Strip for Me Read online

  “George!” Margo says, making him stop singing and pulling me out of my thoughts. “Customer.”

  George shrugs as we hear Margo put her professional customer service voice on. The one where she enunciates all her words and smiles too widely than is natural for her.

  My phone vibrates in my back pocket. Thinking it’s Emma backing out of our plans, I drop the shoebox and round the corner behind the cash register to check it.

  But it’s not Emma.

  No, it’s a Facebook notification.

  The smiling face in the profile picture not one I thought I’d ever see again.

  George sneaks up behind me and grabs the label gun from the counter. “Who’s that hunk of man? Sweet Jesus, look at those smoldering eyes.”

  I hide my phone, speechless. How did he even find me?

  “Don’t you hold out on me, Kendall, you southern slut, you.”

  I scoff. “You’re just jealous.”

  “Of course, I’m jealous! The ass you get on a weekly basis? What’s not to be jealous of?”

  I giggle halfheartedly, thinking about being off my game lately. But I don’t tell George that. I haven’t told him or Margo about ever meeting Sebastian to begin with. I can imagine George’s howls now if he heard I slept with a stripper. Not because he’d make fun of me, but because his suspicions would be confirmed—that my southern accent is all a front.

  I don’t look like a southern belle, nor do I act like one.

  I don’t say anything as I finish my shift, or when Margo and George confirm our plans to go out. With Sebastian’s face on my phone, I can’t properly think about going out. Meeting new guys seems moot now that I have the one I really want waiting for my response.

  When I get home, I hold the phone up in front of Emma’s face without a word.

  She squints at the notification. “Am I supposed to know him or how to respond right now?”

  Exasperated, I click on his profile and shove the screen back in her face.

  “He’s hot…?” She draws it out and then pushes my hand out of the way. “Are you trying to set me up again? I’ve told you over and over again, I don’t want to date. I definitely don’t need you to find me—”

  I hold my hand up to stop her and finally find my voice. “It’s Sebastian. The guy on my phone is Sebastian, the guy from Vegas I told you about.”

  Understanding replaces her outrage from before as she reaches for my phone. “Gimme, gimme.”

  I hold the phone away from her and click on his profile picture. It’s a closeup of him smiling in a dark room, perhaps a club. It’s casual, natural. The easy smile that’s kept me up at night now in front of me.

  “How the hell did he even find me? I mean, that’s some stalker shit right there. Right? The kind Catfish warns you about?”

  “Stop watching that shit. Try the Discovery channel every now and then. You might learn something.”

  I glare at her, as this is not the time to discuss my television habits.

  “Didn’t you say his friend was talking to Amber at the bachelorette party? Maybe that’s how he found you?”

  “That’s right. They did look like they were exchanging information at one point. That makes sense.”

  She rolls her eyes at my conspiracy theories. “Are you going to accept?”

  “Should I?”

  “Why wouldn’t you? You accepted Cheeto dick, yet you’re not going to accept the best sex you’ve ever had?”

  “I told you that in confidence.”

  She looks around at our empty apartment.

  “Okay, but you can’t throw that in my face ever again.”

  She holds her hands up and plops down on the blush pink couch, holding a floral throw pillow to her chest. “So?”

  My thumb hovers over my phone screen as I chew on my bottom lip, considering my options like this is a college algebra problem.

  It’s Sebastian.

  The guy I had a great time with.

  But he’s also the guy who knows a lot about me, which, from experience, doesn’t tend to end well.

  “Stop that head of yours from spinning. You’re going to have a stroke. This isn’t Mrs. Chase’s chemistry class. You’re not going to blow up the classroom just by clicking a button.”

  I loosen my grip on my phone and sit next to her on the couch, letting my toes sink into the cream plush rug. It’s so small our knees touch. “You’re right. I’m getting worked up over nothing. It’s just a friend request.”

  “Exactly, so what’s the big deal?”

  I don’t answer her, not wanting to get into the details. I normally tell Emma everything, but I left important details of that night out.

  Instead of answering her now, I respond to the friend request and shrug. “There. No big deal at all.”

  But my heart clamors in my chest, my whole body aware of Sebastian. That he found me. That we’ve been brought back together again, even if it is only virtually.

  And that brings a smile to my face.

  Chapter 18

  Sebastian

  She accepted my friend request.

  She accepted.

  I’m so happy—it feels like she accepted me.

  I roll my eyes at my pathetic yearning for this woman. Ty would have a field day with the way I’m acting like a teenage girl waiting to be asked to prom.

  I type as I head to the kitchen for something light to snack on.

  Me: Missed me?

  I sit back down on the couch with my protein bar in hand, my eyebrows shooting up when Kendall’s name appears on my phone. I could get used to that.

  Before I answer, I lean my head back toward the ceiling.

  I am definitely pathetic for this girl.

  With my head tilted back, I can see the hole in the wall right above me, bringing me back to reality. I flex my hand, open and close it, remembering the way I punched right through the wall with no hesitation. Or regret.

