Stripped From You: (Stripped Duet #1) Page 21

  “Okay,” I agree.

  Demi and Sarah don’t waste a minute. They each take one of my hands and pull me forward, leaving everyone else behind. I glance back at Logan and Divan right before I exit the room. They’re looking at me like they hate me and want to high five me all at the same time.

  Sometimes, it really fucking rocks to be Jack.

  Apparently, I was hungry, because I just housed a plate of scrambled eggs, a stack of pancakes, and some bacon. I guess threesomes work up an appetite.

  I spent the better half of breakfast being bombarded by questions from Divan and Logan about last night. I gave them some vague details, like how two girls versus one guy is completely acceptable odds, but that’s it. I’m not one to kiss and tell.

  They wanted to kill me.

  When I get home, I find Mac pacing the apartment.

  “Where the fuck have you been?”

  “Ah, work?” I answer guiltily.

  “It’s eight in the morning?”

  “So? I had an extra late night. Or, extra early morning?” I’m not sure which.

  I grab a bottle of water out of the fridge with every intention of heading to bed. I’m beat.

  “What are you doing up?” I ask.

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “Why?” I rehydrate myself.

  Mac holds out his hand. I look at it and pause.

  “If you’re going to propose, you could at least have the decency to get on one knee,” I quip.

  “You’re an idiot, man.” He visibly relaxes.

  I smile.

  “Ashley was accepted into that fellowship. She’s leaving.”

  “So, you’re going to propose to keep her here? That’s sorta fucked up.”

  “No, idiot. I’m proposing because I want her to know I’m serious about going with her.”

  “Oh. Can’t get more serious than that.”

  “Nope. She sorta laughed me off when I brought up marriage and going with her. But I’m not fucking around. I want to marry her.”

  “Well, congratulations man. Ashley is a great girl.” Is it wrong I feel a little pang of jealousy?

  “Don’t congratulate me yet. She hasn’t said yes.”

  “She will.”

  “Not if I botch this proposal.” He looks at me like I’m a ticking time bomb. “What would you say if it was Alana?”

  Yup that question could definitely make me explode. I squeeze the water bottle so hard the sound of straining plastic echoes through the quiet apartment. What would I say if given the chance? So many fucking things.

  After a heartbeat of immeasurable pain, I answer. “I would tell her she’s the girl who struck the match that lit my world on fire.”

  “Yeah, man.” Mac nods profoundly. “Yeah. I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  Times Are A-Changin’

  Ashley said yes.

  The last two and a half months have been a whirlwind. Mac and Ashley didn’t waste any time. They were married four weeks after Mac proposed. It was a small, intimate ceremony. I was Mac’s best man. Dressed casually in white linen, on the beach on LBI they said their vows. The ceremony was followed by a low-key reception at Mac’s uncle’s house. Yes, the very same house where I told Alana I loved her for the first time. The place where we made our first physical connection. The place where I first realized she was my perfect fit. It was a bittersweet affair. I was happy for Mac, but at the same time, I was dying inside from all the heartbreaking memories. I left as soon as I could. I felt like a dick, but the longer I stayed, the more fresh the wounds of the past felt. Like I was being sliced open all over again.

  Mac leaves today.

  It’s early September. Ashley’s fellowship started last month so she’s already living in California. Mac stayed behind to tie up loose ends. I can tell the separation is making him restless. He’s been acting like a caged animal ever since she left. Man, do I know that feeling.

  “It’s a good thing I rented this apartment furnished.” He smiles at me.

  “Sure is. I’d hate to have to sleep on a cold wood floor while I looked for a new place to live.”

  “Sorry about that, brother,” he apologizes, but there’s nothing to feel bad about. He deserves to be happy.

  “Don’t worry about it.” I could afford Mac’s apartment by myself if I wanted, but it’s kind of small, and I didn’t want to get stuck in a lease, so I’ve been apartment hunting the last few weeks.

