Luther had warned him it was too early to propose, but Dirk went and bought the rings anyway. Warren had whooped and made a lot of noise when Dirk went on one knee and proposed in the car dealership.
They’d marched to city hall right afterward, only to find out they needed to register first. Dirk couldn’t forget how excited Warren had been, how much he’d taken pride in Warren telling him he was full of surprises.
“You ended up being such a fucking disappointing bore,” had been Warren’s words during their last phone call when he reminded Dirk about the divorce papers.
Warren had said “yes” to him out of impulse, at the spur of the moment, but he hadn’t loved Dirk. No, Warren got off on impulse and recklessness, the thrill of dating a boring nobody for a change of pace from his fast lifestyle. Maybe that had been why Dirk wanted to perform this idiotic feat, to prove Warren otherwise.
“Do it. Don’t think.” He closed his fingers over the ring, his heart beating fast.
Warren had always been a good salesman, and why shouldn’t he be? He sold luxury cars even with the failing economy, and even convinced Dirk to buy a car he couldn’t afford. Hell, driving that damn silver Mercedes each day made Dirk nuts. Like Warren, that car taunted him. He could get rid of that nightmare first and move on to the ring.
Take little steps and expect a big impact. Great, now he sounded like his therapist.
“What are you doing?” the sound of another man’s voice startled Dirk.
Cursing, Dirk nearly dropped the ring. It landed squarely by his feet. Plucking it up and sliding it back onto his finger by reflex, Dirk stood straight, glaring at the stranger, except he knew that voice and face. The same young man who’d caused a commotion earlier now studied him curiously.
For Christ’s sake, he should really be aware of his own surroundings. Luther would kill him if he knew Dirk let a stranger come up to him this close. Well, not that the young man raised any of his alarm bells. He smelled safe, delicious.
What kind of aftershave did the guy use? Dirk bet the stranger would taste amazing. All he needed was one lick, to put his hungry mouth on that tempting skin and make his way downward, to the stranger’s cock.
“Fuck, man. Don’t surprise people like that,” Dirk retorted. He had to get his mind out of the gutter.
“Sorry. You looked so serious, I wondered why.” The young man gave him a sheepish smile Dirk didn’t return.
Instead, Dirk glared at him, hoping that would scare him off. Usually, the sight of a glowering muscle-head sent most people running. Dirk knew intimidation wasn’t the best weapon in his moral arsenal. He couldn’t deal with another person right now, especially not some spoiled and good-looking bastard who appeared like he had all the time in the world.
The stranger looked at him, undaunted. Part of Dirk liked the fact the young man didn’t scare easily.
“Go away. I want some alone time,” Dirk mumbled, ashamed of himself. Violence had never been the way to go.
“Alone time for what? I saw you toss that garbage bag in the river. Should I report you?”
“Look, buddy,” Dirk said, his patience running thin. He made sure to glower at the guy again, but the young man didn’t look the least bit impressed like the first time.
“Diesel,” he quipped.
“What?” Dirk furrowed his brows, his failed intimidation plans and the ring on his finger forgotten.
“That’s my stage name, because I keep on going.”
Diesel hooked a foot on the railing of the bridge, and then another, until he could almost jump off. Was this guy crazy? With a growl, Dirk grabbed the hem of his jacket.
Shit. Dirk didn’t need this, distraction in the form of some addict. The building security had certainty had their hands full with him. Dirk was glad he hadn’t chased after this guy like some kind of psycho.
Dirk decided to play along for now, so he asked, “Doesn’t that motto apply to the Energizer Bunny? Besides, that name’s weird.”
“My real name’s Ken, though, but according to the surveys, Ken’s apparently one of the top three stripper names in the country.”
“Wait, you’re a stripper?”
A piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Those clothes and the guard running Ken out of the building … was a stripper all Ken was? Dirk breathed a sigh of relief. Wait. That thought process hadn’t been right either. Dirk had nothing against strippers, but he really wanted to get this over with. Still, something about Ken’s presence riled him up and soothed him at the same time.
Jesus. What was he thinking? Maybe he was the crazy one here and Ken had to get away from him.
