Worlds Away

by Alexa Land

  “It’ll be great! I’ll text you the address of a fabulous secondhand store where we can meet ahead of time. If you don’t know what to wear under your suit tonight, I can help you pick something out.”

  We chatted for a few more minutes, and when we disconnected, I muttered, “What the hell was I thinking?” Admittedly though, I was more excited than apprehensive.

  Next, I texted Alastair and told him: Thank you for the helmet. That was very thoughtful.

  He texted back a moment later. You’re quite welcome. Did it fit?

  Perfectly. Impressive, as was the fact that you knew my address.

  My phone rang, and when I answered, he said, “That was creepy, wasn’t it? Now you’re thinking I have distinctly stalkeresque tendencies, and you want nothing more to do with me.”

  “It wasn’t creepy.”

  “I should have gone through proper channels. But instead, I just asked my friend to look you up so I could send you the helmet as soon as possible. I didn’t stop to consider how that would be perceived.”

  “Your friend?”

  “Yes. He’s also my bodyguard. I knew it would take him just a few moments to get me your address.” He sighed and said, “You’re going to think I’m a complete tosser after this conversation.”

  “Why do you have a bodyguard?”

  “As you probably gathered from the condo, my family is wealthy. Actually, it’s at a level that…well, let’s just say, it draws attention. Because of that, they worry about me, especially since I’m on my own here in America. It’s all a bit daft, since most people have no idea who I am. I’ve always been kept out of the public eye, and I don’t even use my real surname. Nevertheless, the only way my family would let me venture out on my own at sixteen was if I agreed to bring along part of their security detail.”

  “I see.”

  “The more I try to explain, the more bizarre it sounds. I wish we were having this conversation face-to-face, because I have no idea how you’re reacting to any of this.”

  “Maybe this’ll help.” I hit a button on my screen.

  He answered the video call a moment later and grinned at me. “You’re wearing the kimono.”

  “I put it on as soon as I got home. Where are you?” I glimpsed a pool and palm trees in the background.

  “At my house in the South Bay. I drove Rollie home and got here right before you texted. It’s about five minutes from the university, so I stay down here when I plan to spend a lot of time on campus.”

  Because he was frowning, I asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “I lied to you during our first conversation, and I apologize for doing that. As I said, I don’t use my real name. I’m supposed to tell everyone I’m called Alastair Wilde. It’s all part of this elaborate scheme to keep me safe, but it’s utter bollocks. I hate going around deceiving everyone, on the off chance the wrong person might find out who I am. My real name is—”

  “You don’t have to tell me. Your security is more important than my idle curiosity. I already know you gave me a fake name, by the way, and I’m glad I know why now.”

  “How did you know?”

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  He flashed me a big smile. “Am I?”

  “Oh yeah. The worst.”

  “What did I do?”

  “You hesitated and broke eye contact. Dead giveaway.”

  “You realize you’re coaching me in how to be a better liar, don’t you?” Alastair looked highly entertained.

  “Somehow, I don’t think you’ll abuse your new superpower.”

  “I won’t, I swear. No more lies. Cross my heart.” He drew a huge ‘X’ on his chest with his index finger.

  “And all the rest of your vital organs. That’s quite a pledge.”

  “Indeed. Cross everything from my heart to my spleen.” He shifted a bit, then said, “In all seriousness though, I promise to be truthful from here on out. I feel like a complete arse for having given you a false name.”

  “Don’t. I get it.”

  “Let me start over. Hello, I’m Alastair Spencer-Penelegion.”

  “Wow, that’s—”

  “The same as the famous department store in London, yes. We are, in fact, those Penelegions.”

  I grinned at him. “I was going to say that’s the most British name ever.”

  “Oh.” He grinned, too. “I suppose it is quite British, although I went to school with a lad named Nigel Shufflebottom Popplewell, and I’m certain that’s even more British than mine.”

  “It’s dead even.”

  “It isn’t!”

  “Okay, maybe the Shufflebottom part puts him slightly ahead.”

