by M. Never
“Yes, everything’s fine.” Ryan tries to kiss my neck as I talk, but I shoo him away.
“Here? Outside? Now?” I fight to keep my voice even as I’m suddenly struck with terror. Rushing to the bay window in my kitchen, I spy behind the curtain down to the street. And sure as shit there’s a black town car double-parked out front. Fuck.
“You want to come up?” I spin around to find Ryan standing right behind me. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.
“Okay, I’ll buzz you in,” I nearly puke when he hangs up.
Panic! Not even thinking, I push Ryan. “You have to hide!” I hiss.
“What?” he snaps.
“Quick, get in the closet.”
Yes, I’m twelve years old again and hiding my boyfriend from my father. But I have no other option at the moment. My father cannot find Ryan in this apartment. He can’t know about him at all. Not yet. Not any time soon.
“Alana,” Ryan argues.
“Shhh.” I shove him inside just before the buzzer rings. I hit the button to let my father in, then spot Ryan’s backpack by the door. Crap. I snatch it up and throw it between the wall and the refrigerator. Glancing around the apartment neurotically I make sure there’s no other evidence of him lying around.
The pounding of my heart is echoing in my chest as I open the door to my father, standing there assertively.
“Alana,” he addresses me with no emotion in his voice. It’s just flat. Like the liquid in a glass.
“Daddy,” I answer, and I know my cheeks are a little too flushed. “Come in.” Like I have to invite him. He pays the rent. My father steps inside my modest-sized apartment, seemingly out of place. He’s too rich for my humble little home. “What are you doing in the city?” I strike up some small talk.
“I have a dinner function, and I thought I’d check in on you.” He looks everywhere but at me.
Translation: I wanted to check up on my investment and make sure it’s doing what it’s supposed to be doing. Which of course, when he shows up, I’m not.
“What are you studying?” He alludes to the books and papers spread out all over my living room floor.
“Tonight? Civil procedures.” I glance behind him at the closet door. Keep cool.
“Do you need anything?” He peers down at me as if looking right through me. As if I’m transparent. I won’t admit that it hurts.
Merrick Remington has never let me want for anything. And I’ve never had a problem asking for anything.
Except one thing.
His love.
“No, I’m good.” I attempt to smile. It’s forced and unnatural. Like our relationship.
He nods. “Well, I’ll let you get back to studying.” He turns and leaves without a hug, without a kiss, without so much as a goodbye. The door clicks and I just stand there staring, left cold, like whenever I’m in my father’s presence.
I hear Ryan clear his throat behind the closet door, and I immediately snap out of my haze. Swinging the door open, I find him standing there perturbed, arms crossed and facial expression hard. I’m in trouble.
“You shoved me in the closet.” It’s an accusatory statement. And yes, I’m guilty.
“I know, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Ryan thunders out of the closet brushing right past me.
I follow behind him, but he pushes me away. His rejection hurts. Stings. God, fucking kills. “I just didn’t want to have to deal with my father.” I try to explain. He knows how strained our relationship is. “He’s a complicated man, you know that.”
“Are you that ashamed of me, Alana?”
I scramble for the right words.
“Of course not. But what was I supposed to tell him, Ryan?” I shout, surprising us both. “Do you want me to lie or tell him the truth? Because I don’t know which is worse. Dad, this is Ryan, my friend, or Dad, this is Ryan, my stripper boyfriend who, if you don’t remember, you convicted five years ago on a drug charge.” My sentences are sharp as knives slicing right through the albatross in the room. Those were definitely not the right words. “Trust me when I tell you, Ryan, that him not knowing about you is the best thing for all of us.”
Ryan glares, huffing a half-hurt, half-pissed off sound that rips my heart right in two. I don’t like this situation any more than he does. I wish the circumstances were different, but they’re not.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” I attempt to make amends, but Ryan just ignores me, stalking around the apartment looking for his bag. Once he finds it, he storms out the front door without uttering a word, slamming it so hard the picture on the wall shakes.
