Strip Me Bare (10 page)

Everywhere.

Even the slightest brush.

There’s a little bit of shade from the awning
overhead, making it comfortable to sit outside on the warm summer
day.

“How was your weekend?” he asks.

“Long. How was yours?”

“Even longer,” he smirks.

“Anything interesting happen?” I ask, and I
sort of want to take the question back because I know it’s a loaded
one.

Ryan just grins, “No, the only interesting
day I had this week was Thursday.”

“And what made Thursday so interesting?” I
tease.

“I got to travel.”

“Oh really? Did you go anyplace
interesting?”

Ryan nods devilishly, “And I’m not done
exploring yet.”

My thighs burn from his insinuation, and I
try not to picture the wicked things Ryan can do that go right
along with his stare. The waitress drops off our coffees and I’m
not sure if I’m grateful for the distraction, or pissed off from
the interruption.

I watch Ryan dump some sugar into his cup and
then some cream.

“Where did the name Jack the Stripper come
from?” I ask curiously as he stirs.

Ryan looks up with just his eyes, his facial
expression unreadable, “It’s sort of a play on words.”

“Do tell,” I cross my arms interested.

Ryan exhales, “When I started at Culture, I
was a bartender and trust me, that’s all I ever intended to be. One
night I was working the Male Revue and a dancer didn’t show up.
Desperate for someone to fill in, one of the managers asked if I’d
be interested.”

“And you were?”

“No, not in the least. It took a lot of
persuading. I was in the back room with a bunch of half naked guys
trying to talk me into it. They flashed cash in my face, told me
about all the women they’d had, and about all the women who’d want
me.”

I grimace a little.

“I won’t get graphic.”

“Thanks for sparing me.”

“Anyway, in a panic I blurted out that I
didn’t know jack about stripping. That’s when Divan slapped me on
the back and said ‘that’s perfect, we’ll call you Jack the
Stripper,’ the rest is history.”

“And that’s the night you got wasted and told
Lorenzo all about me?”

Ryan looks down at his coffee and fiddles
with the spoon, “Yes, the girl I danced for. She looked like you.”
He glances back up.

I’m not sure how I feel about that. I know I
told Ryan I would try to deal with his occupation, but I’m not sure
how well I can handle the details. On the flip side though, I’m
curious as hell. I’m stuck in-between a prying rock and a perturbed
hard place.

“I wasn’t out of prison very long when I
started working at Culture,” he goes on, and I’m suddenly at the
edge of my seat. “Mac hooked me up with the job.”

“Mac?” I bat my eyelashes, surprised. Mac is,
or at least was, Ryan’s best friend. He always reminded me of one
of those cute, popular guys in high school who had a quirky side.
And he was always wearing one of those stupid T-shirts’ with the
goofy sayings like,
This Is What Awesome Looks Like.

“Yeah,” Ryan rubs the back of his neck. “He
was living in the city by the time I got out and promoting for a
few big night clubs.”

“Mac knew where you were?”

“Yes.”

I huff, and sort of feel stupid. “I went to
him looking for you.”

“I know,” he says apologetically, “I told
him, ordered him actually, not to tell you where I was.”

I’m kicking myself right now. I knew I should
have pressed Mac harder, recalling our last conversation. I was
convinced he knew something and I just didn’t listen to my
instincts.

“Where’s Mac now?”

“California. He met a girl, got married and
moved out there. Bang, bang, bang. I was crashing on his couch when
it all happened.”

“Wow. Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“You must miss him.”

“Yeah, I do. But he’s happy. So I’m happy,”
he smiles sincerely.

I can’t help but smirk. That statement is so
Ryan; Mr. Empathetic.

“So, Mac got you the job…?” I urge him
on.

“Mac got me the job,” Ryan sighs, “he had had
enough of me moping around. I was in a pretty dark place after I
got out. I was angry, drinking a lot, unfocused. A mess really.
Then they threw me up on stage and all my demons were right there
staring back at me. All long blonde hair and chestnut brown eyes. I
almost chickened out, but then I sorta felt like if I bailed on
her, I was bailing on you all over again. So I went for it. And it
was, I don’t know, rehabilitative.”