  “Any prospects for a new place yet?”

  “Yeah, maybe. I’m going to see one this afternoon. Rent controlled and a parking space.”

  “Sweet.” He slaps my arm, then pulls up the hem of my short sleeve t-shirt. “Ink looks good.”

  I flex my bicep, and the new markings ripple as all my muscles budge. “Thanks, another topnotch hookup from the man himself.”

  Mac laughs, “it’s a gift.”

  “It sure is.” I agree. Mac is like a magician. You need something, he can provide it with a snap of a finger.

  The apartment buzzer rings like it’s the end of a basketball game. Time’s up. “That’s my cab,” Mac and I look at each other glumly. Mac has been like a brother to me. He took care of things when I was arrested. Took me in when I needed a place to stay. Got me back on my feet when I fell apart, and never asked for anything in return. I am going to miss him in so many way, I can barely count them all.

  He hasn’t even left, and I already miss him.

  I grab Mac and pull him into a hug. “It’s not going to be the same without you.”

  “I know.” He slaps me on the back. We waver as we break apart. Then he picks up his backpack. Its contents are the only possessions he has left in New York. “Text you when I land.”

  “Yeah.” I cross my arms. Man, goodbyes fucking suck.

  “Ryan,” Mac voices my name meaningfully before he leaves. “Think about trying to find Alana.”

  “Mac—”

  He holds up his hand. “I know what you’re going to say. But just think about.”

  I sigh. “Maybe.”

  “Good.” He smirks. “That’s a start.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Maybe is much better than hell no.”

  I knock on number 1116’s door.

  The apartment building is nice and located right in the center of Midtown. The door swings open, and who I find on the other side shocks me.

  “Demi?”

  “Jack?”

  “Ryan,” I correct her.

  “Oh.” She blushes.

  We both stand there silently for a few seconds. I haven’t seen her since that night.

  “You going to invite me in?”

  “Of course,” she answers hastily then steps aside.

  “Diamondgirl7736?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “Good, I was worried you were the maid or something. This place is great.” I look around the apartment. It’s probably the homiest place I’ve ever stepped foot in. And maybe the girliest. All the furniture is a distressed white. The couch is oversized and plushy. There are vases of fresh flowers everywhere and tons of pictures on the wall. It also has great natural light.

  Demi is quiet as I walk around inspecting the living room.

  “Is this weird?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she answers then retracts. “No, I mean, it’s weird that I didn’t know it was you. Not weird that it is you. Does that make any sense?” She walks over and nervously fluffs one of the throw pillows on the couch.

  “Well, I really like it. And I know we get along.” I smile suggestively.

  “You’re interested?’

  “Yes. Are you?”

  “We’re still talking about the apartment, right?” she jokes.

  “Yes.” I love Demi’s sense of humor.

  “Do you want to see the rest of the place before you sign on the dotted line?”

  “Definitely.”

  Demi gives me the two-cent tour of the apartment. The kitchen is a good
size and so is the bathroom. “This would be your room.” She opens a door just down from her bedroom.

  It’s perfect. A blank canvas. No furniture or horrific wall color.

  “I repainted it when my last roommate moved out. He was a gay guy who loved black and hot pink.” She makes a disgusted face. “I’ll torture you with pictures one day.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “The. Worst.”

  “So, I can do what I want with the room?” I ask.

  “Pretty much. As long as there’s no shrine to weird gods or animal sacrifices done in there.”

  I raise an eyebrow at her.

  “This is New York.” She shrugs. “You never know.”

  “I think you have a leg up on knowing me,” I insinuate.

  “I believe I do.” Demi closes the door, and we head back into the kitchen. It’s all white, with dark slate countertops and a white-tiled backsplash. I’m digging her style.

  “So?” she asks.

  “So... ?” I reply.

  “Are you interested?”

  “Very.”

  “Good. I have a few ground rules before it’s official though.”

