Stripped From You: (Stripped Duet #1) Page 18

  I know what I must look like. A guilty deer in headlights. It’s my first night, and where do I end up? In the bathroom getting a blow job instead of behind the bar serving drinks. I’m so fired.

  “You’re in, kid.”

  “What?”

  “You got the job. See you tomorrow.” He haughtily pulls the toothpick out of his mouth and walks off.

  Good deal.

  I hop back behind the bar, and Shayne does nothing to hide his mischievous glare. “I told you someone was going to get licked.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yup, you called it. You’re the blow job whisperer.”

  Shayne lets out a huge laugh. “Well, tough guy, I’ve been called a lot of things, but that’s definitely never been one of them. Maybe I can have a T-shirt made,” he muses.

  “Do whatever you want with the title. Just don’t let anyone know I gave it to you. Don’t want to give people the wrong idea,” I joke.

  “It’s a pity only women get to lick,” he pouts.

  “That’s never going to change.” After three and a half years in jail, if I ever questioned my sexuality before, I can tell you with ironclad confidence now, I’m straighter than a wooden arrow.

  “I gotta ask you a question. You mentioned liking women before. Or at least alluding to it...”

  Shayne shrugs. “I’m bi. There’s lots of us here. Workers and patrons. Even Daniel.”

  Now that makes a lot of sense.

  “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable earlier,” he says as he wipes out a mixing glass.

  “You didn’t.”

  He tosses me a come on, don’t bullshit me, brother look.

  “I... I just don’t like people catching me off-guard.”

  Shayne nods like he understands. “Well, if I ask permission, can I touch you now that we’ve gotten to know each other a little better?” He leers at me.

  “Not on your life.” I push him, and he chuckles.

  The night finishes without any more touching. There were a few more bar dances though. I made a couple hundred bucks and a few new friends. So, all in all, the evening wasn’t completely painful. Save for having to endure the male revue, and these fucking tiny shorts!

  As I make my way outside to the street, I find an attractive brunette I know intimately pacing the sidewalk. When she sees me, she stops immediately and bites her lip.

  “Hey,” she purrs.

  “Hey,” I respond.

  “So, I just wanted you to know, I’ve never done anything like that before,” she gushes.

  “Oh, well, you were good at it,” I tease.

  She hits me playfully on the chest. The tension in her body easing a bit. “You know what I mean.”

  “Oh, you mean you’ve never forced yourself on some unsuspecting bartender at a nightclub before?”

  “Yes. That.” She wrings her hands together nervously. “Anyway, so, I just wanted to tell you that, so you didn’t think I’m some crazy nympho or something.”

  “The thought never crossed my mind.”

  “Good, okay then.” She smiles. I smile back, and then there’s an awkward silence. She’s still wringing her hands together like a maniac. “I don’t know if you have plans, but my apartment is a short cab ride away.” Oh? “And I thought maybe... you might want to...”

  “Talk?” I throw it out there.

  “We can start with talking.” She blinks flirtatiously.

  I gotta admit, this shy girl/gutsy girl thing she’s got going is totally turning me the fuck on.

  I grin, even though I’m at odds. There’s really only one person I want to “talk” to, but she’s gone, and my hormones keep reminding me of that.

  Now that they’ve decided to wake up, they’re suddenly insomniacs.

  “So, let’s go talk.” I put my arm around her and turn toward the street. “What’s your name?” I ask as I stick my free hand out to hail a cab.

  “Alyssa.” She glances up at me.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Ryan.”

  We catch a cab rather quickly, and just before we get inside I hear a whistle from across the street. I look up and see Mac standing around with a bunch of guys I don’t know. He’s grinning like an idiot.

  “Good first night?” he yells.

  “I’ll let you know as soon as it’s over,” I yell back, and then slide into the cab with Alyssa. The ballsy/brazen/bashful brunette.

  Dark Horse

  I’ve worked at Culture for a little over a month now.

