Fuck Warren. Dirk had better things to think about. He grabbed his pillow, but touched something warm and velvety instead—skin.
Eyelids flying wide open, Dirk closed his mouth to see Ken propped up on one elbow, gazing at him. Dirk looked down to see his hand cupping one of Ken’s balls.
“Question! Do you always wake up horny every morning?” Ken asked.
Dirk retracted his hand like he’d been burned. Last night had happened. He breathed through his nostrils, staring, taking in every detail of the wonderful and gorgeous man lying next to him.
“You’re real.” The words sounded silly when said out loud, but Dirk couldn’t help himself.
“I am.” Ken raised one eyebrow. Dirk’s mouth went dry when Ken started to stretch his lean and golden frame like some graceful feline. “Disappointed much, honey bear?”
“Not at all.” Dirk swallowed, rubbing at his eyes just to be sure. “Fuck. I’m really not hallucinating.”
“Don’t worry. You didn’t drink that much last night,” Ken said. Sarcasm was still evident in his voice.
Swinging his legs off the bed, Ken looked like he was about to reach for his clothes, but Dirk grabbed his arm. Panic nearly set off inside him. If their positions had been reversed, Dirk would be freaking out or pissed off, too.
“You clearly think last night was a mistake,” Ken said. His mouth formed a hard line, a startling contrast to the night before when his lips curved into an inviting and tempting smile.
“Sorry. Hear me out. Last night was incredible, if a little unreal.”
Ken looked startled. “You really believe that?”
“Someone like you with someone like me, how can I not?” Dirk blinked when Ken planted a kiss on the bridge of his nose.
“My silly insecure bear, let me assure you, last night was real.” Ken sucked on his bottom lip, his gaze not leaving Dirk’s.
It had been a while since anyone called Dirk “my” with pride. Taking over, Dirk pushed his tongue between Ken’s parted lips. He snuck one hand behind Ken’s neck and gave it a squeeze.
“Better?” Ken asked afterward.
“Much.” Dirk rolled off the bed, glancing back when Ken tugged at his arm now.
“Where are you going? Let’s stay in bed a little longer.”
“It’s a work day,” Dirk protested. It was tempting, though, to take up Ken’s offer.
“Who cares? When’s the last time you took a sick day?”
Dirk couldn’t remember. Some of his colleagues faked an appointment or the flu, but Dirk had always been a sucker for rules. He liked monotony, hated surprises. Maybe that’s why Warren had left him in the first place.
“Never,” Dirk finally answered.
Five years working at the firm and he’d never taken leave. He came to work on holidays and never went anywhere. What did that make him? Somehow, along the way, he’d lost track of how to enjoy life. When he’d been with Warren, he told himself he needed to bring in the money to make his husband happy. A house, a new car, more designer suits—the list went on, but Dirk hadn’t minded. At least he’d had something to work for.
Ken raised an eyebrow. “Well, doesn’t matter. You can start now.”
“What are we going to do?” Dirk asked, stumped.
Order and planning had worked fine for him in the past. Unlike Luther, who never wanted to settle, he’d always imagined finding his soul mate, building a home, maybe raising kids—the whole nine yards. When that route had failed, Dirk didn’t have a plan B.
Reaching over to smooth out his furrowed brows, Ken thumbed his way down Dirk’s nose and settled on stroking his bottom lip—the gesture maddening. If Ken kept on touching him, Dirk would lose his mind and tackle him back in bed. Keep him there. Own him all over again. Oh, yeah, he approved of that idea a lot.
“We’ll do anything you want.” Thank God Ken stopped touching him. “Everyone needs a break sometimes, honey bear, including you. So, what’s going to happen next?”
Dirk thought about it for a second. His stomach rumbled. If Ken wasn’t on the menu, real food came next. “Breakfast.”
“You’re exactly my kind of guy. Let’s order in.”
“I’m cooking.”
“You can cook?”
Dirk grunted, rising to put on a shirt and boxers. “Any man worth his salt should know how to work the stove.”
Taking the hint, Ken began looking for his clothes. After yanking open his drawer, Dirk tossed Ken one of his shirts and a pair of sweats. Grinning, Ken took a whiff before tugging them on.