“Are you telling me stripping is
therapeutic?” I raise my eyebrows.

“It was. You’re my therapy now.”

I shake my head at him; smooth talker.

“Is that why you didn’t come find me when you
got out? You were in a bad place?”

“That’s part of the reason. I didn’t know how
I would handle it if you rejected me.”

Ryan’s eyes change and there’s no longer that
light in them; the light that I love so much.

“What was prison like?”

Ryan’s expression morphs into something dark.
Something unrecognizable and I know I just stepped over the
line.

“I don’t really think you need to hear about
it.”

“I think it might be good for you to talk
about it.”

“Not with you,” he looks away and crosses his
arms.

“Why not? You just said I was your
therapy.”

“Alana, no. I don’t want to go there with
you.”

“I want you to.”

“Why?” he snaps.

Because I
’
m crazy.

“Because if we’re going to be together, I
need to know.”

“Are we together?” Ryan immediately fires
back.

I stare at him impassively. I said
maybe
I’d try, but that was no declaration.

Am I even ready to full-on commit? It’s so
fast, but it feels like we’ve never been apart.

“If that’s what you want,” I say with my
heart beating like a bass drum in my chest.

“You know what I want. You’re the only thing
I’ve ever wanted,” his eyes are like daggers stabbing into my
soul.

I’ve never been good at vocalizing what I’m
feeling, so I decide to deploy the show-don’t-tell tactic. I get up
from the table and stand over Ryan. He puts his hands on my hips;
his grip so tight it feels almost desperate. I lean over and kiss
him; a gentle, affirming kiss that seals our fate. When we part,
Ryan pulls me into a hug, his cheek pressed into my abdomen. I hold
him firmly to me; lovingly, supportively, compassionately. Because
I know Ryan has been to hell and back. I run my hand through his
soft wavy hair, and when he looks up at me I smile. He returns the
expression, confident in that whatever he’s about to tell me won’t
affect the way I see him. And that’s exactly the way I want him to
feel.

I sit back down at the table, mentally
preparing myself for a conversation of epic proportions.

“So?”

Ryan huffs and I know he’s completely on
edge. But we have to do this. We have to talk.

“So. Prison sucked,” he says, and then
stops.

“Go on,” I encourage him. He shifts in his
chair like he can’t get comfortable.

“It was confining and degrading and you
fought for your life every day.”

I frown, “How did you survive?”

“I made a reputation for myself.”

“How?”

Ryan’s eyes glaze over with something
ominous. “I tried to keep to myself at first. But that wasn’t
really working so well. Pretty boy in prison,” he shakes his head.
“I basically had bitch stamped on my forehead. One day one of the
other inmates started messing with me in the chow hall. I tried to
ignore him, but he just kept on pushing,” Ryan grinds his teeth and
wrings his hands together. “Things escalated, got physical and then
I don’t know. Something happened, I just snapped. Sean’s always
been the fighter. But in there, I was a different person. I beat
the guy within an inch of his life. It took three guards to pull me
off him and when they did, his face was unrecognizable. I remember
looking at him like it was through someone else’s eyes, seeing the
damage I didn’t know I was capable of.” Ryan’s body tenses all
over; the muscles in his arms stretching the fabric of his tight
t-shirt. “They dragged me away and threw me in solitary
confinement. I spent an entire day covered in the guy’s blood
before they let me out for a shower. Then I went back in for a
week.”

“An entire week in solitary confinement?”

Ryan nods absently.

“That must have been unbearable.”

“It was,” he looks up at me, his blue eyes
sharp, “but I thought about you. A lot. Everyday actually. For
three and a half years. And then every day after I got out.”

