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

  “Don’t you think I should be asking you that question?” I accuse.

  “What?” She blinks rapidly.

  “Don’t play dumb. I saw you.”

  “Saw me do what?”

  “Not what, who.”

  She shakes her head, not understanding. Or at least pretending not to understand.

  “I saw you with him,” I seethe. “I saw you put your arm around him. I saw you smile up at him,” I rant, quivering; the overload of emotion is pummeling me.

  “Ryan—” She tries to speak, but I cut her off.

  “Let me tell you something, Alana.” I stalk toward her. She steps back until she bumps into her car door. “I may not have his money, or his looks, or even his brain. But I do know one thing. He will never make you feel the way I make you feel.”

  She stands there silently, gaping at me. I think I stunned her. I definitely stunned myself. That last sentence came out of left field, but I went with it.

  “Just tell me one thing,” I demand. Our noses nearly touching. “Do you love him?”

  Silence.

  It kills me.

  “Do you love him, Alana?” I shout in her face. “Tell me!”

  Emotions 1. Ryan 0.

  “No, you idiot,” she shouts back, “I love you!” Her face morphs from confusion into rage. I freeze.

  “What’d you just say?”

  “I said I love you, you asshole.”

  Without even thinking I hook one arm around her waist and crush her into my body. She doesn’t fight it; she just secures me tightly against her as I let it all go. The last three days of pure torture. Hot tears spill down my cheeks from the twist of emotions. Burning the cuts on my face and wetting her soft, white shirt.

  Pussy.

  I don’t know how long we stand there, but I suck up every single ounce of comfort she’s willing to give me. Which is a lot of ounces at the moment. I have a million questions, but right now the silence and her embrace are all I need.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened?” she finally asks. I knew it was coming.

  “Are you going to tell me who that guy was?” I artfully avoid the subject. Alana pulls away so she can look me in the eyes. She’s still in my arms though, and that’s where I intend for her to stay.

  “Remy,” she answers simply. Like I’m supposed to know who that is.

  “Remy?” I curl my lip.

  She smiles sweetly, and it stabs me in the chest knowing there’s another man out there she feels affection for.

  “He’s Emily’s cousin. On her mother’s side. We all grew up together. He’s like my big brother. He lives in California and flew in to surprise my aunt. He surprised all of us, actually.”

  “So, he’s family?”

  “More or less.” She wipes away a stray tear that’s trapped in my eyelashes. It makes me realize what a nutcase I’ve been.

  I grab her hand before she has a chance to pull it away. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For... this.” I motion to myself, my face, my lip. “I’m a hot mess. Bloody and crying like a pussy.”

  “Don’t apologize for crying.”

  “Why not?” I sniff. “I need to learn to be more like you.”

  Alana frowns. “I don’t ever want you to be like me.”

  “Why’s that? You’re strong. Probably the strongest, smartest girl I’ve ever met.”

  She just shakes her head sadly. “You’re stronger. You’re not afraid of your emotions, and that’s what I love most about you.”

  “Say it again.” I rest my forehead against hers.

  Alana looks me square in the eye. “I love you,” she says softly, almost timidly.

  I pull her back into my arms securely. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear you say that.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

  “It doesn’t matter; you told me now.”

  “I love you,” she mutters shyly into my neck. It’s adorable.

  “I love you, too. Too much for my own good.”

  “It will never be too much.” She hugs me tighter, and the glass still in my cheek bites into my skin.

  “Mother...” I hiss, forcing Alana to pick her head up.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened now?”

  “Do I have to?” I reply sardonically.

  “No,” she counters seriously. “You don’t have to tell me a thing if you don’t want to.”

  I blink at her, confused. I think she’s so used to people keeping their affairs to themselves, her respect for privacy goes above and beyond the norm.

  “What if we just get you cleaned up?”

  I nod. “We’ll have to go to the drug store. I’ll need tweezers to pluck out the glass.”

  “We don’t need to go anywhere,” Alana smirks, then walks over and pops her trunk. I watch, puzzled. “My father,” she explains. “The man barely utters a word to me, but he does make sure if there’s an apocalypse, I’m prepared.” She pulls out a first aid kit.

  “Seriously?”

  “Mmmm hmmm.” She slams the trunk closed. “I’ve also got water and flashlights if we need them.” She mentions it jokingly, but I know it’s the truth.

  I open the back door of my Jeep and sit while Alana digs through the first aid kit, pulling out tweezers and disinfectant wipes. This is going to suck.

  “Is there a mirror in there by any chance?” I ask.

  “For what?” She stands between my legs.

  “So, I can see what I’m doing.”

  “You’re not doing anything but closing your eyes so I can work.” She holds the tweezers up to my face.

  “You’re going to take care of me?” I ask, well, surprised.

  “Yes. Why does that shock you?” She hands me a small ice pack.

  “I don’t know. I guess... I... I always take care of everyone.” I look up at her, and now I’m the timid one.

  “Well I always just take care of myself. So let me do this.”

