Stripped From You: (Stripped Duet #1) Read online

  Stripped From You

  M. Never

  Copyright © M. Never 2018

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from author M. Never

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art by Sara Eirew

  Editing By Jenny Sims, Candice Royer

  Proofread by Cat Parisi

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  Wicked Games

  Dinner For Two

  Ever The Same

  The Other Side

  Carousels and Cotton Candy Dream

  One Nightmare to Another

  Scars and Surprises

  Summertime Sadness

  Mother of Mine

  Dog Pound

  Freedom

  Nothing to Look Forward To, Nothing to Look Back At

  Is It Hot In Herre?

  Dark Horse

  Birth Day

  The Lady Killers

  Headliner

  Times Are A-Changin’

  The Kill

  You Don’t know Jack

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by M. Never

  Think I’ll miss you forever.

  Like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky.

  Later’s better than never

  Even if you’re gone I’m gonna drive (drive, drive)

  -Summertime Sadness, Lana Del Rey

  Prologue

  Alana

  He is everything my head says is right, my heart says it wants, and my body can’t deny.

  Wicked Games

  Ryan

  I wake up to the reeking stench of alcohol and cigarettes.

  Ah, the smell of home sweet home.

  I roll over in my twin-sized bed, the one I've slept on since I was ten, and check the time on my phone, 9:35 a.m. Groaning, I muster the little drive I have, get up and walk through my tiny, two-bedroom apartment. There are empty beer cans and vodka bottles scattered all over the kitchen counter and a dozen and a half smashed-out cigarette butts in the ashtray. A few roaches too.

  Just another rockin’ Thursday night at casa del Pierce.

  I amble into the living room and find Sean, my twin, passed out on the couch with his sneakers, jeans, and hat still on. Fuck, man. I rake my fingers through my hair then head back into the kitchen, grab a garbage bag from under the sink, and start cleaning up. Just once, it would be nice to make breakfast without the company of Naddy Ice or Popov— if there were any food in the house to begin with. The bottles clink as I dump them into the garbage bag, the beer odor becoming more potent as the cans pile up. I drop the bag on the floor then grab the blue sponge and start scrubbing down the counter. God, how I fuckin’ hate this. Not the cleaning. The cause of the mess.

  “Yo, bro,” my twin voices from behind me as he opens the refrigerator. I wonder what he thinks he’s going to find in there.

  “Yo,” I respond plainly as I press harder on the sponge.

  Sean picks up the garbage bag next to me, and I catch a glimpse of him; his eyes are bloodshot, and the brim of his hat is pushed upwards on his head.

  “I see you and Mom were having your usual fun last night.”

  “What can I say? Our mom’s a cool lady.”

  I throw the sponge back into the sink and glare at him. “Ghetto fabulous.”

  Sean rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, the bag still in his hand. “What are your plans for today?” He changes the subject, clearly in no mood for another one of my gripe sessions.

  “Work. You should try it sometime.” I sneer.

  “Nah, not for me.”

  “Obviously.” I glance around the dirty kitchen.

  “You need to lighten up, brother. Have some fun.”

  “I have plenty of fun. It just doesn’t involve drunken stupors with our mother.”

  “Maybe it should.”

  “No thanks. Speaking of mothers, where is she?”

  “Probably in bed.” Sean shrugs. “What time is her shift?”

  “Not sure, but I think we should wake her up.”

  Sean drops the bag and backs away from me. “That’s all you,” he says as he pulls open the front door.

  Of course it is. You break the glass, and I pick up all the jagged pieces.

  I rest my hands on the sink, drop my head, and steel my resolve. I really hope she doesn’t try and hit me this time.

  I knock lightly on her bedroom door. “Ma?” I call out before walking into her room. It’s sparsely decorated with just a bed and a small dresser. Dark shades conceal the windows, and the thick smell of cigarette smoke clouds the room. I sit down on the edge of the mattress while she remains asleep. Like this, she looks so young. Well, she is young; she had me and Sean when she was only seventeen. My father left when we were three, and I only have one memory of him. Playing football on the large front lawn of a house. I don’t know whose house it was, but Sean and I were tackling him, giggling our heads off. And then like a blink he was gone. I don’t remember my mother any other way than an alcoholic.

  She gets up no matter how hung over she is and goes to work though, if for no other reason than to keep a roof over our heads and full vodka bottles in our cabinets. It’s about all her salary can afford. A waitress in a diner doesn’t make much. So I try my damnedest to pick up the slack.

  “Mom.” I rock her gently. “Mom, wake up.”

  She groans. “Seany?”

  “No, it’s Ryan.”

  She moans again. “I’m sleeping.”

  “I know. What time is your shift?”

  “Shift?” she asks disoriented.

  “Yeah, you know, at the diner?”

  “Three, I think. What’s today?”

  “Friday, Ma, all day.”

  She smirks. She’s so pretty, even with her messed up hair and weathered skin. “Three o’clock.”

  “You have time to sleep then.”

