Stripped From You: (Stripped Duet #1)

by M. Never

  “So, what?”

  “This is absurd.” She staggers through the sand.

  “Why? Because I like you?”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “I would if you’d give me a chance.”

  She stops walking.

  She’s pushing me away. I can feel it. Why?

  “Look, Ryan, you seem like a really nice guy—”

  “But?” I stand directly in front of her.

  “But I’m leaving for school in three months, and I don’t want to get too involved with anyone right now. Casual is about all I can offer, and I don’t think that’s the direction you’re heading.”

  “I can do casual,” I assert, even though I can hear the perjury in my own voice.

  “Ryan—”

  “Come on, Alana, give me a chance.”

  Damn, this girl. She is one hell of a challenge.

  Alana huffs under her breath. I wish there was a little more light. I’d try to sway her with my smile again.

  “Casual,” she stipulates.

  “Casual,” I repeat. “But just to clarify, when you say casual, does that take kissing off the table?”

  She giggles. “No, kissing can stay, but nothing else.”

  “Nothing else? Like no PDA? Or no getting past first base?”

  Alana rolls her eyes. “First base.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Take it or leave it.”

  “You drive a hard bargain.” I snatch her by the waist then plant a huge, wet kiss on her lips. “Take it.”

  I have a feeling this is going to be one long, cruel summer.

  I drop Alana back at her car. The ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. My brain and my body have been going a mile a minute. Just being near her buzzes all my senses.

  “Thanks,” she combs her fingers through her hair trying to contain the windblown wisps.

  “For what?”

  “For tonight.” She smiles sweetly.

  “Oh, you mean you had a good time?”

  “Yes.” She giggles as she opens the door, but I reach over and grab the handle before she can slide out.

  “When can I see you again?” Our faces are so tormentingly close. So close I can feel the heat of her breath against my skin.

  “Um,” she stammers. “Tomorrow? I start volunteering at Riverview Hospital, but we can have dinner in Red Bank afterwards if you’re free?”

  “What kind of volunteering?” I’m intrigued.

  “I’m a candy striper.”

  My eyebrows perk up. That’s so... fucking hot. “Okay, tomorrow,” I agree with a smile. An alluring, enticing, inviting smile. Alana’s staring at my mouth, so I suck my bottom lip between my teeth just to tease her. She leans in and kisses me, taking me completely by surprise. And it’s this slow, sexy kiss that blows my mind straight out of my skull.

  “Tomorrow,” she confirms as she pulls away.

  “Tomorrow,” I repeat, not wanting her to go.

  “Oh, I almost forgot” — Alana opens her purse — “this is yours.” She hands over the wad of cash we won earlier today.

  “No.” I put my hand up in protest. “You keep it.”

  Alana sighs. “I’m going to say this, and it’s not meant to be snotty or stuck-up. You work two jobs, I volunteer. You should keep it.”

  I clench my jaw, warring with myself. I really don’t want to take it, but she’s right. I work two jobs for a reason. “Fine, I’ll take it. Under one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I can spend it on you.”

  “You can spend it on whatever you want. It’s yours.” She smirks then slides out of the front seat and closes the door.

  It’s fucking official. I’m a dead man.

  Ever The Same

  I knock the word casual around as I dry a glass.

  There was another Pierce-party-all-nighter.

  When I got home, my mother and brother were so fucked-up they were barely conscious sitting at the kitchen table. I found them in the exact same place this morning when I woke up. An entire cigarette had burned to ash in the cheap gold tray.

  Lord help me.

  I sent them both to bed then proceeded with my Cinderella duties of cleaning up the apartment. I swear I’m becoming OCD. I can’t stand living in this mess anymore, watching these two deteriorate into nothing. It makes me livid. I open the cabinet under the sink and shake the imitation Febreeze bottle. There’s like a drop left, so I pour some water in it and mix it up. The thick stench of cigarettes is killing me. I’ll probably have lung cancer by the time I’m thirty from the secondhand smoke that’s turned the walls yellow. What a great future to look forward to, huh? I spray all over the apartment before I finish scrubbing the kitchen and tidying up the living room. Once done, I move on to the stack of mail on the counter. There must be two weeks’ worth of letters.

