Strip Me Bare Page 4

  The Honorable Merrick J. Remington. That’s how the public knows him, and that’s exactly how he wants it, as if he’s constantly sitting on the bench. A persona to uphold. And I am a direct reflection of him. His beautiful, perfect, obedient daughter. That’s who I am because that’s who he’s molded me to be. On the outside anyway. A portrait of perfection. It’s daunting. Playing a part. But it’s my life at the moment.

  I glance at him in all his stateliness. His thick, salt and pepper hair combed back meticulously, his posture perfect, his defined chin pointed down. I don’t look anything like him. I’m tall and lean, with long, pale blonde hair just like my mother’s. The only trait we share is the color of our eyes—a light chestnut brown with black specs around the pupils.

  Judge Remington shakes out his newspaper before folding it and throwing it down onto the table. “What are your plans today, Alana?” he asks brusquely.

  I look up at him. “I’m going into the city to meet Jill.”

  She’s the perfect alibi since she lives there. He has no idea we barely talk or even socialize outside of Emily’s company.

  “Ummm hmmm.” He’s distracted as he tinkers with his watch. “Good. Be careful.” He speaks the words but there’s no care or interest, just obligation. “Have you decided if you want campus housing or an apartment yet?”

  He’s talking about law school, Columbia.

  I’ll never forget the day I told him I was applying. It was like being branded with a hot poker. His eyes lit up, and not because I was following in his collegiate footsteps, but because he keenly caught on to the quiet excitement in my voice and the enthusiasm on my face. He knew it was something I really wanted, which meant it was something he could hold over my head. I knew it, too, but I didn’t care. Because being a lawyer is all I’ve ever wanted to do. So, if I have to play good little rich girl to get what I want, I will.

  But trust me when I say, I don’t plan to star in this role forever.

  “I haven’t decided yet.” I look down at my dying oatmeal.

  “Well, you have until Wednesday to decide. I’ve set up an appointment with a realtor. Nine a.m., sharp.” He clears his throat. “On the West Side.”

  “Okay, Daddy,” I comply, like the good girl that I am.

  He gets up out of his chair, dressed in white shorts and a light green Polo shirt, which communicates he’s going to play tennis at the club.

  “Have a nice day,” he relays in a detached tone, then walks out of the room.

  All business, all the time.

  Bye, Dad, love you, too.

  I step off the train at 11:38 a.m. and head up the stairs of Penn Station. The city, like always, is alive. It’s a clear, spring day as I walk down West 33rd with the sun reflecting off the high-rises. I slip on a pair of mirrored, aviator sunglasses and trek toward Broadway. It’s about a ten-minute walk to Dean & DeLuca. Which is good. I need the time to assemble my thoughts. Actually, I need the time to devise a geometric defense strategy to protect my heart, because I know today my emotions are going to engage in war. As I walk I relive every touch, every word, every laugh Ryan and I ever shared, even though I’ve tried desperately to forget. To forget all of it. To forget him. But Ryan took a part of me I can never get back. And what makes it worse, what really kills me, is that I handed it over willingly. Freely. Eagerly. I trusted him. I believed in him. I leaned on him. I broke my own cardinal rules for him.

  Finding him dancing at that club last night felt like a smack across the face. A stinging, eye-opening, wake-up call from my past.

  I should just blow him off. Do exactly what he did to me. Send a silent message—fuck off. But curiosity is killing the cat. I need to know what happened. Why did he leave the way he did? Where has he been? How the hell did he end up stripping? And does he really believe I’m still his girl?

  He has a screw loose. I’m not his girl, and I never will be again.

  I want closure. That’s it.

  It’s what I keep telling myself. The only thing I want from Ryan is closure, so I can just move on.

  Except seeing him last night, feeling his body, smelling his skin, recharged all the feelings I’ve so desperately tried to suppress. I’m completely torn. I’m angry and hurt, and yet, at the same time, all I seem to want is him.

  I’m delusional.

  He’s a stripper.

  How in the hell would that ever work?