  I’ve managed to make enough money to buy some clothes, pay Mac rent, and reactivate my cell phone. I had to change my number, but I could transfer all my contacts — so, tiny win — except for the fact that the first number is Alana’s. I don’t know how long I’ve just been staring at it. It’s like a panic button. I know if I press it, all hell will break loose, and I’m definitely not ready for that. So, I’m going to leave it in its glass case for now and let it taunt me. A torturous reminder of the past. The dangling carrot that tempts me. Imparting that everything I want back is just a phone call away.

  You can call me Mr. Masochist from here on out.

  Speaking of inflicting pain on oneself, I shoot a text to Sean and my mom. I haven’t spoken to them since the day I got out. It’s been nearly two months. Even when I was in jail, we never went that long without talking. But I at least want them to know I’m alive, even if I am still pissed. It eats at me sometimes, the whole situation. I was under the illusion things were different. My mother was barely drinking; Sean was taking his meds and staying out of trouble. I thought I was going to come home to a reformed household, but I realize now, I’m the wrench. I throw it all out of whack. My mother knew that once I came home, things could go back to the way they were; her drinking, Sean unhinged. She wanted me to be the caretaker again, just like I’ve always been.

  But I’m through doing that. I didn’t give up over three years of my life to get sucked back into the same vicious, dead-end cycle.

  Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Movin’ on.

  The March wind is whipping something fierce. It’s howling all around me as I walk down the street. I throw a head nod to Lorenzo as I hurry inside Culture. For a huge, scary dude, he’s pretty cool.

  I make my way to the back of the club and into the changing room. I stash my stuff in a locker and strip down to nothing but my “uniform”. I adjust. I hate these little blue fuckers.

  I’m working the male revue tonight, it’s my third one, and I’m still not sure how I feel about it. When I get downstairs, Shayne is already behind the bar with Logan, an Australian guy who was hired around the same time as me.

  The night starts to roll. The performances begin, and I try to distract my attention as best as I can. I mix drinks, play with my phone, and wipe down the bar a dozen times over.

  I take particular notice of Daniel walking around the room like a snorting bull. What’s up with him?

  A little while later, he, Divan, and one of the other dancers are huddled in the back corner talking animatedly, and every so often one of them glances in my direction.

  “What do you think is going on?” I elbow Logan as I lean over and serve a drink.

  He shrugs. “No idea? Maybe one of the guys’ G-strings broke.”

  I laugh. That would be catastrophic. Or would it?

  Suddenly Daniel is standing in front of me. There’s a twinkle in his eye, and I don’t like it one bit.

  “One of the guys didn’t show. We need you up there.” He bangs on the bar top.

  I look around. To the left, to the right, and over my shoulder. “I’m sorry, are you talking to me?”

  “Yes, kid. I’m giving you a shot.”

  I stare Daniel dead in the eyes. “Thanks, but no thanks. Find someone else.”

  “There isn’t anyone else,” Divan chimes in.

  “Um, you have a whole club of guys to choose from.” I point out the obvious.

  “I want you,” Daniel is adamant.

  “N
ot happening.” I shake my head.

  Daniel groans, Divan runs his hands down his face, and Shayne nudges me. There’s no fucking way I’m getting up on that stage.

  “C’mon kid.”

  “Nope.” I dig my heels in.

  “Logan, grab him,” Divan orders.

  What? Suddenly, there is a six-foot-tall, jacked Aussie squeezing the nape of my neck. He manhandles me into the staging room where I’m then cornered.

  “Forget it!” I snap, as Divan, Daniel, Logan, and three other dancers try to convince me.

  “Dude, do you know how much tail you’ll get? How much money you’ll make?” Someone flashes a wad of cash in my face. “You’ll never want to go back to bartending.”

  “I’m perfectly happy bartending,” I contest.

  “Come on, we’ve all seen you dance. You have moves like Usher, and we know you love it.”

  “So fuckin’ what? That doesn’t mean I want to go out there and drop my drawers!”

  “Don’t be a pussy.” Divan hassles me.

  “This has nothing to do with being a pussy!”

