potholders over his hands, opens the oven, and takes out a golden, bubbling casserole dish that looks divine. “The five cheese blend really enhances the flavor.”

  “Oh no.” My face falls.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m dangerously allergic to dairy—anaphylactic, actually.”

  “Oh, shit!” He immediately looks miserable and embarrassed. “Damn it, I should’ve thought of that. I should’ve thought to ask you. Jesus! I’m sorry. I’ll just set it out on the counter and we can go anywhere you’d like.”