“I thought about you too,” I say softly, and
then I get up and go sit on Ryan’s lap. I just need to hold him. My
heart is breaking thinking about him locked away. Being punished
for a crime he didn’t commit. It makes the lawyer in me go crazy.
And the girlfriend in me want to weep. But that’s not going to
happen. If it came down to it, I’d end up smashing something to
pieces before I let a tear roll down my cheek.

“So what happened after that?”

“I staked my reputation. I didn’t start the
fights, but I always finished them.”

“Did you fight a lot?”

“Not as much as others, but there was always
some jackass who wanted to start. Who thought he was tough,” Ryan
shrugs modestly. “I just made damn sure I was tougher.”

“How do you feel now that you’re out?”

“I’ve gotten better over the last few months.
I’m still resentful though.”

“Of Sean?”

“Of Sean, my mom. I barely speak to them,” he
says and there’s such sadness in his voice. “But like I said, I
can’t change my decision, only regret it.”

“Ryan,” I grab his face and kiss him. I wish
I could take it all away; change the past, guarantee the
future.

And I really wish I would have known.

I pull away. “What happens if Sean does it
again?” I ask, with a little bit of fear in my voice.

Ryan shakes his head strictly, “Never again.
I’ll never take the fall for Sean again. And he knows it. I made
that very clear when I got out.” His tone is menacing.

“How’d you do that?”

“Prison made me very persuasive,” he
insinuates.

“Did you beat up your brother?”

“I needed to send him a message.” And he
doesn’t sound apologetic about it either.

“And did he receive the message?”

“The tooth I knocked out of his head tells me
he did.”

My mouth drops open, shocked.

“Can we talk about something else now?” Ryan
asks tensely.

“Absolutely. What?” I think he’s been
interrogated enough for one day.

“What evil demons are you hiding from
me?”

“Huh?” I glance down at him.

“You said you have intimacy issues. And I’m
to blame. So tell me how deep it goes.”

I instinctually fall silent, but I know
Ryan’s not going to let me barricade my emotions for long.

“Alana, no wall.”

“I know, I know, battering ram,” I huff
perturbed.

As I hash out my feelings and build up the
nerve to talk about all my insecurities, Ryan’s phone rings on the
table. Talk about saved by the bell. He reaches over and looks at
the screen, then he curses under his breath. He hesitates for a
split second then answers it.

“Hey man,” he sounds annoyed.

I look down at him with an inquiring look.
“Divan?” I mouth.

He shakes his head no. “Sean,” he mouths back
and I involuntarily scowl.

“Yeah, in SoHo where are you? The city? Meet
me?” Ryan glances up at me and I know I’m staring at him intently.
“At a corner café on Prince…Okay, see you in a few.” He hangs
up.

“He’s coming here?” I blurt out.

“Yes.”

I’m speechless; I’ve never actually met Sean,
nor do I want to.

“Look, you can leave if you want.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I saw the look on your face when you found
out it was him. It’s okay. I don’t want you to be
uncomfortable.”

“I won’t be uncomfortable,” I lie. He’s only
the one who stole years of Ryan’s youth, ruined his future and
ripped us apart. What do I have to be uncomfortable about?

I realize if I’m going to be with Ryan, which
not thirty minutes ago I said I was, I’m going to have to deal with
all the baggage that comes along with him.

Which is some serious baggage; like
oversized, exceeding the weight limit, excess fees kind of
baggage.

When Ryan and I were together five years ago,
family problems didn’t come much into play. Both our families had
issues and instead of focusing on those, we focused on each other.
It was our great escape, but it wasn’t realistic. I’m sure if we
stayed together, our household troubles would have eventually
caught up to us. Which, I guess in a way, they ultimately did.

Ryan shoots me a skeptical look.

“What?” I challenge him. “I’m not bailing on
you. Not now, not ever. It’s not in my nature,” I smirk.

“Tough chick,” he quips.

“When I have to be,” I give him a quick peck
on the lips then get up and go back to my seat.

If I’m doing this, I’m going to need more
coffee.

And maybe a bottle of tequila.