Strip Me Bare (7 page)

And he’s always smiling.

“Are you eating with us?” I ask.

“No, Emily made it very clear this dinner is
strictly girl business. So she promised me breakfast tomorrow
morning. You can join us if you’d like.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Nonsense, you’re both my girls. And I miss
spending time with you, too.”

I glance down at Emily to make sure it’s
okay. She’s nodding excessively.

“It’s all settled then,” my uncle John says
pleased. “I’ll see you two at the beach club at ten.” He kisses our
foreheads and then heads for the door, both of us watching him like
hawks. As soon as he is out of sight Emily immediately says, “So
spill. What happened? Did you hook up?”

“Emily, how easy do you think I am?”

“Alana, you’re absolutely glowing. And this
is Ryan.
Ry
-an,” she exaggerates his name.

I touch my face, “So what does that
mean?”

“I don’t know, you only spent the last five
years pining over him.”

“You make me sound like some lovesick puppy,
Emily.”

“Weren’t you?”

“I was more confused than anything. I thought
it was my fault he left. That I did something. It was all
insecurity,” I try to play it off.

“So you didn’t miss him at all?” she asks
skeptically.

I glare at her, “Yes, I missed him
terribly.”

“So what happened? Where the hell did he
go?”

I tell Emily everything, about Ryan’s
brother, about the drug charge, about the stolen identity, my
father convicting him. She’s quiet throughout the whole story,
listening intently, her eyes wide.

“Holy shit. I still can’t believe he did time
for his brother. Doesn’t he deserve the most selfless man alive
award?”

I scoff, really not believing it myself.

“So, what? Are you guys like back
together?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug.
It sure feels
like we are
. “Honestly, I don’t know anything. There’s a whole
bunch of stuff we need to work out.”

“So when are you going to see him again?”
Emily asks as the waitress refills my wine glass.

“Wednesday. I have to go look at apartments.
My father so fittingly set up an appointment with a realtor in the
city for me.”

“How convenient.”

I shrug blamelessly.

“You know he’s going to shit a canary if he
finds out about you two. Ryan’s a stripper for Christ's sake.”

Yeah, that
’
s definitely one of the
issues we have to address.

“He won’t. I’ll make sure of it. As long as I
keep my grades up and don’t do anything to mar his pretty image
he’ll leave me alone. I’ll be lucky if I see him on Christmas.”

“Okay,” Emily sighs. “You know if you need
anything I’m here.”

“I do.”

“And I better goddamn see you on
Christmas.”

I smile.

I spent the whole
morning looking at apartments on the West Side, and I definitely
like this one the best. It’s a brownstone right near campus, all
trendy and Carrie Bradshawy. My father should approve; the perfect
place for the perfect judge’s perfect daughter.

The realtor says the current tenant’s lease
is up in July and the place will be ready August 1st, which is
perfect since orientation at Columbia starts August 20th.

I look down at my watch, a rose gold Michael
Kors. It’s 3:15 and I’m wiped. Who knew apartment hunting would be
so taxing? Ryan and I decided to meet at Bryant Park again and then
make a decision on what to do from there.

I’m pacing the walkway waiting for him. The
birds are chirping and the waterfall is echoing over the crowd of
bustling people. Ryan is late. We’ve been texting nonstop the last
two days, but right now that doesn’t mean a thing if he doesn’t
show. I keep hearing the last words he said Sunday night.

It will take an act of God to keep me
away.

I keep pacing. This is agony.

Suddenly a pair of arms wrap around me from
behind. “You need to chill out,” he says, his voice sultry.

“Have any ideas how?” I say
mischievously.

Ryan plants a soft kiss on my cheek, “I may
have something up my sleeve.”

I turn around to face him. God he’s
beautiful. All toned and tanned and sharply defined. He makes me
feel weak, like he emits endorphins or something.

“So what do you want to do?” Ryan asks,
grabbing my hand as we start to walk.

“Actually I’m starving, I haven’t eaten all
day.” Come to think of it, I haven’t really eaten all week. The
butterflies have completely inhabited my stomach.

“Is there a particular place you want to go?”
he asks.

“I thought we could grab an early dinner
here, in the park.”

It’s a perfect day for alfresco.

We head over to the Bryant Park Grill, where
the rooftop is open for dining. After waiting a good half hour we
are finally seated. We get a table right next to the railing with a
sprawling view of the park’s gravel walkways, patio and extensive
lawn.

I order a glass of Pinot grigio and the
steamed mussels in spicy thai coconut broth. Ryan orders a
tanqueray and tonic and the jumbo lump crab cakes. Our drinks are
dropped off and now it’s just him and me and all I can think about
is that kiss. The one by the stairwell of New Jersey Transit. And
how I want him to kiss me like that all over again. And again, and
again and again.

“Alana?” I hear my name and look up from the
napkin I’m fiddling with. Ryan is staring at me, “What are thinking
about?”

“How long have you been dancing?” I ask
curiously.

His face falls, “About a year.”

He had to know this conversation was
inevitable.

“Why do you do it?”

He shrugs, “Money, women, sex.”

“I see,” I say disappointed; any indication
that Ryan and I are reconciling just got shot to shit.