I jump from the sound.
I’m left staring at the door all alone. I wrap my arms around myself forlornly, written off by the two men I love the most.
I feel a nudge, and then, “Alana?”
I lift my head groggily off my arm. I must have fallen asleep studying, because I’m propped up on the couch with Ryan sitting next to me. When I rub the sleep out of my eyes everything comes rushing back to me. Guilt, the forefront of my emotions.
“You’re home.” I launch myself on top of him. “Ryan, I’m so sorry, that was a shitty thing to do, and a shitty thing to say. I just—” I stammer, “I just got scared . . . I got scared of losing everything.”
Ryan stares up at me soundlessly, an array of emotions churning in his eyes. In our crappy situation we are supposed to be each other’s solace, and tonight I definitely wasn’t that. I made him feel small, and slapped the stigma of stripper right in his face. I’m better than that. We both are.
With his head in my hands I kiss him emotively and contritely. “I’m sorry.” I pine for him between gasps of breath.
Ryan remains stone cold, which only causes my regret to magnify. “Ryan, please.” I try to spark some kind of reaction. Any kind of reaction. I don’t care if he yells at me, screams, cries, I just need a response.
Without warning Ryan shoves his hands into my hair, gripping the stands near my scalp securely. I ignore the pain as his tongue invades my mouth, forcing me into a deep, controlling kiss. His dominance takes me by surprise. Holy fuck. This isn’t the Ryan I know. This isn’t the confident sex god who isn’t afraid of anything. This isn’t the man who touches me adoringly and affectionately, who reveres me like a priceless piece of artwork. This Ryan is seeking affirmation. This Ryan wants to know if I’ll ever see him as anything more than just a stripper. As anyone more than a man my father put away.
This is Ryan, stripped bare.
In one swift, unexpected move, he rips my leggings right in two. With frenzied fingers, he deftly undoes his fly then pushes himself inside me. I gasp at the abrupt invasion, but revel in the physical connection.
This is what I needed. What I wanted. A reaction.
Holding me tight, Ryan begins to move, urgently, systematically. One deep thrust after the other sending shockwaves through my entire being. Goddamn. With one arm snaked around his neck, I brace myself against the driving force. It’s unfamiliar and stern and it makes my head spin, but I utterly love it because it’s with Ryan.
“Alana, say my name.” His tone is commanding and slightly uneasy. “I need to hear you fucking say it.”
I can barely think—let alone speak—as he tortures me with possessive, pounding need, but I do as he asks.
“Ryan,” I gasp in blissful distress and he slams into me harder. “Ryan!” I cry out as he smashes my spot over and over. A recurring bullseye hit that breaks me down. My orgasm hits fast and furiously, my whole body tensing, pulsing and shuddering as the climax shreds me apart. “Ryan! Fuck, Ryan!”
“Mine, Alana.” Ryan follows me right down the rabbit hole, stilling beneath me with a ragged, tormented groan. It’s so animalistic and erotic it makes me tingle from head to toe. Lightheaded and breathless, I drop my head into the crook of his neck, the two of us clinging desperately to each other. This is what we needed. What we both needed. A paramount reassurance. That I am his no matter what, and he is mi
ne, no matter what. No matter the circumstance or what life throws at us.
After a few moments of heavy breathing, I rest my forehead against his. Ryan doesn’t say a word, he just stares at me quietly with raw, blue eyes.
“I know who you are,” I relay lovingly. “I know who you are.”
“Alana.” Ryan’s voice calls to me. “Wake up, let’s go to bed.” We’re still on the couch. I’m limp on top of him with a death grip around his neck.
“Okay,” I agree sleepily.
“Hey,” he whispers, grabbing both my thighs as I start to move, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I rub my eyes, “I was the one who stuck you in a closet.”
“For being rough with you. I never should have done that.”
I put my hand on his face. “It’s okay. I get it.” I kiss him softly in the dark.