  I can hear Joelle’s screams filling the quiet apartment as I recall the way she covered her face, like she was afraid of me. Like I was the monster when the real one was her. She was the one with the cold heart.

  I rub my chest, my jaw ticking at the memory, but then I look back down at my phone, at Kendall’s face right next to her new message.

  She’s different. This is different. I’ll be more careful this time around now that I know better.

  Kendall: Looks like you’re the one who missed me, lover boy.

  Me: The girl whose first orgasm was my doing? Damn right.

  Kendall: Oh yes. Thanks for opening the floodgates, literally. Had many since then.

  My head falls back against the couch again, and a groan escapes me. Fuck. Why does the thought of her gaining pleasure from other guys make my skin itch with jealousy? Like a bunch of fire ants crawling up my arms.

  Me: Hope you didn’t scream my name out of instinct. ;)

  I nod at my casual response, while my insides are in turmoil. Just then, my phone starts ringing, and my heart stops altogether thinking it could be Kendall.

  Instead, I’m disappointed that it’s just my mom.

  I scratch the slight stubble on my chin and reluctantly answer the call. “Mom.”

  “Hello? Can you hear me?”

  “Barely.” Her voice sounds muffled like she’s talking with her hand covering her mouth. There are also loud noises, beeping, and a voice over the intercom in the background. “You at the airport?”

  She whispers something to someone that I can’t make out. I roll my eyes, not surprised that she calls and then ignores me. After a minute, she turns her attention back to me. “Uh, yes, I got called to do a last-minute trip, so I’ve been flustered all morning.”

  She’s been a flight attendant since I was two years old. For twenty-five years, she’s been running across the country and overseas, especially since she started working for a new airline a few years back. Growing up, she was always on a last-minute flight, or a flight in general, leaving me with my uncle
next door. My own father was never around, and my uncle didn’t have kids, so it was no issue. Except he worked just as much as my mom did, which meant I was on my own a lot.

  “Huh,” I say, “So… guess you’re not going to make it to dinner, then?”

  She whispers to someone again before answering, “What, honey?”

  “Dinner, Mom. We were supposed to have dinner tonight, remember? I thought you were staying in town for a couple days.”

  “Right. Shit, that was tonight, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s what I said.” I exhale, uninterested in this conversation. I’d be more bothered if it didn’t happen all the time. We often make plans, but she usually cancels. Usually last minute or without warning at all, leaving me waiting at the restaurant like I’ve been stood up by a blind date.

  “Sorry, Sebastian, I’m running late. Just called to see how you’re doing.” She pauses. “How’s… your, uh… job?” I imagine her flinching at the question, one side of her perfectly red lips lifting in disapproval of what I do for a living. Which is her usual reaction, so the way she asks the question so hesitantly makes me wonder if that was really what she wanted to say.

  “You mean stripping?” I say with more confidence than she had. “It’s going great. What’s not to love about it? I get to grind my junk on strange women every night, which is quite fulfilling.” I put a fist to my chest dramatically and look up at the ceiling with fake tears in my eyes, as though she can see me.

  She scoffs. “Don’t be crude, Sebastian. Remember, you’re speaking with your mother. Have some decency.”

  I roll my eyes again at the same conversation we always have. She demands respect yet doesn’t spend any time trying to earn it. It’s been three weeks since I last spoke to her, and six months since I’ve seen her. “Was there something else you needed?”

  I imagine her snapping her fingers like she just remembered an item to add to her grocery list. “Yes, actually. It’s about your uncle. I think you really should speak with him. He’s got a great business proposition for you. It’s—hang on, I’m boarding.”

  My jaw tightens at the mention of my uncle and the idea of speaking to him. It’s been a year since I’ve talked to him, since he took everything from me. Why would my mom bother bringing him up?

  “Listen, honey, I know you’ve had your differences—”

  Now it’s my turn to scoff. “That’s putting it lightly, don’t you think?”

  “But I think it’d be in your best interest to talk to him,” she continues as though I didn’t interrupt. “Having one conversation with him could get you away from your current situation.”

  “You say that like I’m in an unfortunate predicament that I can’t get out of. You realize I want to strip, right? That I like it? It’s not something I’m doing because I have to. I like it, and it’s good money.”

  “But come on,” she pleads. “You have a business degree. Why not put it to good use instead of letting it waste away on a greasy stage?”

  I hate her choice of words, but I can’t deny that something inside me comes to life at the idea of using my business degree. Of trying the business route again. “I don’t care what he has to offer. I’m not interested.”

  “You always were so stubborn. Just think about it, okay? He really wants to talk to you and…” There’s some shuffling that sounds like static through the receiver. “Shit, I have to go. A kid just spilled a juice box.”

  Click.

  “Okay, talk to you in another month,” I say out loud to no one.

  When I look back at my phone, my Facebook messages are still pulled up.

  Kendall: I had to bite my lip so hard that it swelled, but I managed to not scream your name.

  Fuck.

  Images of her writhing beneath me play in my head like a movie, and I know I’ll be getting off tonight with Kendall in mind.

