Strip for Me

by Coffman, Georgia

  I want to rip Amber’s extensions right out of her head.

  Instead, I peel her off him. “I think that’s enough. You don’t want to embarrass yourself, right?”

  “Hey, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Am I right?” She turns to the other girls, holding up her hand as though there’s a drink in it, and toasts to the cliché. “Not like I have a husband to go home to anymore.”

  I wince, remembering Amber got divorced a few months ago. My mother makes sure I keep up with the gossip of our hometown, even though I moved across the country so I could stay out of it.

  I almost feel bad for Amber, but she seems to be having fun now as she hangs off Sebastian’s friend. Nothing like a dark, muscled stripper to make her forget about her balding-at-thirty ex-husband.

  Sebastian introduces his friend, Ty, but it’s barely out of his mouth before Lauren cuts him off.

  She claps, then hooks her arm into Sam’s. “Let’s go!” She takes off down the sidewalk away from Excalibur like she knows where we’re going. Like she’s on a runway and not a cracked sidewalk lined with poor street performers and their big dreams.

  Sebastian’s lips tilt at the corners in a sexy smile. “I guess we’re on, then.”

  I roll my eyes and follow Lauren with Sebastian by my side. He leans in to me to thwart a group of pedestrians and people handing out flyers, but instead of moving back once they’ve passed, he stays close to me, smiling down at me as he snakes his arm around my waist.

  He really has no sense of personal space.

  I smell his masculine cologne and imagine him being the guy in the Dolce & Gabbana commercials, half-naked and oiled up sitting in a boat on the open sea.

  My mouth waters for him.

  More than that, I welcome him and his warmth in the slight March breeze, so different from the hot sun before the show. He’s also protecting me, keeping me company while the other girls walk ahead, their arms looped together like they’re about to play Red Rover with the other tourists.

  If it weren’t for Sebastian, I’d be walking alone. Alone like I was when Lauren would have friends over, and I had to stay out of their way. Apparently, I was too young to hang out with them, even though I’m only a year and a half younger.

  I tuck my hair behind my ear to keep it from sticking to my glossed lips. Elaine, of course, has a purse full of cosmetics, and she’s drunk enough to have let me borrow them. Thankfully, I freshened up in the bathroom while one of the other girls was puking.

  Being this close to Sebastian, I regret not having my usual makeup on and hair fixed. That I’m not wearing something a little more appropriate for the Strip—something low-cut with sequins comes to mind.

  But he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he enjoys what I’m wearing, based on the way he keeps eyeing me up and down.

  Crossing the bridge, I watch the cars moving beneath us. Their headlights mix with the lit-up buildings like I’m inside a Christmas tree.

  Mesmerized, I veer off the path, Sebastian’s hand falling from my waist. Holding my phone up, I cross to the rail overlooking the street, bumping into a few people along the way, and take a picture of the Strip. Even though the picture doesn’t do it justice—all you can see are blurs of lights—I save it as a memento.

  “Cool picture,” Sebastian says, wrapping his arms around me and nuzzling his face in the crook of my neck. I like it. I like the feel of him against me.

  I turn the camera toward us, wanting to capture this moment, the night Sebastian and I met.

  With the camera facing us, I see him watching me instead of the phone, and my heart swells at how handsome he is. At how comfortable he makes me, which never happens, especially when first meeting a guy.

  I nudge him to get his attention. “Do it for the Gram,” I say sarcastically, which makes us both grin widely. In the picture, we look more candid than posed.

  From the outside, passersby probably think we’re a couple instead of two strangers.

  I’m glad I have this picture to remember this night—to remember Sebastian before he becomes a stranger indeed.

  After all, I’m sticking to the promise I made myself moments ago.

  One night—that’s all this can be.

  Chapter 7

  Sebastian

  My buddy Charlie at the door is surprised to see me. It’s been a while since I was last here, and I only came then to peel Ty’s drunk ass off the dance floor.