“Well, I just do it for the money now,” he
glares at me as if he’s laying stake on his claim. I haven’t agreed
to anything yet.
If
we do get back together it will be on my
terms.

“How many?” I push.

“How many what?” He tries to play dumb.

“Women.” I clarify, “How many women have you
had?”

Ryan looks absolutely dumbfounded, “Come on
Alana, do you really need to know?”

“Yes, I really need to know.”

Ryan breathes, his cheeks puffing out. “I
don’t know a few dozen or so.”

My heart races.

“All from the strip club?” I swallow a gulp
of wine.

“Most, yes. But not all. You have to
understand,” he sits up straighter in his seat, “this job, it’s
money and sex and money and sex and you get caught up in the
lifestyle if there isn’t anything anchoring you to the ground.” He
leans forward and brushes my hand with his thumb, “And I want so
badly for you to be my anchor.”

“Do you understand how hard it will be for me
if we’re together? Knowing you grind all over women for money.” The
waitress drops off our dinner just then. She shoots me a strange
look when she places my plate in front of me causing my cheeks to
blaze red.

“You make it sound so dirty.” Ryan replies
after the waitress disappears.

“From what I saw, it kind of is.”

Ryan shakes his head, “You know Alana, not
every woman looks like you, has your brains, or your sexuality or
confidence.”

“What does that have to do with
anything?”

“Not every woman has men falling at their
feet like you.”

“Men don’t fall at my feet, Ryan.”

“I did. The first time I saw you, I would
have done anything you asked. Even now. All these years later.”

“Ryan-”

“That’s part of the reason I do it. When
women come to see us dance, it’s not just about me taking my
clothes off, some women are starved for attention and all they want
is someone to notice them. And we do that. We make them feel good.
Emily was having a damn good time with me until she found out who I
was.”

“Can you please not bring Emily into this
conversation? I’ve been working for days to scratch that mental
picture out of my head.”

“You didn’t like it? Seeing me dance?”

I stop. Did I like it? Yes, I did. He was
sexy and alluring and I remember saying to myself
goddamn he can
move
. But that was before I knew who he was. Before I knew he
used to be mine.

“I liked it when you had anonymity.”

“Is my occupation going to be a deal breaker
for you, Alana?” Ryan asks in this sexy, manipulative tone. And if
I didn’t know any better I’d think it’s the same one he uses on all
his women.

“What if it is? What then?” I challenge.

Ryan looks clearly disappointed, “Then I’ll
quit.”

“What?”

“I’ll quit. If it means I have to choose, I
pick you. You’ll just have to support me for a while, because I’m
not going to find easy money like that anyplace else.”

“How much do you make?” That’s an incredibly
rude question, but I can’t help it, he piqued my curiosity.

“Anywhere from eight hundred to a thousand a
night. But that’s the high end. Most guys usually only make about
four or five hundred.”

“That much?”

“It’s an expensive city to live in and not
all of us have daddy to depend on.”

I look away from him and down at the
park.

“I didn’t mean to offend you. You’re one of
the lucky ones.”

“I’m not lucky, I’m just privileged. There’s
a big difference,” I clarify indifferently.

“And utterly lacking love,” Ryan pulls one of
my cards.

I look back at him, trying to mask the
sadness. I’ve never been good at expressing my feelings and Ryan
knows it. I guess that’s one trait my father and I do share. But
just because I don’t show them, doesn’t mean I don’t feel them.

“
I
love you,” he says like he’s trying
to penetrate the barrier.

“You don’t even know me anymore,” I
argue.

“That’s not true. I know you’re still that
girl who doesn’t take shit from anyone, who deep down wants to help
people and who loves unconditionally when given the chance. That’s
who I know.”

I glare at him blankly, without an ounce of
emotion. I hate that it’s so easy for him to lay everything out on
the table without fear or hesitation, but that’s Ryan’s way, it
always has been.

“Don’t put the wall up Alana, we’ve been
there before.” He leans forward arrogantly, “You know what’ll
happen, I’ll demolish it with a battering ram.”

I exhale annoyed, staring right into Ryan’s
eyes, because I know he’s right. He’s the only person who can
infiltrate my emotions.

And the only one I want to let in.

“What do you say we get out of here?” Ryan
asks, throwing his white napkin onto his plate. “I think we’ve done
enough talking for tonight,” he drops some money onto the table and
stands up, stretching out his hand to me. I take it
tentatively.

“And where are we going?” I ask suspiciously
as he pulls me to my feet. He wraps one arm around my waist and
plants a huge kiss on my cheek.

“I want to show you my place.”

“Wow,” is about all I can say when Ryan opens
the door. “It’s so… girlie in here.”

The walls are light lavender and there are
fresh flowers everywhere.

“My roommate decorated,” Ryan laughs.

The furniture is a distressed white, like it
came straight from Pottery Barn. It’s warm and inviting and I could
picture myself living here.

“Your
gay
roommate?”

“Well, she is gay.”

“
She?
Aren’t you just full of
surprises?”

“Baby, you haven’t even seen the surprises
I’m capable of yet.”

Baby?

Surprises?

Yet?

Breathe.

Ryan kisses me on the lips then walks into
the kitchen, leaving me all hot and bothered.