  Chapter 19

  Kendall

  I gape at Sebastian’s message.

  He’s coming to LA.

  In less than two weeks. And he wants to see me.

  Well, his exact words were that he wants to make me scream his name without restraint. I had to squeeze my legs together tighter than a Catholic’s mouth during Lent.

  I went on a few dates with a Catholic once, right as he had to fast for forty days before Easter. I made it three days into Lent before I had to end it—not that we had even made it as far as it. I just couldn’t date someone I couldn’t go out to eat with. My friends thought I was nuts, but what else is new?

  I put my phone in my bag when Emma rounds the corner into her studio, the one she bought a little over a year ago. We were here for a class when the owner put the For Sale sign up. She hadn’t finished taping it before Emma perked up and expressed interest. I was surprised, as I can’t imagine owning my own studio at twenty-two like Emma, but that’s just another way we’re different.

  She’s bold in a different way than I am. She’s ambitious.

  “Hey,” Emma says to everyone as she heads to the front of the room to set up. A couple goes to the front to talk with her, calling her Ms. Emma. And it’s moments like these that I’m proud of her. She’s so official and doing something with herself instead of continuing to live off her dad’s money, which he insisted she take when she first moved out here.

  Especially after Brant left her.

  I’m jealous of her ambition. She got knocked down by Brant, but she got herself back up again. And declined her dad’s help along the way, although he still sends expensive gifts that his new wife picks out.

  I wish I had more of her determination and confidence. When I got knocked down, I ran. Not just to the other side of town, either. I ran to the other side of the country, to get away from Lauren, my parents, my old life. I wanted to be someone new, yet I’m just repeating old patterns. New town, but same me. The same me who goes out with guys, then dismisses them after a couple of dates, keeping only the ones who were good in bed on retainer like they’re lawyers, and I keep needing them to get me out of trouble.

  Sexual trouble, but still.

  But even they didn’t have what it took to do that. Only Sebastian.

  The one guy who’s made me feel anything beyond surface feelings is Sebastian. And now he’s coming to town in less than two weeks.

  The horror of seeing him again fills me as I settle onto my yoga mat with the rest of the class. Talking to him through brief messages is one thing, but seeing him again? Whole other monster.

  I told him way too much about myself the last time we were together. I just have to watch how much I say to him next time.

  The surfer guy who volunteers with Emma jogs in just as she starts the class. He winks in her direction, while I roll my eyes at her indifference. Settling next to me, he nods. “Hey, Kendall.”

  I smile in greeting, kneeling on my yoga mat and getting into child’s pose.

  We don’t say anything more as the class starts, and I’m deep in thought about Sebastian.

  I need to see him again. I need to kiss him again. I need to feel his hands on me.

  I wiggle on my yoga mat, my body suddenly heated, but I have eleven days until I find that release.

  So instead of dwelling, I let the soft music replace the thoughts in my head as Emma starts the class. Her soothing voice calms me further, and I’m at ease.

  I’ve been doing yoga for months, and it’s helped calm me down as a person. Well, yoga combined with not living at home with my overbearing and psychotic family did the trick.

  Sometimes I think it’s too good to be true that I haven’t wanted to rip anyone’s face off lately. Even annoying customers at work who try to return stained and obviously worn shoes don’t bother me as much as they would have had my old self been working there.

  I lie in child’s pose and take deep breaths in, letting out all my nervous energy, and succeed in getting out of my own head, embracing the peaceful silence.

  But when class is over, all I can think about is eleven day
s.

  Eleven days of waiting.

  Eleven days of torture.

  Chapter 20

  Sebastian

  Ty high-fives me after he gets off the stage like we’re playing tag.

  My turn.

  I run on stage with a few other guys for our smaller act, one with no props. Just our six-packs and dicks covered by small pieces of fabric. Those are what the ladies like most about us. Which doesn’t bother me anymore. It did once, at the end of my first term of stripping, if you will. Before I quit and came back a year later.

  Stripping is an art form, just like dancing. Dancers entertain, which is what we do. We just use our male parts to attract more audience members.

  I clap my hands above my head along with the rest of the guys. The crowd gets out of their seats and claps along with us. But when the music starts, the guys and I get into position and go through our routine flawlessly.

  I feed off the adrenaline and get lost in the moves. When I’m on stage, everything comes naturally.

  I move to the end of one side of the stage while the others scatter for the final part of the song. Sticking my tongue out and catching the women’s eyes there in front, I grab my junk and hump the air, earning every last penny I get from being here.

  I keep going until I feel like my hips might jump out of place, which is timed perfectly for the ending of the song. Before I turn around to get into place for the last number, I wink at the ladies falling over each other to get to the stage. It sends them into another frenzy, and I feel alive, like a rock star.

  That’s what people like my mom and Joelle don’t understand. This job is not a demeaning one, nor is it one I feel forced into. I like this job because I like the audience’s enthusiasm, their zest for a good time. And it’s a good time I can give them by dancing on stage.

  It’s a good time for me and the other guys as well. It’s how we bond. We’re more like brothers than coworkers.