Strip Me Bare (3 page)

The melody changes to a house rendition of
As Long As You Love Me
and Jack the Stripper moves
seductively to the beat of the music, grinding sensually on Emily;
his fluid body undulating all over her. I’ll admit, I’ve never
equated Justin Bieber to stripper music, but this guy makes it
work, and damn can he move. My mouth is getting dry just watching
this. The entire room is responding to him; pleasured screams and
erotic moans are echoing from every which way as he works Emily on
stage. No wonder Hugo called him premier; it’s as if he knows
exactly what a woman wants and exactly how to give it to her. He’s
already broken down the entire room with just his confidence and
sexuality. That’s impressive.

In the middle of his dance, with his hat and
eye mask still on, he lifts Emily’s chair, with her still in it,
and flips her up and around, inducing screams and shouts from the
audience. With a big smile he places her back down, and then starts
to undo his pants, teasing her and us with glimpses of his ass.
Before he drops his jeans he rips off his hat and flings it into
the crowd revealing thick, brown hair that’s short on the sides and
longer on top; his bangs spilling over his forehead hipster style.
Hot.
Then he kneels in front of Emily, only his side profile
visible. He whispers something into her ear, she glances at him
oddly then slides two fingers under his eye mask; she rips it off
and turns white. I can’t really see his face from my angle, but
whoever he is, he spooked her. They both seem to freeze for a
fraction of a second; his back muscles tensing. What the hell is
going on? Then she nods her head yes, as if encouraging him on. He
stands up, faces the crowed and proceeds to take off his pants.
That’s when my heart drops dead in my chest. I glance at Emily and
she’s staring straight at me, a manifold of emotions churning on
her face because we both just witnessed my past strip to life.

I’m no longer
inside a New York City nightclub.

I’ve been transported back five years to the
summer of my freshman year of college. It’s early June and I’d just
turned eighteen. Emily and I spent every day at the Ocean Club, a
beach club on the Jersey Shore both our families have belonged to
for years. It had all the amenities - private cabanas, pools, spas,
tennis courts, and an all access pass to the beach. We also spent
every night partying. It was the best summer of my life. New Jersey
has an ‘eighteen to party twenty-one to drink law’ which meant
Emily could drag me to almost any nightclub she wanted. She’s four
years older than me and more like a big sister than a cousin, and
she made sure that just because I lived under my father’s roof
didn’t mean I always had to abide by his rules. Emily was my saving
grace growing up. On the outside I was - still am, actually - the
good girl, the polite girl, the girl who doesn’t break any rules,
but on the inside I’m restless.

Our favorite hangout was TradeWinds, a dance
club right on the beach. One big room with high ceilings, dark
carpets, panoramic windows and an awesome DJ; it was a place where
all walks of life mingled; where spoiled rich girls and privileged
firstborns meshed with your average Joe. No one really cared about
your social status as long as you weren’t flaunting it in anyone’s
face. You were just there to have a good time. And have a good time
we did. I had only just broken my late-night debauchery cherry when
I met Ryan. It was accidental really. I was outside on the patio
smoking a cigarette when some drunken girl bumped into me, slamming
me right into him. I ended up burning a hole through his t-shirt
and singeing his chest. After apologizing profusely I offered to
buy him a new shirt. He said he’d rather if I bought him a drink
instead. I laughed and held up my wrist, “Coke or Sprite?”

I was only eighteen and everyone knew you
were underage if you weren’t sporting a neon wristband. It was sort
of history after that. It wasn’t easy at first though, we fought a
lot. And I don’t mean screaming matches, break-up make-up kind of
fights. I mean he fought to open me up emotionally and I fought
like hell to stay closed off. But Ryan, he was different; he was
everything my world wasn’t. He was warm and caring and energetic.
And he was the realest thing in my entire life. I can still feel
the emotions he stirred inside me. I’m reliving them right now as I
watch him drop his pants in front of thirty screaming
strangers.

Our relationship was short, but it was
intense and physical and borderline obsessive. And I was head over
heels, undyingly in love with him.

Was, is, still - maybe?

It’s like I’m caught in some weird time loop.
I see Ryan in the present while simultaneously flashing back to the
past. I remember our last night together. It was a hot August
evening, and we were alone in my family’s cabana. It was the only
place we could steal time away with each other. My father never
came to the beach club, unless it was for tennis in the morning,
and he was usually off doing whatever it is judges do, so it was
basically my home away from home. My solace place. It was a
modest-sized room, decorated in creams and whites and oranges,
giving it a very beachy feel. With a flat screen on the wall, a
stall shower, a wet bar and an extra wide couch that could double
for a bed I didn’t need much more. The ocean being sixty yards away
didn’t hurt either. You could hear the surf crashing against the
shore and smell the salty air as it wafted through the tiny
windows. There were candles lit all over the small room casting a
romantic glow. Ryan and I were just about naked and so close to the
edge. My body was pulsing for him and every touch felt magnified.
But for some reason, he was hesitant.

“What’s wrong?” I remember asking him between
kisses.

“Nothing,” he told me, while running his
thumb down my cheek; his eyes shining from the flickering candles.
“This is your first time, I just want it to be perfect.”

I couldn’t help but smile, “It will be, it’s
with you.”

And that was all it took.

After one, slow, torrid kiss he was moving
inside me. It was the most concentrated, scorching hot moment of my
life. But that was the only time I would experience such a
feeling.

My body still throbs when I think about it
and it’s been five years. Five years since I’ve seen him last,
since he disappeared into thin air only to materialize here.

Here
, of all places.

“Alana!” Emily pulls on my arm. “Are you
okay? Do you know who that was?” she asks frantically. I shift my
eyes to look at her and catch a glimpse of Ryan disappearing into
that black, camouflaged door.