“It’s not okay, you don’t deserve to be treated like that, no matter what you say or do to me.”
“Ryan, it’s fine. I liked it.” I confess. “Maybe I should piss you off more often.”
“No,” he argues strictly. “I can be rough, but not after we fight. I hate fighting with you.”
“That’s a shame, because the make-up sex is amazing,” I try to make light.
Ryan cracks a smile. I got to him exactly the way I wanted. “You don’t have to worry about that, baby, I haven’t even begun to blow your mind yet.” He bites me just below my collarbone.
“Ouch.” I giggle. “You mean there’s more where that came from?”
“So much more.” His tone provokes all of my senses.
“I can’t wait.”
Ryan shifts forward on the couch, forcing my legs around his waist. He then stands up with me in his arms. It’s a power move. As he walks toward my bedroom I nibble on his neck, his arms constricting tighter around me. “I love you,” he whispers.
“I love you, too.”
“I was miserable tonight,” he voices dismally.
“So was I. I tried to stay up and wait for you, but that didn’t work out so well.”
“I came back later than usual. I went out with a few of the guys after my shift to blow off some steam.”
“I can tell, you smell like alcohol.” I scrunch my nose as he crawls onto the bed with me still latched to him.
“I got a little wasted and wasn’t sure if I should come back here or not. I didn’t want to fight. But I couldn’t stand sleeping anywhere else than next to you.”
“I’m glad you came back.” I rest on Ryan’s chest, our naked skin conducting heat.
“Alana, do you really think you’ll lose everything because of me?”
My eyes pop open, and I stare out into the darkness.
“Ryan.” I hug him. “There’s one thing I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember. And then you came along, and now all I want are two things, to be a lawyer and you. My father is the only person who can take it all away.”
“He can’t take me away, Alana.”
“He’d try, Ryan”
“I wouldn’t let him.”
“That’s the thing.” I pick my head up. “I’d fight for you, and when my father rejects me because you’re not the likeness he’s picked out for me in his head, he’ll cut me off, essentially murdering my dream.”
“So, the male stripper he convicted five years ago isn’t his first choice for his daughter?” There’s resentment in his voice.
“Ryan,” I groan. “Are you going to hold that against me forever?”
“No, I just see his point. It’s not who I’d want my daughter with either.”
“If he’s anything like you, you could see past his indiscretions.” I rub his chest tenderly.
“Why don’t you just take out student loans and pay for law school yourself?”
“Do you have any idea how expensive Columbia is? I’d be paying off debt for the rest of my life. We’re sort of in the same boat.”
“How do you mean?” Ryan questions.
“Well, why do you strip? The money, right? It’s fast, it’s easy, it’s good?”
“Yes,” he admits.
“It’s going to get you where you want to go faster than working some crappy, minimum wage job?”
“Hell, yeah.”
“It’s all about a means to an end. I don’t want to graduate and work my ass off so all my money goes to student loans. I don’t know where I’ll end up after law school. I want to work in a big law firm that’s fast-paced and high-profile like my uncle’s. But there’s no guarantee that’s what kind of job I’ll get. So, I have to be smart about my future.”
“You’ve thought about this, huh?”
“It’s all I’ve had to think about up until recently.”
Ryan runs his thumb across my cheek. “I want all of your dreams to come true.”
“Then don’t be mad that I have to keep you a secret. Believe me when I tell you it breaks me every time I have to lie to my father. And it killed me tonight that I couldn’t open that door and tell him who you are. Tell him how much I love you, how happy you make me. I wish things were different. I wish he was different. But he is who he is, and . . .” I turn my head and look away. Shit, I’m actually getting emotional.
“And?” Ryan can’t see my face in the dim light of the room, but I know he can hear the affliction in my voice.
“And, I’m scared—”
“Of losing everything.” He snaps the puzzle pieces together.
“Yes.” I nuzzle my face against his. “My everything is him, you, and me. That’s all I have.”
“And law school.”