  “Slightly!”

  “I do have one question for you,” I said, and a little frown line appeared between his eyebrows. I could only imagine the invasive questions he must have endured when people found out he belonged to that famously wealthy family. But what I asked was, “When you were a kid, did you ever get to run around the department store after hours? You know: jump on the beds in the furniture department, sneak desserts from the restaurant, that sort of thing?”

  The slight frown was replaced with a genuine smile. “I never did! It’s a shame, isn’t it? The toy section alone, my God! I could have spent weeks there as a child!”

  “I’ve seen the toy department on TV, it looks spectacular.”

  “It is. My grandfather would take my sister and me every Christmas and let us pick out anything we wanted. I love that place, and at the holidays, it’s absolutely magical.”

  I stretched out on my side and propped my head up with my hand. “With all that selection, how could you even choose?”

  “It was easy, actually. I always got the same thing. There was this line of toy cars, lovely things made by a craftsman in Surrey. The detail was just incredible. They had tiny, working steering wheels, and upholstered seats, and perfect little engines under their bonnets. Anyway, every Christmas I’d go straight to that display case, like a horse with blinders on, and pick out a car. My granddad would always ask, ‘Don’t you want something bigger, Sonny?’ But I never did. All year, I looked forward to adding another car to my collection.”

  “Do you still have them?”

  “God yes, I’ll never part with them. They’re in my bedroom at my family’s country house. I regretted not bringing them along when I came to the U.S. But I was trying to convince my parents I was a grown man at sixteen, so I couldn’t very well pack up my toys and take them with me. I’d also never admit this to any of them, but I was bitterly disappointed when I turned twelve and my grandfather declared me too old for the toy department.”

  “What did he give you instead?”

  “Stocks.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  He shook his head. “I know I should be grateful. He’s very generous and is thinking about my future. But at twelve and thirteen, hell, even at twenty, all I wanted for Christmas was another Dunford Racer for my collection.”

  “You know you could just walk into Penelegion’s next time you’re in London and buy every car in that case, right?”

  “I can’t actually, because the company went out of business two years ago. It wouldn’t have been the same, anyway. The anticipation was part of the fun. So was the fact that I was limited to just one, oddly enough. I suppose it’s like eating cake three meals a day, versus only having it on your birthday. When you have all you want, it no longer seems like something special.”

  “Makes sense.”

  Alastair grinned and said, “Listen to me, rattling on about toy cars. I’m sure you have better things to do besides listening to my childish ramblings. What are you up to today?”

  “I need to scrape up some enthusiasm and take a look at the online job listings. Later on, I’m going to get nearly naked for a roomful of strangers.”

  “Do tell!”

  “A new friend somehow convinced me to don some lingerie and participate in amateur night at someplace called Club Sca
ndal. Apparently, it’s a gay burlesque club downtown.”

  “How bold!”

  I sighed and said, “I’m going to make a fool of myself.”

  “No chance. You’ll be sensational, I just know it! Will you wear what you had on last night?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. Speaking of last night though…I wanted to say thanks. I wasn’t sure how you’d react to that side of me. But you were so supportive, and it boosted my confidence enough to say yes to this crazy idea.”

  “You’re welcome, and you have every reason to feel confident. You’re absolutely gorgeous, Sawyer. Both sides of you.”

  “Thank you.”

  He smiled at me as I ducked my head embarrassedly, and after a moment he asked, “Can I come to the show tonight? I’d love to watch you absolutely slay it.”

  “Oh. Um, next time, okay? I think I’d be too embarrassed if I knew you were in the audience.”

  “I hope there is a next time.”

  “If I don’t trip on my heels, fall off the stage, or totally freeze up and humiliate myself, or even if I do, maybe I’ll try it again. The first time’s bound to be a bit awkward, but maybe it gets easier with practice.”

  “I love that you’re willing to give it a go. And here I had you pegged as this serious, reserved bloke when I first laid eyes on you. The strong, silent type, and all that.”