  “Good.” She rolls over. “Can you get me some aspirin?”

  I hold out my hand. “Already got you covered.”

  “I love you, baby,” she croons in her Brooklyn accent before she passes out.

  I escape unscathed. This time.

  I tidy up the rest of the apartment, take a quick shower, and throw on a white polo and a pair of checkered shorts before I head out.

  “Hey, Mr. Williams,” I yell to our elderly next-door neighbor who does nothing but sit on his porch all day and smoke.

  “Morning, Sean.” I hear the rocking chair creak.

  “Ryan,” I correct him.

  He waves me off as he lights a cigarette. I just roll my eyes and smile. It’s the same every time. He always thinks I’m Sean, and Sean is me. It is kind of hard to tell us apart from afar, even though we dress nothing alike. Sean thinks he’s Eminem. I’m more the American Eagle, surfer type.

  It’s a nice morning, so I unzip the windows of my Jeep; if I wasn’t feeling so lazy, I’d take the doors off too, but not today. This car is my prized possession — a gunmetal-gray Jeep Wrangler that took me three years to save up for. Sometimes working multiple jobs at a time. But I finally did it, and last year on my twenty-first birthday, I bought it outright. It was October, so I didn’t get much top-down time, but there were a few days here and there.
Now that it’s summer, and I live minutes from the beach, I’m taking full advantage of every nice day. New Jersey only gets four — five if we’re lucky — good months of warm weather, so there’s no wasting a moment.

  I turn the key, hit the gas, and drive out of my ghetto-ass apartment complex with my shirt rippling in the wind.

  I unlock the wooden boards of the bar.

  Mac isn’t here yet, so I start setting up by myself. The racetrack is empty, and for a little while, it will be peaceful. Until the crowds start pouring in, and the first horse race goes off. This job is entertainment, if nothing else, and the money isn’t too bad either. I’ve worked at the track for the past two summers, and it is by far my most favorite job. Where else can you come to work with thirteen dollars in your pocket and leave with three hundred?

  And I don’t mean from tips.

  I run the lines, releasing the air from the beer taps, fill the ice bins, restock the soda, and stack some plastic cups. By the time everything is finished, Mac is strolling up to the bar.

  “Nice of you to show,” I jibe.

  He pulls down his sunglasses showing me the bags under his eyes.

  “Another late night?” I shove the scooper into the ice.

  “Yup, and my last early morning.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” I laugh.

  “This is my last day. The money bartending at Tradewinds is too good. I don’t need to work this piss-poor beer bar anymore.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Good for you, too, because I’m trying to get you in.”

  “Oh yeah? You take such good care of me.” I place my hand over my heart.

  “Don’t I know it.” He grunts, like it’s his job. Please.

  Michael Scott Johnson, otherwise known as Mac, is the son of a fishing captain and has been my closest friend since I was eighteen. We met as busboys at a fancy seafood restaurant. Three weeks later, he was a waiter, which is unheard of unless you know someone or do something to seriously impress the managers. I learned quickly that Mac knows how to impress people. He’s a smart talker who can bend almost anything in his favor. So, if he says he’s getting me a job, it’s pretty much a done deal. He doesn’t talk shit, and he always makes things happen. And a job at the area’s hottest dance club sounds pretty fucking good to me.

  “You have to come in tonight and meet Spiro.”

  “Who the hell is Spiro?”

  “The GM. He’ll decide.”

  “Decide what?”

  “If you have the goods, but a pretty boy like you should be a shoo-in.”

  “Aww, you think I’m pretty?” I bat my eyelashes at him.

  “Beau-ti-ful,” he mocks.

  I put on my best shirt, a turquoise blue polo I got on clearance at Abercrombie and Fitch, and a pair of white shorts. I run some water through my wavy hair —that really needs to be cut — and swipe on some spicy smelling deodorant.

  I look in the mirror. This is about as good as it gets.

  Neither Sean nor my mother are home, so I lock the door behind me and hop into my Jeep that now has no doors. What can I say? I caved.

  When I pull into the parking lot of Tradewinds, it’s mostly empty. It’s seven o’clock, and the doors don’t open until eight. It won’t start getting crowded until eleven. That’s just how it works. I stroll up the front walkway and get a whiff of the salty ocean behind the building. You can’t see it from the side entrance, but you can definitely hear it and feel it. The sound of waves crashing against the shore can give you tingles. I open the door to a huge muscle head sitting on a stool by a cheap cash register.

  “Not open yet, buddy,” he snipes rudely.

  “Yeah, I know, I’m here to see Mac. Or actually, Spiro.”

  “Well, which is it? Mac or Spiro?”

  “Both.”

  The large black man huffs at me, like he’s annoyed he has to move, but he gets up and walks me into the club.

  “Mac!” he yells across the room. “Do you know this chuckle head?”

  Mac looks up and smiles. “Yup, he belongs to me.”

  “Go on, chuckle head.” He gazes down at me and folds his arms, his veins rippling under his skin.