  “Look, kid,” Daniel says firmly. “I need you to step up. Just tonight. You’ll never have to do it again if you don’t want to. And hey, maybe you’ll suck, and I won’t want you to. Either way, there’s one more dance left before some poor girl is let down because the deadbeat I hired never showed.”

  Oh, way to lay on the guilt by bringing the disappointed girl into it.

  I stare at Daniel, wracked with indecision. Can I do this?

  I can’t do this.

  “I don’t know jack shit about stripping,” I declare.

  There’s a roar of laughter in the little room. Divan slaps me on the back. I think there are tears in his eyes. “That’s perfect, man. I know just what we’ll call you. Jack the Stripper.”

  “I love it,” Daniel beams.

  “I hate it,” I gripe.

  “Does that mean you’ll do it?” Logan asks.

  I look at the six sets of eyes all glued on me. It feels like all the oxygen has been vacuumed out of the room.

  “Come on, you’re leaving us all in suspense,” Divan urges.

  I somehow manage to reluctantly nod my head.

  Holy shit, what did I just agree to?

  “Nice.” Divan claps his hands and rubs them together like he’s about to perform magic.

  “You’ve got ten minutes, kid. Get ready,” Daniel announces, then vacates the room.

  I sort of just stand there paralyzed as I watch Divan move around. “Okay, okay, what to wear?” He opens a full-length locker and starts pulling out props.

  “Whoa,” I interject.

  “Whoa, what? You need a costume.”

  “No costume.”

  “Well you can’t go out there in just your Speedo. You need something to take off.”

  My heart starts to palpitate.

  “Here.” One of the other guys, Jimmy, I think his name is, tosses Divan a pair of jeans.

  “Perfect.” Divan holds them in his hand and ponders for a second. Then he smiles. Oh shit. He opens his locker and pulls out a white tank. “You can rip it off.” He hands me the clothes, and I hold them like they’re foreign objects.

  “The jeans you can rip off too,” Jimmy tells me proudly. “I had them specially made.”

  That’s... nice?

  “Put the shirt on. Let’s go,” Divan hurries me up.

  I do as he says and then I go to put Jimmy’s pants on. “Hold up,” Divan stops me. He’s dangling a tiny see-through plastic bag. “You need to put this on first.” He tears open the bag and pulls out... Oh hell no!

  “I’m not wearing one of those things.”

  “You have to. You need to give the ladies something to look at.” He says this like it’s funny. I find no humor in it at all.

  “I’ll strip down to my Speedo.”

  “Not nearly enough skin.”

  “I’m not fucking wearing those. The only way you’re getting them on my body is if you hold me down and force me.”

  “That can be arranged.” Divan stalks toward me, and so do all the other men in the room. I’m caged in by four walls of muscle, and wouldn’t you know it... those motherfuckers actually hold me down!

  I am now sulking and walking around like there is a thong stuck up my ass. Oh wait. There is.

  “Don’t look so mopey.” Divan nudges me a little too hard.

  I cross my arms. “I’m about to go shed my clothes with dental floss up my ass and tassels on my penis. Let me mope.”

  Divan finds this hysterical.

  “Eddie wants to know what song you want.” Daniel walks back into the staging room. Eddie, being the DJ.

  “I have no fucking idea.”

  “Well, figure it out. What do you want your performance to feel like?”

  “Feel like?” I curl my lip.

  “Yeah, fast, slow, hardcore? How do you fuck?”

  “Ahhh...”

  “You do know how to fuck, right?”

  Now Daniel is just being an ass.

  “Who exactly am I fucking?” I’m being obstinate.

  Daniel grabs me by the nape of my neck and shoves my face up to the door. “Look through the peephole, kid.”

  I close one eye and spy out into the crowd.

  “See the blonde with the white shirt and white heels?”

  “Yes.”

  “Her.”

  Of course, it just had to be a hot blonde who likes to wear white. She’s no goddess, but she is painfully close. It makes my chest ache just looking at her. How am I ever going to pull this off?

  “Well?”

  “Well what?” I question.

  “Music. Stay with me, kid.”

  “Oh.” I try to concentrate. “Something not too fast and not too slow. In between. No rap.”