  Not to mention the fact he-broke-my-heart-into-ten-thousand-tiny-pieces!

  I need to get a grip. Ping-ponging back and forth isn’t going to get me anywhere but committed. I need to just be strong and stick to my guns. Ryan Pierce is my past, not my future.

  With a confident huff I check my outfit out in the window of the coffee shop. Skinny blue jeans and a white, eye-hooked top. Sexy yet sophisticated. A slight tease of my midriff showing. My long blonde hair is cascading down my back, it’s a little windblown, but the extra volume gives it an oomph of sexiness. Eat your fucking heart out Ryan Pierce.

  I pull my sunglasses off as I look around the room. No sign of Ryan. My heart flutters a little. Should I be surprised? Do leopards really change their spots?

  I order a cup of coffee and take a seat next to the window. If nothing else, I can people watch.

  I glance at the clock, 12:03.

  Then back out the window.

  Then back at the clock, 12:05.

  This is infuriating.

  I hear his voice before I see his face. “Punctual as ever.” I turn just as he glides past the table and sits in the chair opposite me, laying a single flower between us. An orange stargazer lily. My throat closes.

  “For you.” He smiles, his blue eyes shining.

  I pick up the hefty flower. It’s fully bloomed and smells so sweet. I think back to that night in the cabana. There was a fresh vase of these exact flowers on one of the end tables.

  “You remembered.” My voice isn’t as confident as I would like it to be.

  “I remember everything.”

  I swallow hard.

  Me, too.

  This is so unbelievably awkward. My thoughts are split between the Ryan I knew five years ago and his new persona, Jack the Stripper.

  “Nice to see you came fully clothed,” I quip.

  “Are you disappointed?”

  “No.”

  Yeah, maybe just a little.

  “My clothes only come off at night,” he informs me.

  I frown, trying to erase the image of him seducing Emily out of my head.

  “Except with you, they can come off any time with you.”

  Oh, really?

  “Good to know, Ryan, but I’ve already seen you naked so the mystique is gone.” My tone is flat.

  He furrows his brow. “I know you’re upset with me.”

  “Upset is too mild of a word,” I retort sharply. “Full-blown-pissed-off-hurl-something-at-your-head is more like it.”

  “Like a dumpster?” Ryan teases.

  I purse my lips. “Talk.”

  “Can I get a cup of coffee first before I spill my guts? I just got up.”

  I look at the time again, 12:25. Slacker.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” Ryan is suddenly a mind reader. “It’s an occupational hazard.”

  “I’d rather not talk about your occupation.” I scrunch my nose.

  Ryan rolls his eyes. “Do you want anything?”

  “Yes, another cup of coffee,” and a Quaalude, “please.”

  “Still black?” he asks.

  I nod, surprised.

  “I told you, I remember everything.” He flirts, then saunters to the counter.

  I can’t stop myself from staring at him. He’s ridiculously tall and gloriously lean, dressed in a pair of loose, dark, stonewashed jeans, and a clingy gray t-shirt which makes him dominate the word sexy.

  Ryan places my coffee in front of me, and then takes a big swig of his own right before sitting back down. If I didn’t know any better I’d think he did that on
purpose just to give me a show.

  “You look different,” he states as he slips into the chair.

  “In a bad way?” I shift in my seat, crossing paths with a sunbeam shining down through the window.

  “No, in an unbelievable way.” He slides his hand across the table and laces his fingers with mine. There’s a jolt of static electricity, just like last night.

  I don’t know how to interpret this behavior. We’ve been separated for so long, yet he has no issues with PDA, like we’ve never even been apart.

  “Ryan.” I pull my hand away. “I came here for an explanation, so can you cut all the crap and just tell me what happened so I can move on.”

  He automatically straightens in his seat, a worried expression crossing his gorgeous face. “Is that what you want, Alana, to move on?”

  “What other option is there?”

  “A second chance,” he slingshots back.

  “Ryan,” I sigh.

  “Alana, I know I hurt you,” he cuts in, his expression heartbreakingly earnest. “But please, just hear me out before you make a final decision. Before you bury any chance we might have.”