“Male entertainer,” Ken corrected.
“Seriously, out of all the names you picked, Diesel called to you?” Dirk couldn’t help but ask.
With amazing grace and agility, Ken perched himself on the railing, regarding him. He seemed to possess severe ADHD, or possibly, was simply skilled in ignoring some questions and answering others.
“So, Mr. Mysterious, are you really going to keep me in suspense or tell me what’s up?”
“Dirk,” he said. He cursed himself a second later when Ken’s smile widened into an obscene angle.
“Your parents named you after a dagger? And you have the guts to tell me my name’s weird?” Ken shook his head. “So, what’s the story? Is that a wedding ring you slipped onto your finger? Were you going to propose to someone earlier—or wait—dramatically throw it into the river?”
Dirk didn’t know what he wanted to do—tug Ken down because the way he sat on the rail worried the hell out of Dirk, or shove the man right into the water for a satisfying splash. Ken could use some reflection. Swampy cold water would help clear his head and teach him not to bother Dirk’s private time.
He tightened his lips.
Ken’s hand flew to his mouth. “Seriously, you planned on getting rid of it?”
“My husband Warren—ex-husband,” Dirk managed to correct at the last moment, “cheated on me and moved in with his gym trainer.”
What possessed him to lay out the ugly truth to a complete stranger? Dirk didn’t know. He expected Ken to bowl over with laughter, make fun of him, but instead, the guy sobered and grew unexpectedly serious, thoughtful even.
“The bastard, is he blind?”
Ken’s question threw Dirk completely off-guard. “Um, no. Warren has twenty-twenty vision. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Warren must be blind. If I were married to a hunky piece of man-candy like you, I’d be too busy warding off twinks and other jealous sorts. Cheating would never cross my mind.” Ken began to swing his legs back and forth.
Christ, was this guy twelve? Ken would really fall off the railing if he wasn’t careful. Then his words sunk in a second later. Heat rose into Dirk’s neck, a bad reaction he never got rid of.
“Don’t fuck around. A lie won’t make me feel any better.”
Ken stopped swinging his legs. “You think I’m lying? Why would I do that? Whoops.”
Yelping, Ken lost his grip on the railing. Reacting on instinct, Dirk surged forward, grabbing the impulsive young man’s ass before he fell over, and pulling him close. Dirk breathed, his heart racing. God. He hadn’t felt fear like that for a long time.
“You fucking idiot. What were you thinking?” he demanded.
For a guy who’d nearly got seriously hurt, Ken didn’t appear worried. Looking up at him, he plastered a grin on his face, tugged a handful of Dirk’s shirt, and locked lips with him. Every muscle in Dirk’s body froze. The instinct to pull away never occurred to him.
Every sucky thing that had happened over the last few weeks disappeared from Dirk’s mind. All he could focus on was the softness of Ken’s lips. How fucking sweet they were, and the way they yielded to Dirk’s hungry tongue and teeth. Ken’s hand slipped down Dirk’s chest and gave his thickening dick a squeeze.
Dirk tore away his mouth, staring, still unable to recover from his shock.
Ch
apter Three
“Again,” Ken demanded, meeting his gaze evenly. “Kiss me again.”
Dirk had plenty of reasons to say “no.” His kisses were solely for Warren. Dirk existed only for his husband—except Warren ceased to belong to him a long time ago, and it took kissing a complete stranger in a public space to remind him of the truth. Ken’s lips looked swollen from their kiss, too, sheer temptation. Not hesitating long, Dirk claimed Ken’s mouth again.
Ken clutched at him, seemingly hungry to touch him. Dirk scraped the edges of his teeth against Ken’s bottom lip, teasing, but not breaking skin.
Christ. So good. Ken smelled amazing. Dirk needed to get under this man’s clothing to taste every inch of him and find out what made him tick, and why he’d reacted so strangely whenever Ken was close.
A passerby cleared his throat. It was the same old man who’d walked away earlier with his painting. Remembering reason, Dirk pulled away from Ken. Yet he panted, wanting more, but he knew he should stop and examine what the hell happened during the span of a few minutes—no, mere seconds.