“They’re clean,” Dirk pointed out. Part of him liked the fact Ken’s scent would be all over his stuff. He’d never wash them now.
“I know. I like how they smell of you.”
“Pervy stripper,” Dirk teased.
Ken let out one of his amazing and sexy laughs. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Walking out of the room, Dirk heard Ken’s light footsteps behind him. Feeling a little self-conscious, he tugged on his apron and scavenged the fridge for something decent to eat. To his relief, he found bacon, eggs, and cheese.
“How do you like your eggs?” he asked.
“Scrambled.”
“Coming right up.”
“If you need lessons in microwave cooking, you can count on me,” Ken said with a wink.
He hovered by the kitchen counter, watching Dirk eventually slide their bacon and eggs onto two sets of plates. Somehow, this all felt like a domestic arrangement, like they’d been seeing each other for weeks instead of a single night. Settling down at the dining room table, Dirk noticed Ken heartily dig into his plate without reserve. A guy who didn’t count carbs was awesome.
“What?” Ken asked, rubbing at his mouth with his hand. “Are there eggs on my chin or something?”
“I haven’t done anything like this for a long time.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dating,” Dirk elaborated.
Ken quirked one eyebrow. “Oh, are we dating now, baby?”
Dirk glowered at him. “Call it what you want, but the fact I didn’t wake up to an empty bed made me assume this is more than a one night fling and breakfast.”
“It’s official, if you ask me out again.”
Dirk growled, but Ken had a point. “Will you go out on a date with me again?”
Ken’s smile broadened. “Of course. I’m free this Saturday.”
“That’s tomorrow.”
“So? You don’t want to?”
“I do, but isn’t that too soon?”
Ken let out an exasperated breath. “Says who, the dating rulebook? Learn to relax, babe. We’ll take things slow.”
“Last night wasn’t slow.”
“You have a point,” Ken admitted. “Who says we can’t do the reverse?”
“I’m up for it. Besides, it’s time I do a little living for a change. That’s what you do, Ken. You remind me of life.” Realizing the embarrassing words that came out of his trap without a second thought, Dirk flushed. Ken didn’t make fun of him, though, but simply reached across the table to rub at his knuckles.
“You’re going to be good for me, too.”
“I don’t know a single thing about you aside from the fact you’re a stripper,” Dirk blurted.
He silently cursed himself for being so awkward, foolish. Fuck, but he was rusty. He no longer knew the rules of the dating game. Could he afford to not screw this up with a great guy like Ken?
Ken patted his hand, his touch reassuring. “We’re both in this together. We’ll fight, fuck up together, and make up all over again.”
“Sounds promising.”
Chapter Eight
“So, has your boyfriend thrown away his ex-husband’s ring?” asked Joey, another stripper from the club.
Ken eyed his reflection in the dressing room mirror, pretending to fix his hair in order to formulate an answer. Telling Joey to mind his own damn business would make the other man assume his relationship wi
th Dirk remained stagnant. True to a certain extent, but what could Ken do?
When he’d started this strange and exhilarating roller coaster ride with Dirk, he had known the stakes, had known Dirk hadn’t fully gotten over Warren. But Ken had told himself it wouldn’t bother him. With time, Dirk would forget all about Warren, who would be nothing more than an afterthought, a piece of history. Yet with each passing day, a week to be exact, the hurt had turned into a punch to the gut.
Joey meant well, possessed a decent heart, but his one failing was being a terrible flirt.
“He did,” Ken lied flawlessly, giving nothing away.
“Good for you,” Joey said, and was about to say something else when the manager called him away.
Ken stared at his reflection in the mirror. A fireman on Thursdays, bad-boy biker on Friday—every day he became someone else. He began looking forward to the end of his shift, where he could collapse in Dirk’s bed and finally be himself.
He’d always been good at one thing—acting. A kid who grew up in the foster system and who had no one to rely on learned early to utilize his God-given skills. Lying got him places, and what was acting but lying? Combine deceit with his love of dance, and Ken had been able to earn a decent living.