  Buddy, you need to lay off the juice.

  “Thanks,” I intone impassively and walk across the large dance floor to Mac. The club is one open massive space. The back wall is constructed completely of windows and pocket glass doors leading out to a large back deck. The design makes the room feel free and airy.

  “Right on time, man.” Mac clasps my hand over the bar. “Spiro should be here any minute. You want a drink?”

  “Nah, I’m good.” I lean against the edge and look behind the bar. There are tons of different alcohols on the speed racks, and three work stations with ice bins, soda guns, and fruit trays.

  “Good answer,” a voice suddenly adds. I look over to see a slick-dressed guy in jeans and black shirt walking my way. He has on dark sunglasses and is carrying an iPad in his hand.

  “Spiro?”

  “The one and only. You’re the friend Mac’s been telling me about?”

  “The one and only,” I smirk.

  He lifts his sunglasses to reveal amused green eyes. “So, you can talk the talk, but can you walk the walk?”

  “If you mean can I run circles around Mac here, the answer is yes.”

  “I taught him everything he knows,” Mac chimes in.

  “Then I’m definitely in trouble,” Spiro quips. “Look, I’ll give you a shot, a trial run. If I like what I see, you’re in. If not, like Heidi Klum says, you’re out.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  “Good, because I’m short a bartender. Now get behind there and let Mac show you the ropes. Doors open in twenty for beat the clock.”

  “Cool man.” I put my hand out to shake.

  “I’ll be watching.” Spiro takes my hand with a small smile.

  Beat the clock is fifty-cent draft beers in six-ounce cups, and every hour until midnight the price increases twenty-five cents. By the time eleven o’clock hits, I have a packed bar and am running around ragged trying to keep up with the demand of the crowd. It’s a thrilling feeling, being behind the bar. Don’t ask me why. Maybe it’s the atmosphere, or the loud music, or the fact that everyone in the room is vying for your attention like you’re the most popular kid in school. Maybe it’s the power. You have the one thing everyone wants. Whatever the reason, it’s fun, and I like it.

  “Hey! One and only!” Spiro slams on the bar a few times to get my attention. I look up from the cooler with two bottles of beer in my hand. “You got the job, now scram. You start next Thursday. Have a drink before you go,” he yells over the music, then he’s gone.

  Mac smiles over at me as I serve my last two drinks of the night.

  I hop over the bar and lean against the edge as Mac hands me a gin and tonic. This day has turned out to be pretty good. I won a few races at the track, made some good tips, and just landed an awesome summer job.

  Life can’t get much better.

  At least that’s what I think right before I catch a glimpse of thick blonde hair out of the corner of my eye. I pause with my drink an inch away from my lips.

  My gaze rakes over her long, lean body as she stands at the bar clearly annoyed at her friend. She has a cigarette in one hand and a lighter in another. I can’t seem to do anything but stand there and gawk like a love-struck fool. Then she turns, and as her body shifts, one of the strobe lights hits her face at just the right angle, illuminating the reddish-brown color of her irises and the shiny pink of her cheeks. For a fleeting second her eyes meet mine, and it’s like a TKO.

  My entire existence comes to a screeching halt. The feeling in my fingers, the thoughts in my head, the blood in my veins, they all evaporate. Before I can recover, she’s gone.

  “Ryan?” Mac’s voice summons me from my daze. “Ryan!”

  “Did you see that girl?” I ask automatically.

  “Which
one?”

  “The blonde?”

  “With the short hair? Yeah, she was cute.”

  “No, her friend.” I look at him intensely. “Give me a cigarette.”

  “You don’t smoke.”

  “I do tonight. Give me one. I know you keep a spare pack behind the bar to sell to your customers.”

  Mac grimaces then reaches down and pulls out a pack of Parliaments. “You want a light?”

  “No,” I refuse and take off in the direction of the outside patio. I squeeze and shove through the crowd, desperate for just one more look at her. And just as I get to the open glass sliders, I see her. Her head is bent downward as she lights her cigarette. Her pale blonde hair flipping in the mild summer wind. I’m helpless as I stand there staring, drinking her in from head to toe. She dressed in little black shorts with a flowing pink top that drops in a low V neckline. Her legs are tan, smooth, and silky, and I stop myself from imagining what it would feel like to run my hands all over them.

  I snap back to reality when someone abruptly bumps into me. I take a deep breath and start walking toward her, trying desperately to come up with something witty to say. Unfortunately, words elude me. That’s when she’s unexpectedly shoved right into me. She loses her footing and falls clumsily into my arms. I only hold her for a few seconds, but when she looks up into my eyes, all I can see is the rest of my life. Until I feel a burning pain. She gasps while she rights herself. Then she starts patting at my chest.

  “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. That looks really bad. We should get you some ice,” she rambles erratically, but I can’t seem to pull my attention away from her face. She’s completely captivated me. “Hey?” The blonde goddess waves her hand in front of me. “Are you in shock or something?”