  I place my hand on Kendall’s lower back, leading her and the girls in. I can’t seem to stop touching her, the instinct so natural like I’ve known her for a long time.

  When she took our picture, I almost asked her to send it to me, the request on the tip of my tongue. But I bit it back. I didn’t want to give her a reason to give me her number other than the fact that she wanted to, on her own.

  But that would be a bad idea too. I might be breaking my rules, but only for tonight. This can only be a onetime thing.

  Tomorrow, my rules are in full effect, and having her number will be too tempting to make more exceptions where she’s concerned.

  Once inside, I nod at the familiar server coming our way. She wears a seductive smile and practically purrs, “Sebastian. Nice to see you out and about again. The other guys coming too?”

  I recognize her, Abby something. A woman from my past discrepancies. She was a fun one indeed, a former gymnast if I remember her backbend correctly. But fun was all it was, for both of us.

  Ty and I give her a hug. “Hey, Abby. Good to see you. Some of the others are on the way.” With my hand still on Kendall’s lower back, I ask, “Got a table for us?” I’d called in advance to get us in. Hard to do on a night when Calvin Harris is here, but my friends here made it happen for old time’s sake.

  She scans the rest of the group, some of which have scattered to the dance floor, swaying to “We Found Love.” “Right this way.”

  Red lights flash across the dance floor with fog surrounding the stage. The large dome-like ceiling reflects the enormous size of the place, but with so many people in here, the club feels small. Especially with the smell of alcohol and pheromones clouding the air above us.

  Instead of following us, Kendall makes a beeline for the bar. I hold out my hand to the bride. “Follow Abby. She’ll get you set up with a table and bottle service.”

  She waves me off like I’m her servant and she no longer needs me.

  I find Kendall in the crowd around the bar. She’s on her tiptoes, which makes her ass even perkier. It’s all I can see. It’s out in the open for me to squeeze.

  I rub a hand down my face and beg myself to be cool, but then she raises her arm, her tank sliding up to reveal a small tattoo on her side. When I get closer, I see it’s a black cactus.

  My skin heats at the sight of it, all my blood rushing to my cock.

  So much for being cool.

  I walk up behind her and lean over the bar so I’m pushed against her ass. Her eyes widen as she stiffens in front of me. I push her even harder against the bar, my cheek an inch from hers. “What’re you drinking?” I ask her.

  “Captain and Diet Coke.”

  I raise an eyebrow, impressed by her choice.

  She relaxes against me and asks, “What?”

  “I would’ve thought you were more of a cosmo, or appletini type of girl.”

  “Get me a cosmo and I’ll shove the whole thing down your throat, glass included.”

  I hold my hands up in surrender and watch her eyes follow my every move. Glass shards are not in my strict diet plan, so I nod in response.

  As I attempt to get the bartender’s attention, I watch Kendall out of the corner of my eye, her perfect lips forming a small smile. The bartender nods at us, his gaze lingering on Kendall, whose breasts are on display over the counter. I whistle at the guy to get his attention and stop him from eye-fucking my girl.

  Not that she’s my girl, but if all goes as planned, she will be for the night.

  Because I can’t stop myse
lf from wanting her. Others come here to live their fantasies, and I should be able to do the same and break my own rules just this once. I was never good at following the rules growing up, anyway, the one thing my teachers would always complain about at parent-teacher conferences. On the rare occasion my mom actually went. Otherwise, my uncle went and high-fived me afterward.

  The asshole.

  The bartender comes closer and reaches for my card. “Two Captain and Diet Cokes,” I order. I’m about to tell him to start a tab, but the way Kendall’s looking up at me, her bottom lip full and kissable, I don’t plan on sticking around long enough for one.

  The bartender grabs my card, the tattooed sleeve up his right arm visible and the sides of his head buzzed. I don’t recognize him, so he must be new. Or it’s been that long since I’ve been here.

