“Next up is one of our premier dancers. So, get ready, set, wet for Jack the Stripper!”
Ginuwine’s “Pony” rips through the speakers, and that’s my cue. It’s the quintessential stripper song. Don’t believe me? Ask Magic Mike.
I groove my way across the room and slither toward the dark-haired girl sitting on the metal chair. She’s decked out in dollars and watching me excitedly. As soon as my foot touches the stage the music changes to a house version of Justin Bieber’s “As Long As You Love Me”.If you’re making afor real?face right now, I want to inform you, this was Demi’s suggestion. And her being her, she convinced me that women’s panties melt for a man who fights to the death for her and gives up everything for love. I was skeptical. But the beat is good, and I could work with it, so I’m giving it a try. And, for the record, I don’t really consider Justin Bieber a man. What the fuck does he know about fighting to the death or giving up everything for love? Spend three minutes in jail after you sacrificed your life, and then maybe we can talk.
I go through the usual motions of my routine. Grinding, undulating, and stirring up the girl in the hot seat as much as the women in the crowd. Divan is right, this group is lively. More so than most. The dark-haired beauty happily plays along with all my ministrations. For a tiny little thing, her persona is enormous. She reminds me of someone I used to know.
“Hold on tight,” I whisper in her ear. Then for spectacle, I lift her up while she’s still seated and flip her around.
The room erupts. That move is always a crowd pleaser. Then I start to unbutton my pants, teasing the girl and the audience with glimpses of my ass. Taking Divan’s advice, I rip off my hat and fling it into the crowd. There’s a wave of shrieks as a few women try to catch it.
I brush some hair out of my eyes, then kneel in front of my willing prey. I catch a better glimpse of her face, and god, she looks so familiar. But I can’t stop and ponder where I know her from since I’m in the middle of a striptease.
“Rip my mask off,” I instruct her, and she pauses for a split second, like maybe she recognizes me, too. Then she slips two fingers underneath it and rips the thing clean off.
She gasps. “Ryan?”
It takes me a moment to realize exactly who is sitting in front of me, but when I do, the world stops revolving. “Emily?” My voice is shaky. No wonder I didn’t recognize her. The last time I saw her, her hair was bleach blonde and shorter than mine.
“Uh huh,” she replies, as stunned as me.
“Do you want me to stop?” I ask in a panic.
“No, just finish quick.”
I nod faintly. And all I can think is —is she here?Are we in the same room, breathing the same air? I feel a little dizzy.The two of you are practically inseparable. Where you are, she is.
I may just throw up.
I do a quick job of dropping my pants, and then I hightail it off the stage. I don’t even bother to stop and pick up the money being thrown at me.
I barricade myself in the staging room and proceed to fight with my locker.It won’t motherfucking open!
“What the fuck got into you?” Divan’s voice booms.
“I need to get dressed.” I pull on the handle frantically.
She’s here. She’s here, and she just watched me drop my pants in front of a room full of fucking strangers.Goddammit, why won’t this thing open!
“Ryan?”I unexpectedly hear my name. It’s spoken by the sweetest voice I’ve ever known. My head snaps up, and when my eyes meet hers, I’m suddenly crushed with a tsunami of emotion.
I can’t move, I can’t speak, and I’m pretty sure the ground is shaking.
She looks the same, she looks so different — she’s the fucking blonde in the gold dress.
She’s also so heartachingly beautiful, hurt, and confused, and it’s all because of me. It’sallmy fucking fault. But worst of all? She just disappeared from my sight.
“ALANA…!”