He loved stripping, the adoring fans and being desired from afar, but how long would that last? Sure, he could have any man or woman he wanted. A different body to warm his bed each night sounded like a dream come true, but no one could sustain themselves on that lean diet forever. Waking up next to a complete stranger whose name Ken couldn’t remember quickly soured.
With Dirk, however, Ken saw the potential of forever, something worth fighting for. He loved waking up with Dirk spooning him close, with Dirk’s familiar hands on his body, and his lips on the nape of Ken’s neck.
He loved Dirk.
Fuck. Ken had known for days now, but fear of how his bear would react to the news kept him from telling Dirk the truth.
“Diesel, you’re up,” called the manager.
Ken’s phone beeped on the dresser. Seeing Dirk’s name, he opened the text, his heart sinking at the message.
Sorry, baby. Need to work overtime tonight. See you at home?
That meant Dirk wouldn’t be waiting for him by the back door after his shift. Dirk’s last sentence cheered him up, though. “Home” meant Dirk’s apartment, yet Dirk referred to it as theirs. When struck by a possessive mood, Dirk called Ken “his,” too. Ken had never belonged exclusively to anyone before.
Ken quickly texted back, before giving his appearance one last look.
“One sexy firefighter coming up,” he murmured, giving his reflection a wink before scooting over to the stage.
****
Ken finished his set with a provocative pose. The crowd went wild, some calling to him, shouting offers ranging from the lewd to the impossible. Smiling until his face hurt, Ken scooped up a couple of fallen twenties near his feet before bowing and strutting off the stage. Oh, he still loved to dance, but ever since he started dating Dirk, he had always looked forward to going home.
No time for the latest gossip with the other boys, Ken changed out of his costume and into his casual clothes. Diesel disappeared and he became regular boring Ken again.
“Ken, join us for a drink,” Joey called.
“Maybe some other night,” Ken answered.
Rob snorted. “You always say the same thing.”
“Oh, leave him be. If I had a sweet protective boyfriend, I’d rather stay home,” Joey pointed out. “Oh, right, Dan mentioned you had a visitor waiting outside.”
Heart soaring, Ken thanked Joey. He practically sprinted out the dressing room, nearly tripping into the last door leading outside. Seeing the familiar bulky shadow leaning against a wall in the alley, Ken started for Dirk, halting midway.
Frowning, his heart beat a different tune, nervous and apprehensive at the sight of his ex, Miguel. Stalker turned one-night-stand-and-mistake, Miguel had been a nightmare to deal with.
Seeing him, Miguel broke into a smile. “Hello, Diesel. It’s been a while. I’m starting to think you’ve been purposely avoiding me.”
The two-hundred pound ex-boxer might not be a match for Dirk, but he could still rip Ken a new one. Knowing Miguel possessed a horrible temper didn’t help his nerves one bit. A quick look behind showed Ken an empty doorway. No Dan or any other club bouncer in the vicinity—just his bad luck.
“Restraining order says you must keep a hundred feet away from me, Miguel,” Ken said cautiously.
“Don’t be like that, baby.”
Ken winced at the nickname. Only Dirk could call him that.
Miguel started forward, frowning when Ken took a step back. “You haven’t been answering my calls or emails, Diesel.”
Diesel. Miguel never referred to Ken by his real name, even after Ken had told him. It was as if only his fake identity mattered. How could he handle this delicately without pissing off Miguel? Maybe delicate wouldn’t cut it. Ken needed to be firm, but apologetic.
“Didn’t we have this conversation before?” Ken asked, keeping his voice even, calm. “We aren’t meant to be, Miguel. Maybe we can be friends?”
The “friend” bit came out like an afterthought. With his kind of work, Ken had experience dealing with devoted fans and stalkers. Personal experience, however, had taught him how persistent Miguel could be.
“Friends?” Miguel spat out the word like it contained poison. “Fuck, Diesel. Stop pretending. You got a restraining order against me.”