  Since I set my rules in place—since I had my heart ripped out—I don’t tend to hang on the Strip anymore, going instead to small bars in Summerlin where the other locals are. At times, we go out to Fremont. No dancing, strangers, urge for adventures. Just calm nights with friends, beer, and the occasional one-night stand, but even those have been extremely rare lately.

  “Oh my God.” Kendall’s body stills against me. “Is that Calvin Harris?” She squints toward the stage and screens surrounding the deejay table. Before I can answer, she jumps up and down in the enclosed space with so much enthusiasm I’m surprised she didn’t just break my nose with the back of her head. “That’s Calvin Harris! Calvin fucking Harris!” She claps excitedly and turns, her breasts pushed against me.

  I swipe at my lip and chuckle at her childlike excitement, so unlike anything I’ve seen from her tonight. “Yeah. You know him?” I mean it sarcastically, because obviously she knows him, but she takes me literally.

  She grabs me by the shoulders with her small hands. “Duh! Did you know he was going to be here and didn’t tell me? Why were you withholding important information?” She slaps me playfully on the shoulder and pouts, but she can’t stop smiling at the stage.

  The Calvin Harris has one hand on his headphones and the other on the turntable while he bounces to the music. She watches him with wonder, like he’s the inventor of all music.

  “Guess I like teasing you.” I wink as I lean in to her to retrieve our drinks, then hand her one. I stay flush against her, refusing to give her space, as a gentleman would. Not that the crowd surrounding us would allow it.

  I’m about to clink my glass to hers, but she cuts me off with a narrow glare. “I could’ve gotten one for myself. Let me pay you for mine.”

  “Not a chance.” I’m so close to her face that I could easily kiss her. Instead, I hold her gaze in a challenge, amused that she doesn’t let up. “Let me show you a good time.”

  She runs her tongue over her bottom lip, and the earth beneath me feels like it’s crumbling. I get an eyeful of her cleavage from this angle, being a foot taller than her. I’m definitely enjoying the view, but I’m positive the vein in my neck will burst from tamping down my urge to kiss her.

  “You have no sense of personal space, do you.” She says it as more of a statement, so I don’t answer.

  I just smile and clink my glass to hers. “Cheers.”

  She takes a sip. “Is this the part where you charm me into bed?”

  I’m not sure I hear her correctly as “Titanium” blasts through the speakers. “What?”

  She places a hand on my chest and leans closer so I can hear her loud and clear. “Is this the part where you say something cute and funny and ask me to reserve us a room upstairs for the night?”

  I hold her hand against my chest and keep her close to me, her proximity soothing. “Is that what you want me to do?”

  Her eyes briefly widen in confusion, perhaps surprise that I didn’t simply ask her outright to do just that.

  I narrow my eyes at her now, like we’re having a staring contest to see who breaks first.

  “We can talk… for now.” I smirk without removing my gaze from hers.

  She raises an eyebrow in doubt. “Talk? About what, lover boy?”

  Her nickname makes me smile wider. “Have I mentioned I like your outfit?”

  “That’s a short conversation.”

  “Let me try again. What accent is that?” I tilt my head to the side, still close enough that I could kiss her if I wanted, but instead, I listen. And shield her from the tattooed bartender who keeps peering over here, even though there’s a large crowd requiring his attention.

  Her eyes flutter and then open with my question like she expected something else. She takes a sip of her drink and sets it on the bar, taking a step back and putting distance between us—distance I don’t like.

  “What accent?” Her jaw clenches.

  “Your accent. The southern one?”

  She shrugs, avoiding my gaze.

  “Hey.” I nudge her chin toward me, closing the minute distance between us. “Did I say something wrong?”

  Her normally full lips form a tight line before they give way to a fake smile—one that’s less endearing than her real one, to say the least. “No. I’m from Alabama originally, but I live in LA now.” She puts her hands on her hips. “A move I should’ve made long before I did.”

  I pull her to me, but she doesn’t come willingly. “I like a small-town girl with city attitude.”