“What are you doing?” Dirk demanded.
“What I was doing? You kissed me back.”
“You begged for it.”
“Hey, a hot growly guy was gripping my ass. How could I not be turned on?”
No one in living memory had called him hot. Dirk swallowed, realizing Ken had a point. Moments ago, when Ken had nearly fallen, Dirk had gripped his ass and had apparently never let go. Hesitation filled Dirk. Would Ken play at the balancing again and give him a heart attack, for real this time? Would reason work on a guy like Ken? Dirk settled for compromise.
“I’m not in the mood to play games. I’m having the worst day of my life. So, please, if I let you go, will you keep still?”
Ken regarded him, gaze inquisitive, looking serious, an emotion Dirk didn’t think him capable of. In a heartbeat, he decided he preferred Ken’s lighthearted side. This new Ken seemed capable of seeing him, the real him, beyond skin-deep.
“Even better,” Ken announced. “You can let go of me now.”
With reluctance, Dirk released him, instantly missing the feel of Ken’s body. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why did he crave touching this stranger so much, because Ken’s skin felt warm, feverishly hot? Warren’s skin had always felt chilly, like hard-to–melt-ice, like a corpse.
Ken got off the rail to stand beside him, their shoulders brushing. “Tell me about Warren. What’s so special about this guy?”
Odd how annoyance didn’t touch Dirk, given he’d initially longed for isolation, solitude. Now, he wished Ken would never leave so he could keep on talking. That way, he could bitch to someone about his pain. But why Ken volunteered to listen beat the hell out of Dirk.
“He’s the most amazing man I know,” Dirk began.
“Oh? I wished someone would call me that.”
Dirk let out an exasperated sigh. “Are you going to interrupt all the time?”
“Sorry. Go on. How did you guys meet?”
“I was looking for a car to replace the old Toyota my dad gave me when I turned sixteen…” Dirk relayed the story without the usual gusto, like reading aloud a script that didn’t belong to him, or like it had happened to someone else.
Not interrupting, Ken stared at the river, his presence comforting. They looked at the same scene—still, murky waters, bushes in need of a good trimming, and wild flowers Dirk knew bloomed at night. He’d always wanted to take Warren out here at night, to this very spot, once the rest of the world had fallen asleep.
But Warren wouldn’t, couldn’t, see a romp in the park by the river as something romantic. Dirk could imagine him complaining about the dirt and the hard earth, not seeing the flowers or the scattering of stars above their heads.
Typically, stories came out of his mouth, with Dirk lying without fault, spinning a tale worthy of a gay erotic romance. Believe in something hard enough, even falsehoods, and it would come true—that was what he liked to believe.
But for some reason, he told Ken the truth.
“At his core, Warren was an actor, a good one. I’m the fucking chump who fell for a lie.”
Dirk touched the cold metal on his finger. Ken grasped his hand, his own warm. Pulling Dirk’s digits close to his mouth, Ken blew at each one. Staring, rendered speechless, Dirk settled for silence. Ken’s breath caressed his skin, warm, amazing.
“It’s okay, we all make mistakes,” Ken said.
Dirk raised an eyebrow. “Even you?”
Ken nodded, paused, as if considering what to tell Dirk next. “I’m still recovering from a bad relationship. He turned out to be a stalker.” Ken sounded a little shaken, unlike him, so Dirk didn’t press. He wanted to reach out, give Ken a hug maybe, but that might scare the other man off.
“Look how much time has passed,” Ken eventually remarked. “Guess you lose track of it when you’re having fun.”
Dirk blinked. “Fuck. What time is it?”
Jesus. How long had Ken and he simply stood here, talking? Well, Dirk had done most of the talking, but still, time never did flow this smoothly. On the contrary, each minute he’d spent alone had felt like an eternity.
He fished his cell phone out of his pocket, wincing at the number of missed calls and unanswered texts. Before Dirk could type a reply to his insistent boss, Ken swiped the phone.
Dirk gritted his teeth. “Give me that. I have to answer for lost time.”
“What’s the point? No one can change the past.”
