by Nikki Chase
Alice grows quiet. We both know what I’m talking about. I’ve lost one love and, eager as I am to jump into a new life with Cole, I’m aware that I can lose him at any time.
“Are you ready?” My Australian wedding planner pops her head into the room. Having lived on the island for decades, she has a year-round natural tan and speaks the local language fluently. “You look like you’re ready. Beautiful, blushing bride. No cold feet, I hope?”
“Nope. I’m ready.”
“Great. All the guests are seated. There’s a buggy just outside waiting for you,” Denise says.
As I make my way outside, Alice helps me with my dress. I’ve deliberately chosen a simple, no-fuss dress to match the beachy setting. Keeping a floor-length white dress from getting dirty is no simple task.
Hot, humid air hits me as soon as I step outside. The afternoon wind makes it bearable, although I still wish I could jump into the private swimming pool to cool down.
Alice and I sit on the back of the little buggy that takes us to the wedding venue, a beautiful green clearing at the bottom of a set of stone steps that overlooks the ocean.
It’s late in the afternoon and the sky is just beginning to turn pink and orange. A warm breeze flirts with my loosely curled hair. The sound of waves crashing into the rocks helps calm my nerves.
I’m not used to this, any of this. Getting all dolled up in a designer dress, taking a vacation to a tropical island, or being the center of attention. I’m completely out of my element. At the same time, everything feels magical.
As Alice and I approach the top of the stone steps, men wearing checkered sarongs and Balinese cloth hats start playing a tune on their traditional musical instruments. The guests stand up and turn around to look at us.
Alice and I giggle as we walk down the stone steps hand in hand, trying not to fall while we balance ourselves on our high heels. I feel like it’s only appropriate for her to walk me down the aisle, seeing as she’s the only parent I’ve ever had.
On both sides of the aisle, I see the smiling faces of Marco, Sally, Caine, and even Cole’s father. I guess he has finally resigned himself to the fact that we’re definitely getting married after all.
Several of our colleagues and friends from Seattle whom we’ve grown close to over the past few months are also in attendance. We’ve even invited Linda, the old woman we met on the plane when we first landed in Seattle, the first person to ever predict our nuptials. But it’s still a small ceremony with only twenty people in attendance.
At the end of the aisle, Cole stands by the wedding officiant with a big grin on his face.
He looks dapper in his navy three-piece Armani suit. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt underneath and a light gray necktie. A single white rose is pinned onto his left lapel.
As I cast my eyes on Cole, our gaze lock. I almost can’t believe I’m about to marry this magnificent man. Looking into his piercing brown eyes, I know he has no doubt in his mind either that he wants to do this. Despite our stormy beginnings, there are no cold feet for either one of us on this warm, sunny day.
Alice lets go of me with a smile when we reach the altar and takes her seat on one of the gold Tiffany chairs in the front row.
Cole takes my hands in his. I look up into his eyes and smile as I think about how I’ll be holding these same hands for the rest of my life. And if we’re lucky, I’ll get to watch them age until they become wrinkled, old-man hands.
I’m ready for the rest of our lives to begin.
Stripped
A Bad Boy Next Door Romance
Jessica
“Come on, it’s my birthday.” The guy grabs my wrist, hard. His lips form into the shape of a smile and the apples of his cheeks shift up, but something dangerous flashes in his cold eyes.
His friends around us cheer from their couches, their hungry gaze flicking between my half-naked body and the dancer who’s currently on stage.
“Happy birthday,” I shout over the music that’s blaring in the background, then give him my best customer-service smile and pull my wrist away. “But I don’t do anything beyond lap dances.”
He’s not letting go. At first glance, his arm looks like it’s draped lazily over the arm of the couch, but his big muscles are flexed.
“What time do you get off?,” he insists.
“Let me go,” I say through gritted teeth. “Or I’ll have to call security.”
“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s have a little fun. I thought strippers were supposed to be fun.” That fake smile on his otherwise expressionless face is seriously creeping me out. What an asshole. I look around to see if any bouncer is looking my way.
“Don’t be a creep, man.” One of the asshole’s friends taps him on the shoulder with an annoyed scowl on his face. “Take a hint. She’s not into you.”
“Fuck you,” the asshole says with an annoyed, embarrassed chuckle. He finally lets go of my hand.
I take two steps back and shoot the friend a grateful look. He nods at me and mouths a silent sorry.
The friend—my savior—doesn't look friendly at all. His handsome, angular facial features are frozen in a perma-grump, but something in his intense dark eyes doesn't quite fit the gruff exterior.
Like the rest of his group, he’s a big guy with beefy muscles and hair shaved close to the scalp. I’d bet all my tips tonight that they’re military.
The guy who just saved me… Even standing here among other big, strong men, he towers over everyone else. Wide shoulders, broad chest, hard muscles all over. Through his white crewneck, I can almost make out the lines of his chest and abs underneath, even with the dim lighting inside the club.
Now, if he were the one to ask me for something more than a lap dance…
Well, it would still lead to nothing, actually. I’m serious about my policy to never see any of my customers outside the club.