  “Shitty attitude?” She cuts her eyes at me, her hands still on her hips. “You don’t know anything about me, asshole. Don’t—”

  “City attitude. I was giving you a compliment.” I chuckle when she visibly relaxes and even rests against me.

  “Oh. Okay.” She reaches for her drink, her throat exposed and begging for me to kiss my way across her jawline. Make my way down her smooth neck before I nip at her shoulder.

  “Are you always this on edge?”

  “I don’t like my hometown” is all she says. Then she puts a wall up, closing the conversation off.

  Interesting.

  That’s one of the things I like about her, that she’s complex. She has a diverse background that goes beyond her high cheekbones and long legs. There’s more to her attitude too—I know it.

  She’s a mystery I need to solve, and the more time I spend with her, the closer I can get to the answers.

  Her hair tickles my lips as I say, “I like your accent. I like you.”

  She fights a smile as someone beside her bumps into us. If she wasn’t already glued to my chest, she would’ve fallen on me, but she apologizes to me, anyway.

  “No need to apologize.”

  “Southern charm, I guess.” She winks, but her edge is still there.

  Nodding, I search for her group and Ty. “Shouldn’t you be out there dancing with your friends?”

  Her face twists in disgust like I asked her to eat a pickle coated in dirt. “Have they seemed to notice me at all?”

  I halfway nod, unsure of what to say.

  “They’re hardly my friends,” she clarifies. “I thought that was obvious.”

  “So why are you here?”

  “The bride is my sister.” She emphasizes the last word as though that should explain everything. It partially does; although I don’t have any siblings, I know plenty of people who aren’t close with theirs. So I pry for more.

  “But you’re so…”

  “Different?” she says, and her face lights up, clearly relieved. “Thank God for that. I’d hate to know what having a stick up my ass feels like.”

  I grin, brushing her hair from her face. “I was going to say mean. You’re very mean to each other.”

  She smiles sarcastically while twirling the straw in her drink. “Loving sisters at their finest.”

  I wait for more, to unravel more of her story like a greedy bookworm eager for another chapter, but that’s all she gives me. I don’t push her further—for now, anyway—and I shrug instead. “I don’t have any siblings, so don’t know the difference.”

  She watches me again, studies me as though I gave her
a complicated math problem instead of a simple fact about myself. She finishes her drink and sets her empty glass on the bar, not noticing the bartender who’s still eye-fucking her.

  “One Kiss” fills the room around us, and more people crowd us. In Vegas, the later into the night, the more people come out. This should really be called the city that never sleeps; always a club to go to, alcohol to drink, a sidewalk to pass out on.

  “Let’s stop this dance.”

  Unsure if I heard her correctly, I ask, “You want to dance?”

  She shakes her head slowly at me, lowering her gaze to my lips.

  And like an unsuspecting twig on a busy sidewalk, I snap. I never stood a chance with this woman to begin with. Not sure why I even tried to kid myself into thinking my rules ever applied to her.

  She set my rulebook on fire the minute she danced with me, searing me with the slightest touch.

  I close the small distance between us and crush my lips to hers. She meets my kiss just as fiercely and grips my shoulders with both hands, like she doesn’t trust herself to stand up alone.

  She may have some southern charm in her, but the way she claws at me, there’s nothing polite or apologetic about it.

  And while this kiss is everything I knew it would be with her, I need more.

  Now.

  Chapter 8

  Kendall

  Sebastian kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before, his lips warm and inviting, yet greedy and demanding. He takes over my whole body with one kiss, while Calvin Harris’s “One Kiss” plays in the background.

  I didn’t even think to Instagram the fact that I was in the same room as Calvin Harris—that’s how distracted by Sebastian I am. Being around famous people was never a thing back home in Alabama. Part of the reason I left—to find life, excitement, and adventure.

  That’s why I love it out west.

  And why I’m intrigued by Sebastian. He’s exciting and interesting and fucking sexy.

  The minute Sebastian pressed his hard-on against my ass, I didn’t stand a chance.