  I shrugged. “Not so silent.” Not so strong, either. I changed the subject by asking, “So, what are you doing today?”

  “I’d intended to go to campus and work on my dissertation. To be honest though, I’m feeling discouraged, because I know I’ll never complete the program. But that’s stupid, because I’m here for an education, not a piece of paper printed with a degree. Enough of that, though. I have almost a year left to lose myself in academia, and I know how I must sound, whining about my so-called problems instead of being grateful for all I have.”

  “You’re not whining, Alastair.”

  He pulled up a smile. “I’d better let you go, but we’ll talk soon, yeah? I need to get off my arse, and you need to pick an outfit for tonight that’ll bring grown men to their knees. Knock ‘em dead, Sawyer.”

  “I’ll settle for not knocking myself dead by falling off the stage in my five inch-heels.”

  “Promise me you’ll let me see you in those shoes sometime.”

  I said I would, and after we disconnected, I swung out of bed and retrieved a duffle bag from the back of my closet, the one containing my secret wardrobe. As I sorted through the silk, lace, and leather, I regretted telling Alastair not to come to the show. A friendly face in the audience would have been nice. But then again, if (and when) I made a fool of myself, he was the last person I would have wanted witnessing that.

  After picking out a few pieces of lingerie and stashing them in a backpack, I sat down at the desk and opened my laptop. The job listings were wholly uninspiring. After twenty depressing minutes, I switched over to an online auction site and typed ‘Dunford Racers’ into the search bar.

  The tiny cars were spectacular and incredibly detailed. I could see why Alastair was so enthralled with them. They weren’t cheap, either, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. After narrowing my search to models made in the final year the company was in business (knowing he wouldn’t have anything that recent), I selected a flawless red convertible. I was so excited as I placed my bid and imagined the smile that little toy would bring to Alastair’s face.

  Chapter Four

  I slammed back the whiskey and muttered, “What the hell was I thinking?”

  “You got this, Sawyer.” Gabriel rubbed my back while I took a couple deep breaths.

  “It’s amateur night. Why’s there a full house? And why do none of the people who’ve gone already even sort of seem like amateurs? The woman in black lace was ready to go on tour with Beyoncé, and that bearded guy was channeling Marilyn Monroe and Channing Tatum, all at the same time. And Jesus, that ass! Did you see that ass?”

  “Oh believe me, no one missed that ass. But so what? I got a good look at your Little Debbies while we were trying on clothes earlier tonight. Actually, there might have been some staring involved. I’m just saying. So, I know for a fact the audience is going to go off like two hundred Mentos dropped into a pool of Coke as soon as they catch a glimpse of what you’ve got going on. In fact, we need to find you a cumbrella, because it’s going to be coming down thick out there!”

  I laughed and said, “Thank you for that colorful mental picture. And dude, Little Debbies?”

  “I was gonna call them honey buns, but eh, seemed uninspired.” He squeezed my shoulder and said, “You’re going to be great.”

  “I’m going to throw up.”

  “Pro tip: aim away from the audience.”

  “Good advice, and speaking of pros, you killed it out there. You know that, right?” He’d gone out in full drag with red lipstick, an elaborate scrollwork mask, stilettos, and a slinky stretch velvet gown. Then he’d stripped slowly and seductively, down to a garter belt, stockings, and bikini briefs while keeping his nipples covered, alternately with his hands or a scarf. When he bared his chest with a graceful sweep of his arm as the song ended, the audience (who’d clearly reached the wrong conclusion about his gender) responded with gasps, then wild applause. Gabriel definitely had a flair for the theatrical.

  But he just shrugged. “I did okay. I had fun, that’s the main thing. Remember that! If you have a good time, the audience will, too.”

  “The audience is doomed.”

  “Look, here’s what you do. Pick out one friendly face in the crowd. Then just focus on that person and pretend you’re in the bedroom, seducing your lover.”

  “And two hundred of his closest friends.”

  He grinned at that and straightened my tie. “Okay, so maybe it’s more like an orgy.”