  I stare at Alana with my heart swelling in my chest. There’s blood on her shirt and in her hair, and soon some will probably be on her fingers. But she doesn’t care. She barely seems to notice. She’s just worried about me. And that’s when I realize, no woman has ever loved me the way she does. Not even my mother.

  “Tell me if it hurts.” She plucks out a shard, and I wince.

  “Not a bit,” I lie as I crack the ice pack and put it to my lip.

  She frowns as she begins carefully pulling out all the little splinters.

  “I’m sorry,” she comforts.

  “For what?”

  “For whatever happened to you. And for hurting you.”

  “You didn’t hurt me,” I contradict just as she removes a larger piece. “Grrrr... ’Kay, right then you did. Fuck.”

  “Sorry!” She pulls away.

  I take a deep breath. “It’s okay, keep going.”

  “You only have one more.” She delicately puts the tweezers to my skin as I squeeze the shit out of the ice pack.

  “Done.” She holds a rather large piece of glass in front of my face, and we both examine it.

  “You didn’t hurt me,” glancing past her hand, I reiterate. “I just jumped to conclusions.”

  “Well, the next time you want to jump to conclusions, can you talk to me first? Because it really sucked thinking I did something wrong.”

  “I promise.” I pull her closer to me. “I’m sorry.”

  “I forgive you.”

  “So easily?”

  “You look like you’ve been punished enough.”

  I love this girl.

  I drop my head onto her shoulder and breathe calmly for the first time in three days. Alana just kisses my cheek softly and lets me be. It feels like a load has been lifted off my chest.

  I lift my head to meet her eyes and reluctantly admit, “It was my mother.”

  Alana is silent, but her eyes are compassionate.

  “She was drunk
. It got ugly.” That’s about all I want to disclose. I once said I wanted to tell Alana everything about my life, even the painful parts. But that’s proving harder to do than I originally thought.

  “I need to disinfect the cuts,” she states as she reaches for a wipe.

  “I’m sure the wounds are already pretty clean from the alcohol.”

  Alana rolls her eyes. “That’s not funny. What did she do anyway, throw a glass at your head?”

  I stare up at her intently. “A bottle.”

  “She threw the bottle at you?” Alana exclaims.

  “It’s not the worst thing she’s done.”

  “Jesus, Ryan.” Her voice is laced with emotion.

  “It’s a shitty reality, but it is what it is.”

  “It isn’t one you deserve.” She rips open a little white and blue packet.

  “The universe is compensating.”

  “How so?” she demands. “It sent me you.” Alana stills just before she starts cleaning my face.

  She huffs. “You have a golden tongue.”

  “You have no idea how golden it is,” I reply wickedly.

  “I have some idea.” She smirks, then wipes my face. I suck some air through my teeth; it burns like a motherfucker.

  “I can’t wait to show you what I can really do with my tongue.” I wrap my legs around her thighs as she cleans me up.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” she goads me.

  “It’s whenever you’re ready,” I correct her.

  “I’ve been ready since the first night I met you.” She blushes. She’s such an emotional hard ass, but get her to admit what she’s really feeling, and she turns to mush.

  I love mush.

  “Oh yeah?” I perk up. “When I had you on the dance floor moving my hips?”

  “Yes, exactly then.” She grins, and I know she’s recalling our dance. That was a good night.

  “Do you still want to go away?” I ask. “We can go back to LBI or maybe spend the night in the city?” I know how much Alana loves the city.

  “We could,” she muses. “Or we could go one other place. A little more local.”

  “Local?” I raise my eyebrows. “You’ve given this some thought?”

  “Why do you look surprised?” She laughs.

  “Because you always surprise me,” I admit truthfully.

  “Well, I gotta keep you on your toes,” she flirts.

  “You definitely do.” I lean in and kiss her, but as soon as our lips touch, pain shoots through me, and I jump. “Shit.”

  “Oh.” She tries not to giggle. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine.” I smile idiotically. “You’re worth the pain.”

  “You are so full of—”

  “Don’t you dare say shit.”

  “I wasn’t!” She makes a surrendering hand gesture. “I was going to say flattery! You’re so full of flattery.”

  “Oh, okay then.” I grab her face and kiss her again. Completely ignoring the pain and solely concentrating on the pleasure.

  Summertime Sadness

  I follow the explicit instructions Alana texted me.

  It’s early August. Sean has recovered, and my mother is, well, still my mother. Nothing I can do to change that. She apologized for losing it. She always does. And stupid me, I forgive her. And even feel sorry for her.

  She’s given me plenty of reasons to hate her, but I can’t.

  I know I should. But, I don’t.

  I don’t exactly have to like her though, either.

  I pull into the parking lot of one of the area’s most exclusive beach clubs. I’m surprised to find no armed guards in towers when I park. I’ve been working at the track all day, so I’m hot and sweaty and ready to go for a swim. It’s nearly seven in the evening, but the sun is still up, and the air is still warm. There are barely any cars in the secluded lot, but I do see Alana’s. I walk up to the ornately decorated security fence and punch in the code. The lock clicks, and the private access door swings open. I follow the paved path down to the beach where small — they almost look like huts — structures are lined up one next to the other. When I reach the first one, I find Alana sitting under a small grass awning with papers spread out on a table wearing only sunglasses and a bikini. My favorite bikini, the tie-dyed one with the strings. What did she call them? Fringe.