“And law school,” I agree. “Do you think you want me enough to suffer through it until I can gain some independence?”
“Of course,” he responds without any hesitation. “I want you enough for the both of us. And I can’t imagine one second without you.” He kisses my head, and I squeeze him tightly.
“Good, because I promise once this is all over, I’ll make it up to you for the rest of your life.”
Ryan snickers. “Smooth move stealing my line, counselor.”
“What can I say? I’m a girl who does what she has to, to get what she wants.”
“And what’s that exactly?” Ryan runs one finger delicately through my hair.
“You . . . and happily ever after.”
“Is there such a thing?” he muses.
I shrug. “I guess we’re going to find out.”
MY LAST EXAM of the fall semester was Thursday, December 16th. So, as part-celebration and part-big gesture for Ryan, I set up dinner with him and my family at The Palm, a steakhouse on 2nd Avenue. Well, with my extended family, that is. My father may never accept him, but I have no doubt my Uncle John will. I want Ryan to know he’s important and my uncle has been salivating to meet him, so I’m satisfying two cravings at once.
Ryan and I stand on the sidewalk, right outside The Palm’s entrance, sharing a cigarette. It’s a cold, December night, the air is crisp, and it smells like Christmas. Ryan is jittery, and has been since we left my apartment. He shakes his hands out and cracks his neck like he’s about to step into a boxing ring.
“What’s wrong with you?” I suck in a drag. “Not used to wearing so many clothes?”
He glares at me, and I laugh.
“That’s not funny.”
“That’s totally funny.” I exhale a cloud of smoke.
He rolls his eyes. “Okay, maybe it’s a little funny.”
“Seriously, what’s wrong? You’re acting like a caged tiger.”
“This whole thing just seems kind of shady. Meeting everyone in your family except your father.”
I shrug. “It is shady. But that’s the way it has to be. Everyone knows my father and what kind of man he is.”
“I don’t understand how he can be so cruel.” Ryan blows some air into his hands to warm them up.
“Cruel? I don’t know if it’s cruelty that drives him. It’s social status. His image. He’s an elitist.”
“What about your image? What if I go in there and make you look bad?”
“How? Are you going to start table dancing?”
“Alana—”
“They’ll accept you.” I rush the words. “You’re the first guy I’ve ever brought home. They know how important you are. If there’s one thing I can say about my Uncle John, he’s spent his entire life trying to make up for all my father’s shortcomings.”
I kill my cigarette in the ashtray by the door, then take Ryan by the hand and lead him inside. I nod to the smiling hostess as we make our way to the back of the restaurant. The Palm is an upscale steakhouse known for its impeccable food, celebrity sightings, and unique décor. It’s also one of my uncle’s favorite places to eat. They know him by name.
The dining room is covered in dark red cherrywood . . . everything from the floor, to the side panels, to the booths is a glossy dark red. The most intriguing aspect, and trademark of the restaurant, are the cartoons and caricatures on the walls. Almost every inch is covered with a recognizable face or a regular diner. It’s a quirky, chic atmosphere, but it’s also warm and inviting. The wait staff always goes out of their way to treat their guests like family.
I spot Emily at a round table in the corner gabbing to Alex, her husband. The whole family is here. My Uncle John, my Aunt Caroline, and two empty seats for Ryan and me. As we approach the table, Emily jumps up and nearly tackles me to the ground. She’s wearing a tight pair of jeans with white stitching, a white tunic top with sequins, and knee-high black boots. The outfit is out of this world, just like Emily. I make the formal introductions before we all sit down. There is a split second of awkward silence, but it dissipates as soon as the waitress appears for our drink orders. I’m going with red wine tonight, and Ryan gets his usual, a Tanqueray and tonic.
“So, Ryan, what is it that you do, son?” My uncle doesn’t waste any time as the waitress struts off.
Emily nearly spits out her water.
I glare at her. We knew this conversation was coming, so Ryan and I prepared.
“Um, I’m working some odds and end jobs right now to save money to start a company.”