Still, as I make my way across the floor toward the dressing room, I wonder if he's checking me out my ass.
Good thing I’ve got my stripper strut down pat. It's not hard, really. Just wear impossibly high heels. They push your butt out and force you to swing your hips.
It takes a lot of practice to stand and dance on these babies for hours every night, but my feet still hurt sometimes. Like now, when my shift is almost over.
Most of the men have their eyes on Desiree, who’s wrapping one long leg around the pole as she sways her hips seductively to the loud music. The men standing right by the edge of the stage are shouting at her like they’re her choreographers.
“Show me your ass, baby!”
“Oh yeah, shake those moneymakers!”
A few men sitting at the tables check me out as I walk past, their lusty gaze roaming all over my exposed cleavage, my uncovered midriff, my bare legs.
While the military guys from the group I entertained are fit young men, the average patron in a strip club is… Well, not in such a good shape.
I don’t know why my co-workers date these men. It’s not like they go on to have healthy relationships. From the stories of the girls I work with, dating a customer only leads to trouble.
No doubt the fact that the guy has, at some point in time, walked into the club and gotten a lap dance from his girlfriend affects the relationship dynamics profoundly.
According to the girls who have told their stories in the dressing room, boyfriends bury their resentment at first until it all blows up into ugly arguments and accusations.
“Here’s $20. Maybe that’ll get you in the mood,” said one such boyfriend.
“How was your fucking day? Been rubbing that pussy all over random guys’ dicks all night, as usual?”
“Why won’t you quit for me? Still holding out for a richer guy, huh? I’m too poor to be your sugar daddy?”
Yeah, no. I don’t want any of that in my life.
I enter the dressing room and close the door behind me, shutting out the loud music and the even louder crowd.
“Busy night,” I sa
y to no one in particular as I step out of my shoes.
There’s no answer. Strange.
Someone is always in the dressing room, changing or doing make-up or exchanging the latest gossip. This silence is unusual.
There’s a row of mirrors in front of me, while some lockers line the wall beside me. On the other side of the room, a tall cabinet where we store our costumes and makeup items separates the changing room from the showers.
The smooth concrete floor feels cold on my bare feet as I step toward the cabinet. When I peek behind it, I realize why it’s so quiet.
Nancy stands in the corner, her shoulders hunched, as if she’s trying to make herself as small as possible. Stan, the owner of the club, towers over her, his stance aggressive.
When Nancy’s terrified gaze lands on me, Stan turns around with a glare.
“Everything okay, guys?” My voice comes out steady even though my heart is jumping against my rib cage. Stan is a big, scary guy, but I can’t just watch Nancy in distress and do nothing.
Stan grunts in reply and stomps past me to leave the room. Dance music pours inside when he opens the door, only to be muted again once it’s closed.
“Are you okay, Nance?” I close the gap between us and pull her body into a hug. She’s shaking. Poor thing.
Nobody quite knows the exact nature of the relationship between Stan and Nancy, but all the guys know enough to never even speak to Nancy and all the girls know enough to stay away when they’re together. All the girls except me, that is.
“Yeah.” With her body crumpling into my arms and her eyes avoiding mine, she doesn’t sound very convincing.
“Are you sure? Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No. Really, I’m fine.” Nancy pulls away from me and gives me a weak smile. She looks so pretty when she smiles. Too bad she doesn’t do it often. “Done for the night?”
“Yeah. I should go home now. My mom’s probably fallen asleep in front of the TV again. With no blanket. She gets sick a lot these days. I don’t know why it’s so hard for her to just grab a blanket.” I get my clothes from the locker and change.
“I don’t know how you do it. Classes during the day, working during the night, and then you go home to take care of your mom.” Nancy leans against the cabinet, her arms folded across her chest like a shield.
I shrug. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”
“You should spend some time on yourself or you’ll go crazy. You’re young. Have a little fun.”
“That’s not a bad idea, actually.” I smile as I put on my ballet flats. They feel like heaven after eight hours on my ridiculous heels. I look back at Nancy before walking out. “Take care, Nance.”
“You too, Scarlett,” Nancy says.
Some girls don’t mind sharing their real names with one another, but I use my stage name exclusively. I’m not going to be a dancer forever after all. This is only temporary.
I make my way outside and toward the back door of the club, the beat of the bass from the speakers thumping into my skull.
Maybe Nancy’s right. Maybe I should take a break and have a little fun one of these days.
My mind brings back a recent memory, of the guy who saved me earlier. He seems like the kind of guy I can have some fun with. I can just imagine the weight of that big, hard body pinning me down, those muscles rippling beneath his skin as he moves…
God, it’s been way too long since the last time I got some action. I swear I don’t usually fantasize about random strangers, but there’s something about that guy.
Sure, a relationship with a customer is a bad, bad idea, especially when I already have so much on my plate.
One night of fun, though? Surely it couldn’t hurt.
I’d make an exception for a guy like that, if he’d only ask. Too bad it’s always the weird ones who do.