  “You found me,” she teases when she looks up.

  “It’s easy to do when I have a map and detailed instructions.” I lean down and softly brush her lips. She tastes like coconut. I take a seat in the chair next to her and check out my surroundings. A modest-sized wooden structure with a tiny patio and an unobstructed view of the Atlantic.

  “So, this is your spot, huh?” That’s what she called it when she told me about the cabana. Her hideaway, her solace place.

  “Yes.”

  “Not too shabby.” The freakin’ place is nicer than my apartment.

  “I like the view.”

  “Who wouldn’t?” I look out at the palm trees swaying in the wind and the magnificent blue ocean.

  “Do you want a drink?” She lifts her sunglasses off her face. “Water?”

  Her gaze feels different tonight. There’s anticipation there, and maybe even a little fear. We’ve discussed all the pre-sex issues. Birth control, no birth control. Condoms, no condoms. Testing, no testing. She’s thorough, I’ll give her that, and surprising, since she’s on BC and was cool with no condoms. I’ve never had sex without protection before. Never really wanted to, but with Alana, the thought of nothing between us was too tempting to pass up. She’s not like any other girl I’ve known or been with. It doesn’t matter to me if we go into that room and have sex or not. I’d be just as happy laying there all night with her wrapped in my arms. Nothing is going to change the fact that Alana is the one.

  “I’m good, babe.”

  “Oh, we’re using terms of endearment tonight?” She’s such a smart ass.

  “Not just tonight, for the rest of our lives,” I throw that out there.

  Alana just stares at me stoically. I have a slight panic attack. Those blank looks are daunting as hell. Then her expression cracks, and she smirks sweetly at me.

  Small sigh of relief.

  “What is all this?” I pick up a loose piece of paper. Time for a subject change. We can talk more about the future in the future.

  “School stuff. Syllabi for classes, campus map, housing paperwork. All fun and games.” She rolls her eyes like she’s bombarded. The harsh reality that Alana is leaving for school soon ties me in knots. I feel myself frown as I read what’s on the paper. What am I looking at here? It’s a bunch of names and numbers.

  “Is that the price per class?” I point to a number with four digits.

  Alana takes a look.

  “Per credit.”

  I nearly fall out of my chair. “And how many credits do you take a semester?”

  “Eighteen. Why?”

  “College is stupidly expensive.”

  Alana laughs. “Princeton is one of the best schools in the country. Of course, it’s stupidly expensive.”

  “Damn. And your dad is paying for all of it?”

  “Yes. Every cent. It’s also his alma mater.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s where he went to school.”

  “Oh. He must be really proud you’re going there, then?”

  “I don’t really think he cares where I go to school just as long as it’s a pretentious university.” Alana sulks. “Sometimes I think I would have been better off going to Stanford.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “California.”

  “Definitely not,” I contest.

  “Why not?”

  “Way, way too far away.”

  Alana smiles. “You going to come visit me?”

  “Yes, frequently. If you remember who I am after you leave.”

  “Why wouldn’t I remember who you are?” Her voice pitches.

  I stare at her a
pprehensively. “Alana,” I sigh her name. “I don’t pretend to believe that when you leave for college you’re going to go with some summer fling in your back pocket. I have never been under the illusion I get to keep you.” Even though I want to. Desperately.

  Her mouth drops open. “You are not a summer fling, Ryan. You don’t fall in love with your summer fling. You don’t lose your virginity to your summer fling. At least, I don’t.”

  Now it’s my turn to be struck dumbfounded. Her words are like lightning.

  “Look.” She turns her body in my direction and grabs my hand. “I’m not going to lie and tell you I haven’t thought about where our relationship is headed. I have, and I know it’s complicated. But I don’t want things to end just because I go away to school.” She sits up a little straighter with a strange expression on her face, like she can’t believe she just admitted that to me. Then she starts fumbling with her words. “I mean... you know, only if you want things to continue... I don’t want to pressure you to stay... um... with me... I mean—”

  “Alana,” I interrupt her, putting her out of her misery. “I am yours whether you’re in New Jersey or California, a student or not. I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me.”

  She bites her lip. “That might be a really long time.”

  “I might be really okay with that,” I affirm as I intertwine our fingers.

  Alana smiles this little shy smile. And it yanks every one of my heartstrings. She wants to keep me.

  “Do you ever think about going to school?” she asks.

  “I think that ship sailed a long time ago.” I snort.

  “Why?” she disputes. “Ryan, you’re only twenty-one. You have plenty of time to go back.”

  “Alana, even if I wanted to, one, I don’t have the money, and two, I have no idea what I would major in.”

  “Those are not strong enough reasons not to go to school. Do you really just want to be a bartender the rest of your life?” The question isn’t patronizing or condescending. Just inquisitive. And for the first time in my adult life, I question the path I’m taking.

  I shrug. “I don’t really know what I want.”

  “Can I suggest something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Graphic design.”

  I look at her strangely.