Miguel neared him. Ken barely felt his legs. His back scraped against the brick wall behind him. Dirk had made him a promise—never to lie to him—trusting Ken would do the same. But Ken had kept Miguel from Dirk for a reason. With a shitload of problems already piled on Dirk’s plate, Ken’s stalker wouldn’t persuade him to finally throw away his wedding band.
Ken’s heart hammered against his chest. Miguel’s hand slipped into his coat. The flash of sleek black metal yanked up Ken’s growing fear to another level. A gun or knife? Whatever it was, the situation wasn’t going as well as Ken had intended.
His breaths came out short. Jesus. This wasn’t exactly the way Ken had pictured dying. Meeting Dirk hadn’t just made him feel alive. Instead, Dirk had made him soft, vulnerable into thinking about the future. For a man who’d lived one day at a time, never anticipating caring about tomorrow, it had felt like a huge step.
Fuck, but Ken wanted to live. Dirk needed him. They needed each other. What would happen to Dirk? Ken pictured Dirk coming home, exhausted, weary and eager to pull Ken into his arms for a hug, a kiss, maybe a lucky fuck. Warren had put cracks in Dirk’s armor, but Ken’s death would shatter him.
Who would help Dirk pick up the pieces?
“What the hell’s going on here?” a third voice interrupted, gruff and worried.
Ken’s heart flared with hope, but it wasn’t Dirk’s familiar outline appearing by the back door of the club. At Dan’s looming presence, Miguel stuffed the weapon inside his coat.
“Mr. Martinez, Diesel has a restraining order against you. I’m not warning you again.” Dan positioned one hand on the butt of the revolver tucked into his own belt, and the other hand held his cell phone. The bright screen showed he’d dialed the cops.
Miguel turned on his heels, but before relief filled Ken, his ex shot him a venomous look. “Some night when there’s no one to watch your precious ass, I’ll find you, Diesel. We’re going to have our much-needed alone time.”
With that, Miguel broke into a sprint. Ken stared at his disappearing back, jumping when Dan placed a hand on his shoulder. The bouncer offered his phone, and a female voice asked what she could do for him. Did Ken want to report this to the cops?
He shook his head, swiping the END call button with his finger.
Dan frowned at him. “Does Dirk know about Miguel?”
“You think I didn’t tell my boyfriend I have a psycho stalker after me?” Ken joked, but his voice came ou
t too shaky.
“He has the right to know. How many times has this happened?” Dan demanded.
Ken told him the truth. “Since the restraining order, this is the first time he’s summoned the guts to approach me. Before this, he’d been sending me messages online and a couple of snail mails.”
A couple didn’t cut it. Knowing where he lived, Miguel had also stuffed his mailbox with letters of love and admonitions, threats and poetry, dried roses and small dead animals—a real keeper. If Ken had time to be cynical, he might feel better.
“I need to get home. Dirk’s waiting for me.”
Dan looked like he had plenty more to say.
Ken cut him off. “Besides, if Dirk were here, what do you think he’d do?”
“Probably mangle your stalker, and leave a mess of his body parts.” Dan sighed. “I get your point, but you have to start being honest with Dirk. Tell him or I will.”
Thoroughly chastised, Ken nodded.
He flagged a cab home, staring out the windows all the way. He usually took the subway, but he needed some quiet alone time. Although Dan didn’t have any business telling him what to do, he’d made excellent points.
Dirk hated liars, so how could Ken even begin to tell him he’d been keeping something this big from him? That would take them two steps back after they’d taken one forward. Ken saw the wedding band in his mind, the words engraved underneath spelling out “Forever Mine,” and gritted his teeth. He should be mad at Dirk, too, for holding onto that relic of the past.
Perhaps they hadn’t been fine after all.
“We’re here,” the cabbie said, dragging Ken back to face reality.
“Shit,” he mumbled, fumbling for a couple of bills to pay the driver.
Chapter Nine
Ken dragged his sorry ass to the elevator, imagining how various scenarios would play out. None of them ended well. Finally standing outside the apartment door, Ken paused. He checked himself from top to bottom, a nervous gesture. Seducing Dirk and ending up well-fucked and sated, his problems forgotten, was the worst solution. Problems needed to be tackled head-on, not pushed back.
Strip Me Page 5