Jacob
I take a long drag from my cigarette, the long, slender stick delivering a dose of sweet, sweet poison into my body.
I lean my back against the wall in the dark alley and flick off the ash forming at the lit end of the cigarette, watching it disintegrate into thousands of little white bits mid-air.
The door opens just as I exhale the smoke out of my mouth. Before it has a chance to dissipate, a girl walks out the door and right into it.
“Jesus,” she says in the middle of her coughs. She waves her hand in front of her face and makes a face at me. “Dude.”
“Sorry.” I shoot her an apologetic look.
As I look more closely at her face through the thinning veil of cigarette smoke, I realize she’s the stripper Andy creeped on earlier tonight. This is my second apology to her, and we’ve only exchanged exactly three words so far.
“Oh, hey, it’s you,” she says, her face lighting up with recognition. “That’s fine. Thanks for rescuing me earlier, by the way.”
“No problem.”
“I had no idea military guys smoked. I thought you guys were the fit, healthy types,” she says, her lips curling up to form a dazzling smile. I guess both my apologies have been accepted.
“No. Plenty of us smoke. You’re confusing us with gym rats.”
She flashes me her straight rows of pearly whites, tiny little lines appearing on her nose and around her eyes. A small girlish giggle escapes her rosy lips.
There’s a lot of makeup on her face—probably something her job requires. She has beautiful natural features, though. Perfectly pouty lips, fiery red hair, and big green eyes. I bet she’d look amazing with a bare face.
Although she’s wearing a loose black T-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans now, I already know how tantalizing her body is underneath. Perky tits that defy gravity, full hips, and a slender waist.
So far, I’ve seen her body almost naked, but I haven’t seen her natural face yet. This seems a little backward and upside down as far as introductions go, but I’m not complaining.
“I actually did quit, though. Smoking, I mean,” I say quickly before she decides to walk away and disappear into the night.
“Oh?” She crosses her arms in front of her chest, inadvertently pushing her tempting tits up and out. It’s strange how she looks sexier like this than she did dancing with her top off. Maybe it’s the way our bodies gravitate naturally toward each other. With her right arm propped against the wall, she turns to face me. “And now you're picking it back up just so you can quit again later?”
I should be offended. There's nothing I hate more than self-righteous people.
But the way she says it, I don't feel like she's judging me for my admittedly poor decision-making skills. Instead, it feels like light teasing, like she's an old friend who's gently making fun of me—if that old friend were sexy as hell and looking at me with obvious want in her eyes.
“You must know a lot of smokers,” I say, chuckling.
“Uh, hello? You do know where I work, right?”
I have to laugh at that. Damn. She's hot and funny.
“Yeah, you have a point there.” I take another drag from the cigarette and blow the smoke out the side of my mouth, away from her. “I really don't smoke much anymore, though.”
“Life getting stressful?”
“Yeah, you can say that again.” I take a deep breath. “They're shipping me out in a couple of weeks. I just found out today.”
“Shit.” She shoots me a look of sympathy that somehow doesn't look like pity. How does she do that?
“Yeah. Shit.”
She goes silent, her gaze distant, like she’s thinking about something.
I take the moment to drink her in with my eyes, watching the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. It dawns on me that I can just grab her, pin her against the wall, and take her right here, right now. A dainty little thing like her, I can overpower her without even trying. And I have a feeling she wouldn’t mind either.
We seem to have hit a conversational dead end, where neither one of us knows how to get back on the easy track. I don't want her to leave
yet, though. And she doesn't seem to be in a rush either.
“You hungry?” I break the silence.
“Depends.”
“Depends on?”
“Whether you’re asking me out.” Her deep green eyes look straight at me, her pupils dilated in the darkness. She has a cheeky smile on her face.
“What if I am?” I smirk and trap her gaze with mine.
“Then I’d say yes. But that’s only if you were asking me out.” Her smile grows wider as she challenges me with her eyes.
“So, if I were asking you out and you were to say yes, where would you want to go?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “You’re the one who’s hypothetically asking me out on this hypothetical date.”
I square my shoulders and stub out the cigarette on the wall, a chuckle escaping my mouth.
Holy hell. I’ve been stressed out all day and not even a night out with my brothers could take my mind off the mission, but just a few minutes with this girl has turned this night around.
“You’re not going to believe this, but I’ve never done this before,” she says breathlessly underneath me while I slip one hand inside her shirt, feel the warmth of her skin on my fingers, and cup her breast.
“Mm-hmm.” My mouth is too busy tasting the salty sheen of sweat along the column of her neck to answer.
“I’m serious. I…” Her voice trails off and turns into a raspy moan when I bite down on her flesh. I roll her hardened nipple between my fingers.
She hasn’t even touched me yet and I’m already painfully hard. My cock strains against my jeans.
She gently pushes me with her small hands. Everything about her is so fucking delicate. It makes me want to protect her and crush her all at once.
“I’m serious. I never go out with guys I meet at the club.”
“Technically, we met outside the club.”