  “Do tell.”

  Demi sighs, slightly uncomfortable. Or at least that’s how I’m interpreting it. “Look, Ryan.” I know that must be weird for her to say since she’s always called me Jack, even when she was screaming my name. “I know we had some fun, but I think if we’re going to live together, we should keep it platonic.”

  “Were you planning on propositioning me again?” I quiz, intrigued.

  Demi shrugs. “No, but I never say never.”

  “I see.”

  “Besides, I’m already in a relationship.”

  “You are?” I stand up a little straighter. I’m not in the business of being the “other man”.

  “Yes, with Sarah.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sarah, she’s my girlfriend.” She makes it crystal clear.

  “You’re gay? Then why—”

  “I’m bi, and sometimes Sarah and I like a little meat in our veggie sandwiches.”

  “Well, I guess that’s one way to put it.” I try desperately to keep a straight face. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.

  “You’re okay with that?”

  “I think it takes the pressure off. You two are wild animals.”

  Demi grins widely. “You definitely satisfied our appetite.” I laugh so hard I nearly fall over. “Well, good to know it was a gratifying experience.”

  Demi gazes at me with hooded, crystal-blue eyes. I think she’s recalling certain events of that night. I won’t lie; it was definitely the hottest night of my life. Well, second hottest. My heart nearly separates thinking about it. About her. I rub my chest, right where Alana burned me with her cigarette. I’ve learned, when I touch myself there, it takes the edge off missing her. A little.

  “You okay?” Demi asks.

  “Huh?” I snap out of my lost thoughts. “Yeah, fine. When can I move in? My lease is up at the end of the month.”

  “The sooner the better.”

  Demi and Sarah made me dinner my first night in the apartment.

  And although I thought it was going to be weird, it turned out to be pretty chill.

  I learned quickly I will be home alone a lot. Demi is a flight attendant, and she is constantly traveling. Sarah runs an art gallery and is married to her work. Or, at least Demi complains she is.

  I love spending time with Demi. As pretty and as feminine as she is, she can also hang with the guys. She watches sports, can drink you under the table, and throws one hell of a punch. She rocks it at the gym.

  Hanging out with her makes it a little bit easier to adjust to life now that Mac’s gone. He’s blissfully happy by the way. California agrees with him.

  It’s been three weeks since I moved in. I ordered some furniture— a bed and a dresser— and am presently covered in paint. It took me all day, but I finished my room. Light gray walls with white trim. I found this cool picture of a painter’s pallet on the street that has bright colored paint and brush strokes. I plan to hang over my bed, if it ever gets here.

  I’m just about ready to take a shower when my phone rings. I glance at the screen as I wipe my hands off. It isn’t a number I recognize.

  “Hello?”

  “Ryan?” I know the voice immediately.

  “Tasha?”

  “Hey,” she greets, and it’s not a happy reply.

  “What’s up Tash?”

  “It’s Sean.”

  I cease breathing as a multitude of horrific images flash through my mind.

  “What about him?”

  “He was in a car accident. He’s at Monmouth Medical Center.”

  “I’ll be right there.” I drop everything and leave with my heart pounding erratically in my chest. I hail a cab. “I need to go to Jersey.”

  The cab driver groans.

  “Hey man, this will be a heavy fare. Drive.” I order.

  The cabbie steps on the gas, and for the next hour, I direct him where to go. It feels like someone is stabbing my wallet to death, this cab ride is going to cost me a small fortune, but it’s the fastest way home.

  And Lord knows, there’s no place like home.

  Fuck my life.

  Again.

  The Kill

  I walk into the hospital room.

  Sean is lying in bed, asleep? Unconscious, maybe? I’m not sure. Tasha didn’t give me details.

  I walk over and sit next to him. He looks peaceful even though there are scratches and bruising on his face. He’s hooked up to all kinds of machines, and there’s an IV sticking out of his arm. I resentfully wonder if he likes it. I know, I’m fucked-up for even thinking it.