  I stare across the table at odds. The flower taunting me. A painful reminder of the past. What chance? We have no chance. Honestly, we never really did. We were doomed from the beginning.

  “Just tell me, Ryan.” Put me out of my damn misery already.

  “Okay.” He inhales a deep, collective breath. “But before I explain I need to tell you something. I don’t know what your reaction will be once I lay all my cards out on the table, but I need you to know how I feel. I can’t let you walk away without you knowing how I feel,” he stresses.

  My mouth pops open a little.

  “How you feel about what, Ryan?” I question, utterly confused.

  “You, Alana. Us.” He cracks his knuckles restlessly. “I never lied to you about anything. When I told you I loved you I meant it, and I still do. I want us to be together, and this time I’m in it for life.”

  Life?

  “Losing you was the hardest thing I ever had to endure. And now that you’re here, in front of me, I’m not going to let you go again.” Ryan agitatedly rakes his fingers through his long, wavy hair, clearly as nervous as I am. “Unless—”

  “Unless, what?” I hang on his every word.

  “Unless there’s someone else.” He taps his foot under the table, his whole body shaking. “Someone you love.”

  I laugh so obnoxiously loud I gain the attention of everyone around us. “Someone I love? You’re fucking hilarious.”

  His blue eyes widen. “Why am I hilarious?”

  I shake my head at him as the anger does revolutions in my chest. “Ryan, there isn’t anyone else. Because you ruined me for anyone else,” I hiss, scathingly.

  His jaw drops. “Oh, God, Alana, I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” I’m livid. “Ryan, I gave you my heart and my soul, not to mention my virginity, and the very next day you disappeared without a trace. And now, five years later, you have the audacity to tell me you still love me, and that you’re sorry. Do you think that’s going to magically fix it? Fix me?” I all but bite his head off. “I can’t get close to anyone, because I don’t trust anyone. Especially you.”

  Ryan rubs his palms against his temples as if this conversation is agonizing. It certainly is for me. “So, no. There’s no one else,” I vibrate irately, wanting to throw my coffee in his face.

  Ryan slides his forearms across the table again, a pained expression marring his face. “Alana, I don’t know what else to say. I never meant to hurt you. You have to believe that what happened was out of my control.” He tries to grab my hand again, but I yank it away.

  Ryan looks down at his splayed fingers on the table. “Alana, please,” he begs.

  “Please what?” I spit.

  “I love you.” The words roll right out of his mouth, and I swear to God, it takes all the self-control I have not to slap him.

  “How can you say that after all this time?”

  “Because it’s the truth. I never stopped loving you, I don’t think I ever will.”

  “Then where the fuck have you been for the last five years? And why all of a sudden now, after I find you stripping at a nightclub, are you so forthcoming?” I cross my arms hotly.

  “Look.” He balls his hands into fists. “I wanted to find you, to call you, but I just couldn’t.” He squeezes his eyes shut for a fraction of a second. “But I swore if fate ever gave us a second chance, I wasn’t going to blow it. So, I’m here, telling you I’m yours, if you still want me. I know we have a ton of shit to work out, but I’ll do it, I’ll do anything. Just please, consider it.”

  I’m totally floored. Not in a million years did I expect this. I’ve pictured this moment over and over and never once did I fathom Ryan professing his undying love to me. Never.

  I look out the window at the busy New York City street, my mind reeling. He’s making this really fucking difficult. “Ryan, even if I could get over the past, there’s still the present. I’m not sure I can deal with what you do.” I allude to his newfound profession.

  “It’s just a job,” he responds quickly.

  I glance back at him, his cobalt eyes shining with provisional hope. Before I can say another thing, a strange voice mutters something over our table. “You’re that dancer, right? Jack the Stripper?”

  Ryan and I both look up. Standing there is a tall, leggy, brunette bombshell who screams easy. She has all the goods—tight shirt, tight pants, high heels, and way too much makeup for daytime. I hate her instantly.