Dirk’s anger dissipated. Resignation took its place. “You’re right.” Had his voice ever sounded this hollow?
Yet Ken had a point. Nothing really mattered anymore. Warren had been his reason for living. Despite his flaws, Warren turned out to be the one bright light in his miserable life. Without Warren, even the illusion of losing Warren, Dirk had been cast adrift again, lost and confused.
He should say his goodbyes to Ken and somehow find his way home. He couldn’t stay in Luther’s place any longer. It was time he made a step forward to an uncertain future. A six-pack awaited him in his apartment, a place that suddenly became unbearable. Dirk didn’t have the courage to get rid of Warren’s remaining things, and each time he glimpsed them, he felt a deep sense of loss. Rinse and repeat.
Dirk went through the same cycle of misery. Only he could yank himself out, but despite the effort he put into maintaining his physical body, he lacked the strength to mend the mental scars Warren had left behind.
“Hey, cheer up, Mr. Gloomy Pants. Come on, it’s time for a change in location.” Ken grabbed his arm, tried to tug him along, but Dirk kept his balance.
“What are you doing? Why are you still here?”
Ken looked hurt. “Are you serious?”
Dirk shook his head. “I mean, I’m grateful you kept me company. Out of pity, I guess? But I’m fine now. I feel tons better. I’m going back home.”
Ken snorted. “No, you don’t. You still look like someone kicked you in the balls. Going home will do you more harm than good. Tell me, Dirk. When’s the last time you went out and had some fun?”
“I go out,” Dirk answered, tone painfully defensive.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Dirk faltered.
Ken nodded. “I thought so.”
“What, are you asking me out on a date?” Dirk demanded.
The notion was absurd. Then again, why question logic? Nothing today had made any sense. Besides, half of him was raring to go.
“Much better than a date. I’m offering you something not all my clients can afford.”
Ken began drumming his fingers on Dirk’s arm, his touch distracting. Dirk noticed how they had walked out of the park and started for smaller streets that twisted and turned. Wait, what happened in the last few minutes? How did they get here? Dirk couldn’t believe he had let Ken take the lead for so long, but he was dead curious as to their destination.
“What are you offering me?” he
asked.
Ken made a dramatic pause before flashing him a wink. “A private dance at Pleasureland from Diesel.”
Did this guy like to refer to himself in third person?
“The strip club you work at is called Pleasureland?” Dirk asked, unable to keep the skepticism out of his voice.
He wasn’t certain if Ken was pulling his leg, or being serious. It was hard to get a read on Ken, but Dirk wondered if the man hid something underneath all the layers, something raw and painful. Had Ken experienced hurt once, which made him reach out to Dirk? Nah, it couldn’t be. Dirk let his imagination run free again.
Ken snorted. “Yup, I’m shocked you haven’t heard of it. We have long waiting lines and a full house every single night.”
Thank God. Dirk started to worry his paranoia had gotten the better of him and he’d dreamed up this wild stripper—male entertainer—who had an unexplainable vested interest in a guy like him.
From the moment Ken appeared, Dirk had felt like he’d fallen down a rabbit hole. Better yet, transported to another alternate reality where guys like Ken found mediocre pencil-pushers like Dirk attractive.
They came to a stop in a side street Dirk had never been in before. He didn’t know what to expect. A dinky alleyway maybe, surrounded by cutthroats and any matter of shady characters, and a single-story, rundown building with a lurid neon sign flashing the word “Pleasureland.”
A crowd had gathered in front of a modest warehouse building with elegant double glass doors manned by two bouncers. Above the entrance, the name of the club had been written in elegant script. A quick glance inside showed Dirk rich and warm wood colors, telling him, despite its bad taste in a name, Pleasureland looked like an elite club not everyone could afford.
“Diesel, I didn’t know you were performing tonight,” shouted someone from the line.
Dirk caught sight of a man in his thirties, dressed from head to toe in a designer suit, looking like he just came from an executive meeting. Who was this fucker? Dirk didn’t like the way the guy looked at Ken. Maybe Dirk ought to rip him a new one … oh, shit.
Strip Me Page 2