  I sit down at the tiny kitchen table and start sifting through the pile. Bill, bill, junk, junk, all in my mother’s name, then I come across something interesting. Ryan Pierce, Freehold Municipal Court.

  Hmmm.

  I rip one side of perforated edging off the rectangular paper, then the other and just before I can flip it open, Sean snatches it out of my hand. “What the fuck?” I snap.

  “That’s mine.”

  “It has my name on it,” I stress.

  “Clerical error.”

  I slant my head and glare at him. “Bullshit.”

  “I swear.” He hops up on the counter in his white tank and baggy jeans.

  “Sean.”

  “I’ll take care of it, bro.”

  I stand up and get right in his face. “How many fucking times have I told you not to use my name?”

  “It’s no big deal,” he plays it off. “It was just a misdemeanor.”

  “I don’t care if it was a goddamn parking ticket. You want to be a fuck-up the rest of your life, that’s fine. Just leave my name, my social security number, and driver’s license out of it. Hear me?”

  “Yes.” He stews, glaring back at me with my exact eyes. If I were anyone else, he would have thrown a punch for talking to him that way. Tough guy. But with me, it’s different.

  “How much?”

  “How much what?”

  “How much do you need for the fine or whatever?”

  “Oh.” He flips open the letter. “One-fifty.”

  I sigh, annoyed, then stomp into our bedroom. I pick up the shorts I had on last night and pull out the money Alana won at the track. So much for spending all of it on her.

  I walk back into the kitchen and slap two hundred dollars against Sean’s chest. “Take care of it.”

  “Done.”

  “And don’t do it again,” I seethe.

  I storm out of the kitchen and into the bathroom, slamming the door instead of slamming my fist into Sean’s face.

  Motherfucker. I hate when he pulls that shit.

  I’m sitting outside the hospital waiting for Alana to come out. It’s a nice day. The sky is blue and packed with white fluffy clouds, and there’s just the slightest summer breeze. It’s rippling the hair spilling into my eyes. I brush it off my face. I really need a haircut. Then I see her. She’s walking in the direction of her car parked on the street. I just sit there and stare, like a stalker. I’m a little early. We were supposed to meet at five-thirty, but the clock on my dash declares it’s ten after five. She flips her lengthy blonde hair as she opens the driver’s side door. She’s dressed in shorts, maybe a skirt, I can’t tell from here, and a candy striper smock that covers most of her clothes. I know I shouldn’t be thinking it, but I am. It’s hot. Like a sexy Halloween costume I want to rip right off her. She pulls a small duffel bag out of the car then turns around. That’s when she spots me. Busted. She slams her car door closed and walks toward me. My heartbeat starts picking up speed with every step she takes. She has on those goddamn mirrored aviators again that shield her eyes and conceal her emotions.

  “Hey,” she
greets me when she finally reaches my car.

  “Hey,” I respond.

  “Are you always this punctual?”

  “No.” I just couldn’t wait to see you.

  “I was just going to change.” She holds up the duffel bag. “Give me a few?”

  “Take your time.” But please hurry up.

  Alana walks back into the hospital, and for an uninterrupted ninety seconds, I get to watch her move. I study how her hips sway, and her legs stride, and her arms swing. She’s artistry in motion and tempting as sin.

  A short time later, she comes out wearing short shorts, a tight tank top, and really high heels. I don’t know what it is, but with her, the shoes always get me. Get me hot, get me bothered, and get me hard. Damn. I take a deep breath to contain myself. It’s not working. She has all the control.

  I step out of the car at the very last second, and instinctually I want to kiss her, but I don’t. I’m trying to respect her casual request. From this day forward, I will forever hate the word casual.