“Yes,” I answer vacantly, before I realize my
body is on a mission. I take ten steps and burst into that little
room, four heads swing in my direction. Someone yells at me to get
out, but I can’t. All I can mutter is “Ryan?” as I stand there like
an idiot, gawking at him. He doesn’t say a word as our eyes meet.
Those dark blue, cobalt eyes that tell me my presence has rocked
his world like a magnitude 7 earthquake.

Then I turn around and bolt, out the back
door and up the stairs two at a time towards the street. I think
I’m going to be sick. I make it to the sidewalk then disappear down
the first alley I find and lose my dinner right beside a foul
smelling dumpster.

Oh God
.

I wrap my arms around myself and bump my head
against the brick wall.
This cannot be happening. This cannot be
happening.

Suddenly I hear someone yelling my name. I
look over to see Ryan on the sidewalk, he has a small towel wrapped
around his waist and a pair of sneakers on his feet and that’s
it.

“Alana!” he calls nervously when he sees
me.

“Leave me alone!” I snap.

“Hey,” he says tenderly, like he’s
approaching a wild animal. I can’t even look at him. I recoil. “Are
you okay?” he asks completely invading my personal space.

“Am I okay?” I repeat. “Am I okay?” I yell,
shoving him away from me. He doesn’t budge. He just stares down at
me with a determined face that looks like he’s ready to engage in
battle. “No. I am not okay, I spent the last five years wondering
what the hell happened to you, and when I finally find you, you’re,
you’re…” I can barely say the words, “
Jack the fucking
Stripper?
”

If I could cry, I would.

“This isn’t happening.” I breathe rapidly, “I
think I need a cigarette. No, I think I need like five, actually
just shove the whole pack in my mouth and light it on fire.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he wraps his arms around me
and hugs me. He smells so good. Like sweat and deodorant and
Ryan.

“Five years,” I mutter against his chest.

“I know,” he holds me tighter. “I know, I’m
sorry. I want to explain everything. Just not now.”

“Not now? Then when?” I urge, terrified if I
let him go he’s going to disappear again.

“Tomorrow. Will you meet me tomorrow for
coffee?”

“Coffee?” I ask peculiarly. This is the guy
who disappeared out of my life with no explanation, no phone call,
no goodbye and now he wants to meet casually for coffee?
WTF?

“Now, Ryan,” I demand.

“Tomorrow Alana,” Ryan pleads. “I’ll tell you
everything, tomorrow,” he says, and his voice sounds like a dream;
a very bad, intriguing, promising dream. “I think you’ve had enough
bombshells dropped on you tonight.”

“Bombshell?” I sneer, “It feels more like a
meteor hit me.”

Ryan steps back and I just stare at him. My
head is spinning as I try to process everything that just happened
in the last twenty minutes. The guy I gave my heart and soul to
-not to mention my virginity- has just reappeared in the most
unanticipated way my subconscious could have ever imagined. Of all
the scenarios, this never even entered the atmosphere.

“Alana, say something,” Ryan utters
anxiously.

I take a long, slow look at him; starting
from his sneakers and working my way up, passing over his legs, the
makeshift cover-up, his stomach, his chest, his face, his eyes. I
know I shouldn’t believe what I’m seeing, but it’s here, in front
of me, he’s really here and… “Your penis has tassels,” I
snivel.

For a beat he’s stunned, but then he lets out
a huge laugh and wraps his arms back around me; one around my neck,
the other under one of my arms. My traitorous body tingles all
over.

“I never thought I would touch you again,” he
says smoothly, his tone laced with emotion.

“That makes two of us. I hold onto him
tightly. We stay clinched together for I don’t know how long.

“Do you want to go back inside?” Ryan asks
after a while. “I’ve had enough of the dumpster stench.” He looks
down at me with a pew face then slides his hands down my arms,
intertwining his fingers with mine.

“Back inside?” I curl my lip, “Ah, no thanks.
I think I’ve had my fill of
inside
when I watched you dry
fuck Emily.”

He opens his mouth as if to protest, but then
falls silent. Smart move, I’m a loaded cannon right now.

“Then where are you going to go?”

“I’ll wait in the limo and probably smoke a
carton of cigarettes while I do.”

Ryan grimaces and I recognize that face, he
wants to argue with me. But he’s resisting.

“Then I’ll stay with you.”

“Don’t you have to go back to,
work?
”

“They’ll be fine without me for a little
while.”

“Is that what you thought when you bailed on
me?”

Ryan clenches his jaw, “Alright, I deserve
that.”

“You deserve so much more than that.”

“I’ll take whatever you want to throw at
me.”

“If I could pick up that dumpster it would be
flying towards your head.”

Ryan puts both of his hands up against the
wall, trapping me in. “Do you want to hit me Alana? Would that make
you feel better? Because I’ll let you. I’ll let you hit me until
I’m dead.”

“I don’t want to hit you Ryan, I want to
understand.”

“You will. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrows scare me,” I say grimly, staring
straight into his eyes, “and I can’t stand the thought of you being
dead.”

Ryan presses his body closer to mine and my
cheeks catch fire; he’s eerily quiet as he looks at me. I want to
reach out and touch him, just plant my hands right on his bare
chest, but I don’t dare.

“I’ve been dead for five years Alana.”

“You look pretty alive to me.”

He shakes his head, “I came back to life five
minutes ago.”

I’m trying to deny it, I don’t want to admit
it, but I feel the same way.

How is it possible he can still infiltrate my
emotions so easily after all this time?

“I really need a cigarette,” I tell him,
desperate for some separation.