  The stage manager stuck her head into the dressing room and consulted her clipboard. She was about forty, and sported short, white-blonde hair with black roots and a double-pierced lower lip. Given the way the piercings were spaced, they looked a hell of a lot like fangs. I wondered if that had been intentional. She called, “Sawyer MacNeil?” When I nodded, she said, “You’re up in two minutes, follow me.” I and one other guy were the last ‘performers’ of the night. But since he was sweating profusely and drinking directly from a bottle of vodka, I doubted he’d make it onto the stage.

  “Break a leg. On second thought, scratch that. Those heels are super high. Leg breaking is probably a very real possibility,” Gabriel said as he followed me.

  “Because that’s helpful.”

  “Sorry. Have fun, though. Seriously!”

  When we reached our destination, I sighed at the sight of the guy onstage high-kicking like a Rockette. “Not amateurish,” I muttered.

  I adjusted my trench coat and fedora, which I’d layered over my only suit to give me more to take off, then shook out my hands and bent to wipe a smudge from my black stilettos. The stage manager angled the clipboard toward me, pointed to the song I’d requested, and asked, “Is this what you’re stripping to?”

  “Yeah. It was going to be ‘I Want your Sex’ by George Michael, but we’ve already heard that six times tonight, so I figured I should change it up.”

  She thought about that for a beat, then said, “Good for you. It’s always the same dozen songs, over and over and over, including that one. If I have to hear ‘Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend’ even one more time, I swear I’ll end up punching somebody in the face.” I didn’t doubt it.

  The Rockette finished his routine to thunderous applause, then bounced down the steps at the front of the stage, dressed only in a pair of red briefs. The audience crowded the center aisle with bills and waiting high-fives. He harvested the money and slapped palms as he strutted through the theater, then exited out a side door that led back to the dressing room. Meanwhile, one of the stage hands rushed around and gathered up the performer’s discarded clothes.

  The
woman with a clipboard told me I was up. I swallowed hard and took center stage, keeping my head dipped down so the hat shielded my face. My heart pounded in my ears, and the MC announced me as Sizzling Sawyer, which made me wince.

  A moment later, the drumbeat at the start of the original, kick-ass version of ‘Ballroom Blitz’ blasted from the bank of speakers. I felt anything but confident, but so what? I was just going to go ahead and act like I was. Fake it ‘til you make it. That philosophy could get me through the next four minutes. I tore the hat off and flung it to my right when the vocals kicked in.

  As my heart raced, I remembered Gabriel telling me to find a friendly face in the audience. It was good advice. I scanned the crowd, and then I found a very friendly face in an aisle seat in the eighth row, just beyond the glow of the stage lights.

  Alastair had slid down in his seat a bit, as if that would somehow hide him from view. Nope, not from my vantage point up on the stage. I grinned at him, then pulled off my overcoat and threw it aside. I ran the fingers of my right hand through my hair as he and I locked eyes, then stalked the stage as I pulled off my suit jacket, dragged it behind me, and finally threw it into the wings. Gabriel caught it and waved it over his head. He was dancing along and looked like he was having a great time.

  There were a few props around me, including a metal folding chair, and I grabbed it and held it over my head, then leapt off the stage. I was careful to land on the balls of my feet in those very high heels and was relieved that I actually pulled it off without face-planting onto the carpet. When I reached Alastair, I took hold of him by the front of his waistband and he scrambled to his feet and followed me into the aisle. One glance told me he was completely turned on, from his flushed skin to his fully dilated pupils and the unmistakable bulge in his khakis. So hot.

  I pushed him into the folding chair, then removed my tie and draped it around his neck. I was vaguely aware of a lot of yells and whistles from the audience as I grabbed his knees, then spread Alastair’s thighs and began dancing between them in time to the music, shaking my ass while I unbuttoned my shirt. He was breathing hard as he gripped the edges of his seat. I dropped my shirt, revealing a black leather corset that was laced up the back. That got a huge response from the audience, probably because all the men who’d gone before me had just stripped down to briefs.