  We walk a few blocks into Red Bank. A small, trendy town right on the Navesink River that’s chockful of fashionable boutiques and eclectic eating establishments. We decide to have dinner in a cool-looking little restaurant with pub tables, exposed brick walls, and a laid-back feel. The hostess sits us right by the big, open window looking out at the street.

  Alana opens her menu and starts to read it. “What are you in the mood for?” she asks.

  My lips turn up. What a loaded question that is.

  “Still deciding,” I flirt.

  She glances up at me, her face impassive, but the gleam in her eyes. Whoa. It’s beyond intense and makes my body prickle all over.

  She looks back down at her menu, and I’m left stunned. It’s amazing the power she has over me already. I clear my throat and shake off the sensation. Casual, I remind myself. Casual.

  I read over the menu, not interested in eating at all. I want to concentrate on Alana. I want to hear her laugh, and gaze into the depth of her eyes, and feel her skin rub against mine. CASUAL!

  She closes her menu and stares up at me, resting her arms on the table. I slide my hand across the smooth surface and tangle her fingers with mine. She looks down with a disconcerted expression.

  “Why are you looking at me like I did something crazy? I thought PDA wasn’t off the table.”

  “I didn’t realize I was looking at you like that. I guess I’m not used to a man being so open with his affection.”

  “I’m only holding your hand.”

  “It’s more than what I’m used to.”

  Now I’m the one looking at her strangely. “What do you mean?”

  She stares back down at our hands and gently strums her fingers against mine. “My mom was the affectionate one. She died in a car accident when I was ten. A few days before Christmas.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. It’s just” — she shrugs — “in my house, emotion is seen as a weakness. And I guess, when you’re brought up to believe something, it carries over into your life.”

  “Are you telling me you’ve never had a guy touch you affectionately before?”

  “Not the way you do.” Her statement stirs something thrilling inside me.

  “I think that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.” I tighten my grip on her hand. “Emotion isn’t a weakness. Without it, there wouldn’t be books or music or art. Showing emotion isn’t weakness. It’s strength.”

  I can feel Alana’s body go stiff while she holds my hand. She searches my face, but for the life of me I can’t figure out what she’s looking for.

  “I guess I’ve never thought about it like that.” She grabs her water and takes a big sip. “There isn’t any emotion in my house. My father treats me like an obligation.”

  I squeeze her hand again. “I can give you all the affection you need.”

  She suddenly perks up, aware. “I don’t know why I just told you that.” She pulls away from me.

  “You can tell me anything.” I reach for her across the table.

  “That was a little too personal.”

  “That’s how we get to know each other. By being personal.”

  “I’m not ready for personal.”

  The waitress decides at that moment to take our dinner order. I curse under my breath. Alana gets a Caesar salad with grilled tuna, cooked rare. Which, eww. And I go with a burger and fries.

  “This is for when you’re done. To rate your dining experience.” The waitress hands me a pen and little white card with a flirty smile.

  “Thanks.” I take them, and the short, curvy redhead lingers over me a few seconds too long. I focus my attention on Alana. She looks clearly uncomfortable, fiddling with her fingers while shooting the waitress a death stare. What’s that about? I try to lighten the mood. “You said you were going to school. Where?”

  “Princeton. Pre-law,” she announces assertively, before she draws her eyes back to mine. The waitress takes the hint.

  “Wow, that’s impressive. And not too far away.” I smile.

  “No, only two hours from here. Did you go to college?”

  Ah, the dreaded question. “Um, no. College wasn’t exactly in the cards for me. I needed to work to help out my family.”

  “What about your brother? Does he work?”

  I laugh. “Sean? No, he hustles.”

  “He sounds colorful.”

  “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

  Alana doesn’t press any more about Sean or my family situation. She keeps the questions simple, like she’s feeling me out. I’ll tell her anything she wants to know. And when she’s ready to get personal -– which I pray is someday soon — I’ll answer those questions honestly too.