  I don’t want to disturb him, but I do want to know what the hell happened.

  Just then a nurse walks in. And not just any nurse. “Tasha?”

  “Hey, Ryan.” She smiles at me. I haven’t seen her in years. She looks good, and she’s pregnant.

  “You work here?”

  “I’m an X-ray tech.”

  “Is that good for the baby? I mean all the rays?”

  “It’s fine as long as I stay out of the room while I’m shooting.” I look down at her stomach and then back up at her face. My throat feels like it’s going to close. I don’t know what’s been going on with Sean and Tasha. He hasn’t mentioned her in a long time. Their relationship has always been complicated. But I have to ask, “Is... is it his?”

  She smiles, but the sentiment doesn’t reach her dark eyes. “No.”

  I want to ask her if she’s trying to convince me or herself, but I think that’s a can of worms worth keeping closed. If she says no, it’s no. And I really hope that’s the truth.

  “How did this happen?” I motion to Sean.

  “He was hanging out with a couple of guys in the neighborhood. The driver was drunk.”

  “Of course,” I gripe. “When was the accident?”

  “Two days ago.”

  “Two days? Does my mother know?”

  “Yes, she’s been here.”

  I’m suddenly irate. “She didn’t tell me.”

  Tasha frowns. “I don’t think she wanted to bother you.”

  “That’s such fucking BS, Tash.”

  “There were drugs in the car, Ryan.”

  “Of course, there were.” I run my hands through my hair, disgusted. “She wanted to hide it from me. Not bother me.”

  Tasha shrugs apologetically. She has nothing to feel sorry for. It’s my mother who needs the personality transplant. Or maybe it’s me who needs a family transplant.

  “What made you call me?” I ask her, pinning my eyes on Sean.

  “He wanted me to.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re his brother. You’re the most important person to him in the world.”

  I shoot Tasha a skeptical look.

  “It’s true, Ryan. He may not be able to tell you, but he has told me.�
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  I’m not sure that’s accurate. The last conversation we had he called me a pussy. That claim made it pretty clear how he feels about me.

  “And what exactly has he told you?” I cross my arms, continuing to stare at Sean. An epidemic of emotions is threatening to break loose. I notice a new tattoo on his neck. The number 1254, and wonder what the hell it means.

  “He looks up to you, Ryan. He wishes he could be more like you.”

  “More like me? I’m freaking nothing, Tash.”

  “Not to him.” She argues. “He also wishes he was stronger.”

  “Stronger?”

  “Stronger than the disease. Strong enough to have stood up and not let you take the fall for him. He regrets every day you spent in prison.”

  “So do I.” My voice cracks.

  “I understand your frustration.” She puts her small hands on her protruding belly.

  “Do you now?”

  “Yes. I basically threw myself at Sean a few years ago. I told him everything. How much I loved him. How much I wanted to be with him. And that I didn’t care that he was sick.” She wipes away a stray tear. “He told me he could never love me the way I deserved to be loved. And that I should move on. Forget about him. So, I did.” She’s full out crying now.

  “Tash.” I put an arm around her. Tasha was ten when we first met her. She was this scared little girl being bullied by her older brother and his friends. They were throwing rocks at her. And Sean, being Sean, just had to step in. He’s never had a problem starting a fight or ending one. And that day, he ended one. Violently.

  Tasha’s brother never bullied her again. Or anyone else for that matter.

  Tasha wipes her face with the back of her hand. “I went to school and met a guy. I built a really great life. And I think he’s resented me for it ever since.”

  “That sounds like Sean.” I hold Tasha tighter. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Me too.” She takes a deep breath and tries to pull herself together. “He really needs you, Ryan.”

  I really need him, too.

  I think it, but I don’t dare say it.

  “I have to get back to work.” Tasha steps back.

  “Thanks for calling me,” I tell her.