  “Ah, yeah,” Ryan answers uncomfortably.

  “I saw you a few weeks ago and you were amazing.” She smacks her lips, flagrant desire oozing from every pore. Ick.

  “Thanks.” Ryan smiles, and it’s a sort of a half-flattered, half-mortified expression.

  Miss God Almighty Makeup pulls a card and a pen out of her designer imposter purse. “Is this your girlfriend?” she asks.

  “No,” I answer immediately.

  “Yes.” Ryan pins me with a hard look.

  My heart throbs.

  “Well . . .” The brunette clicks the pen all sultry-like. “If she isn’t, I wouldn’t mind being.” She writes something down before looking back up at him and whispers, “At least for one night.” Then she slides the business card across the table to Ryan, making sure to flash him some skin.

  Skank.

  He doesn’t touch the card as she straightens and ambles away.

  I glare. My whole body is on fire. Pissed off, raging fire. A moment later, I uncontrollably grab the card and rip it in two. Then I slam it down on the table. I had absolutely no right to do that. But the mere thought of Ryan with her sent me straight over the edge.

  “Just a job, huh?” I huff.

  This is bad.

  This is so fucking bad. So much for moving on. It’s crystal clear I haven’t moved one centimeter where Ryan is concerned.

  A satisfied smile spreads across Ryan’s mouth. That freakin’ hot mouth I secretly want all over me. Covering every inch of my body, the way it once had. I’m getting hot and flustered for a number of reasons. And none of them good.

  “Don’t get too excited,” I set him straight. “I did that for your own good. She looked like a walking STD.”

  “Nice to know you care.”

  “Fractionally.”

  “So, what exactly does this mean?” He flicks a piece of the torn card.

  “Not a damn thing.” I look away, arms still crossed. It’s my defense. I don’t want him to see me waver. Even though I am. Little by little, his presence is affecting me, whether I want it to or not. It’s always been this way with him, he knows how to get under my skin without even trying.

  “Uh-huh.” Ryan’s not buying it.

  “You still have some more explaining to do,” I divert the direction of the conversation. I want the heat off me.

  Ryan frowns, communicating that whatev
er else he still has to tell me is bad. I can feel it.

  “Can we get out of here?” he asks.

  “And go where?”

  “Anywhere. Bryant Park, maybe, someplace where there isn’t a piece of metal between us.” He kicks the table.

  “Fine.” I relent. Maybe some air will do us both good. It’s a little stifling in here.

  Bryant Park is about a fifteen-minute walk down 6th street. That’s a relatively short walk when you’re in the city. And when it’s as nice as it is today, it feels like a two-minute walk with all the street vendors vying for your attention. Ryan holds my hand the whole way, even as we weave in and out of groups of pedestrians and across the busy streets. I know I shouldn’t love it, but I do.

  Bryant Park is a green oasis nestled between towering skyscrapers. The place is absolutely swarming with people. Luckily, though, we find two free chairs, the green fold-out kind the park is known for.

  We’re situated right next to some greenery across from the fountain. You could call the spot romantic. Yet romance is the last thing on my mind. Answers are the first.

  Ryan takes the liberty of pulling his chair right next to mine, our bodies as close as they can possibly be, short of him sitting on top of me. He doesn’t utter a word, just leans forward with his elbows on his knees looking over at me, his blue eyes burning in the sun. He really is something.

  “I’m going to law school in the fall,” I announce just to break the heavy silence. If I thought the coffee shop was stifling, I wasn’t prepared for Ryan and his overbearing proximity.

  He nods knowingly. “That doesn’t surprise me one bit. You’re the smartest girl I’ve ever met.”

  “That will be determined at the end of the day.”

  “Based on what?”

  “Based on whether I fall for your charms or not.” I’m all of a sudden flirtatious. When did that happen? It must be the Ryan effect.

  “Which way is the pendulum swinging?” he probes.

  “Not,” I specify.

  “See, smart.” He doesn’t believe that. There’s a little bit of apprehension in his tone. “What law school are you going to?”