  “Got it.”

  “Daniel.” I grab his arm before he leaves. “Got any pointers?”

  “Dance with her like you really do want to bring her home and fuck her.”

  He walks out.

  His words mean nothing, because the last person I want to bring home is a girl who looks just like the one I gave up. The one who haunts me. The one whose memory is like an anchor chained to my chest.

  “Ready?” Divan asks.

  “No.”

  “Good.” He grabs me by the arm and leads me to the back of the room. We’re shrouded in darkness as Hugo calls up the girl. I’m starting to suffocate. I don’t think I can do this. I watch as the blonde takes the stage. She looks excited. I’m about to pass out.

  “Breathe, man. It’s going be fine. Just let the music steer you. Don’t think, just act.”

  I would have responded, but I lost all ability to form sentences as the enormity of what I’m about to do rains down.

  “Okay, ladies!” Hugo broadcasts. “We have a brand-spankin’ newbie for you tonight! So be nice to him.” He sticks out his bottom lip and all the women say aaaawww.

  Dear God.

  “So! Get ready, set, wet for Jack the Stripper!”

  The music starts, and my body locks up. I can’t move. I just stare straight ahead at the blonde anxiously waiting for me. She’s just sitting there on the fold out chair grooving subtly to the music. I recognize the song right away. “Dark Horse” by Katy Perry. They play it all the time. Something twists inside me as I watch her. Is that what Alana looked like when she waited and waited and I never came back? How long did she hold out hope until she realized I was truly gone? The music keeps playing, and I can see ever so slightly the girl starting to question whether I exist or not. Do I? Is Jack the Stripper real, or is he just Ryan Pierce? Looking at her now, I’d much rather be Jack. Jack never abandoned anyone he loved. Jack never hurt the one person who meant most to him in this world. Jack doesn’t have any regrets.

  Divan punches me in the arm. “Go, man! Daniel looks like he is about to shit!”

  I glance at Daniel standing next to the bar. He’s turning re
d.

  I take one last look at the girl, throw all my bullshit to the side, and heed Divan’s advice. I let the music steer me. I feel the sultry rhythm flow through my body and allow it to take me.

  I move.

  I saunter through the crowd, keeping my focus on the girl on stage. She smiles brightly when she sees me, alleviating my anxiety, a little. The beat is seductive, so I keep my moves fluid, rolling and curving my body until I’m standing right in front of her. My stomach drops when she looks me in the eyes. But I keep going, letting the music guide me. I bop to the beat, undulating right in her face a few times over before I drop to my knees. Women scream. I position myself right between her legs. I run my hands up her thighs as if I’m worshiping her. She’s giddy in the chair. Her body vibrates as I touch her, like she’s excited, like I’m a rollercoaster she’s about to ride. Then I grab her under her ass. “Hold on,” I rasp. I’m surprised I found my voice. She hooks her arms around my neck, and I hoist her up. She wraps her legs around my waist, and I turn out to face the crowd. Then I proceed, to well, dirty dance with her right in the middle of the stage. She’s a good sport. She gets into it, rolling her hips against mine, jiving to the vibe of the music. I dip her a few times, her hair flinging all over. Then I lay her down on the floor. Okay, I’m no Divan. I can’t go at a woman like I’m trying to reach a climax on stage, but I can make her feel like I want to take her home and fuck her. Isn’t that what Daniel told me to do? So, I spread her legs and crawl on top of her. I dry fuck her slowly and rhythmically right in front of everyone, and the audience goes berserk. Ear-piercing shrieks flood the room. I guess they like it. I think the blonde does too, because she latches on to me, wrapping one of her legs around one of mine. Panting heavily. She says something, but I can’t hear her over the music, it’s way too loud. I glance up to see Divan motioning to me to hurry it along; the song will be over soon. Shit. I haul the girl up and place her back on the chair. Then I kneel in front of her again.

  “Rip it,” I tell her and motion to my shirt. She lights up, then without delay rips the white tank clear in two. Then she throws it into the crowd. Well, okay then.