  Dinner actually goes better than I expected. Considering it got off to a bumpy start. I sketch mindlessly on the card while listening to her talk about candy striping and the little boy she met today. She spent half her afternoon getting her ass kicked at PS3. I’m elated she’s being so relaxed with me.

  “What are you drawing?” She leans over the table.

  “Nothing.” I put my hand over the picture.

  “Let me see.” She reaches over and playfully snatches the card. She freezes for a split second when she glances down at the drawing. She looks back up at me with an expression of such disbelief, I suddenly feel self-conscious. “It’s not very good, I know.” I go to take back the card, but she pulls it close to her chest.

  “It’s amazing. I can’t believe you did it with just a pen.”

  “It’s just a rough sketch.”

  “Yeah, but...” — she looks back at the card — “it’s so lifelike.”

  I shrug. “You have a beautiful face.” It’s not a line — it’s the truth. Alana has gorgeous angles. Her lips are full and plump, her cheekbones are high, and her nose is perfectly straight. But it’s her eyes I love the most. How deep and rich the reddish-brown is, dotted with specks of black.

  She blushes. “Do you draw often?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it drawing. I like to scribble.”

  “This is way more than a scribble.”

  “You can just toss it.”

  “I want to keep it.”

  “You do? Why?”

  “Because.” She hesitates. “I just do.”

  “Be my guest.”

  Alana places the card carefully in the front pocket of her purse. She doesn’t even fold it.

  “Are you ready to get out of here?” I nudge her with my knee.

  “Yeah. Can we walk down to the park and look at the boats?”

  “Of course,” I agree, surprised. “We can go anywhere you want.”

  She smiles and hops off the pub stool. How the hell does she balance so well on those freakin’ stilts? Alana shuffles in front of me, and I steal a quick glance at her ass right before we exit the restaurant. She’s so fucking hot I need to bite the inside of my cheek to keep my hormones in check. At this rate, I’m goin
g to need to inflict bodily harm on myself on an hourly basis just to be around her.

  We walk down the street hand in hand toward the little park overlooking the river. We sit on a bench near the railing and watch the water turn from blue to pink as the sun sets over the horizon. I stretch my arm across the back of the bench, and Alana snuggles herself into my body. She’s shocking me left and right tonight. I catch a whiff of her hair as she rests her head on my shoulder. She smells so clean. I swear, like bubble bath. As we snuggle, watching the boats careen fluidly across the water, the moment feels so... fulfilling. Like she’s the part of my life I didn’t know was missing. I wrap my arms around her, and she nuzzles her face into my neck. Is this being casual? I don’t really know, and I don’t really care. I just know this is where I want her to stay forever.

  “Ryan?” she asks softly.

  “Mmmm hmmm?”

  “Did you take art in high school?”

  “Yup, all four years.”

  "What’s your favorite type of expression?”

  I chuckle. “Body art.”

  She laughs. “Why does that not surprise me?”

  “I like a little bit of everything. Abstract, expressionism, surrealism. I’ve always wanted to go to Amsterdam and see the Van Gogh Museum.”

  “I was there.” She looks up at me. “It was amazing. I spent last summer in Europe with Emily and her family.”

  “Your friend from the club?”

  “She’s my cousin.”

  “Oh. That sounds pretty cool.”

  “Emily being my cousin?”

  I roll my eyes. “Spending the summer in Europe. I’ve never been out of the country. I’ve never really been out of the state.”

  Which is pathetic once I think about it.

  “One day you’ll go.”

  “You sound pretty confident about that.”

  Alana doesn’t respond. She just cuddles closer to me.

  It’s dark now, and the moon is reflecting over the river. It turned out to be a really nice night. Just warm enough with a clear, black sky.

  “Maybe we can go to an art museum in the city?” she suggests.

  “I’d like that,” I tell her, stroking my thumb lightly across her skin. She tilts her head and kisses my neck, sending shockwaves through my body. I don’t know what it is, but her touch, it’s magnetic. It electrifies me in ways I never knew possible.