by White, Pat
“What, you want a closer look Sweetheart?” he taunted.
She glanced at the audience, seeking their opinion.
They cheered. Okay, fine. Pops always said to “give them what they want.”
She draped his clothes over the guardrail and climbed the steps. She slipped between the ropes into the arms of the waiting Stripper. He held her close. Her hands roamed his back, his buns, and she gave him a pinch. The crowd laughed. Her fingers traced up his back to his shoulders. She noticed a few rough spots on his right shoulder, jagged like the skin had been torn. Then there were those other scars, the bullet wounds she’d felt the first day she’d worked on him.
Leaning close, he whispered, “You having fun?”
“Don’t you wish.” She gave his pecs one last squeeze and licked his nipple. The crowd roared. Jason’s eyes turned a darker shade of blue.
“Watch it, cupcake,” he said.
She shrugged and climbed down the stairs, waiting for the match to begin. She still refused to prance.
Dr. Killroy’s music queued up.
Never thought I’d find myself here. But then, this was about keeping her brother safe from his own stupidity, not about healing the cocky but scarred Stripper.
Dr. Killroy marched down the ramp and grabbed a mic from a roadie. “You stole my nurse, Stripper!”
The Stripper smiled and crossed his arms over his broad chest.
Killroy continued his rant. “You’re not good enough for her. Not now, not ever. She’s a quality female. I’ve been planning our affair for five years.” The Doctor sauntered over and slid his arm around Sandy’s shoulder. She glared at him. Rick Killroy wasn’t a bad guy, but his cigarette breath was enough to make a woman pass out.
“Tell me you missed me, baby,” he crooned.
She turned her head away, hoping to inhale a quick gasp of fresh air.
“Tell me you got a cherry for me in one of your lab coat pockets.”
With two hands, she pushed at his chest, hoping to put enough distance between their faces so she wouldn’t puke on his pristine white coat.
“Let me look for it, will ya’ baby?” He grabbed her arm.
The Stripper flew over the top rope and clobbered Dr. Killroy, who fought to keep a hand on Sandy. The three of them scuffled, she elbowed the doctor in the ribs and stumbled to the announcer’s table.
Adam Mat, lead announcer, opened a folding chair and invited Sandy to sit next to him. Might as well watch the match from a safe spot.
The two wrestlers rolled and punched. The Doctor tossed a clipboard at The Stripper, nailing him in the shoulder. Sandy sat straight, but she didn’t see any blood.
She suddenly realized she had no idea where this match was going. She assumed they worked out the details while Mable was fitting her costume. All Cosmo needed Sandy to do was look sexy and prance.
She’d put that off long enough. She stood, straightened her lab coat and pranced to her corner. The wrestlers stopped in mid-punch and stared at her, their mouths open. Was she that bad of a prancer?
Whistles from the men in the audience indicated otherwise. She must be doing okay.
“What?” she said to the two of them.
They continued to stare. Then Jason nodded at her shirt.
Cripes! In the scuffle, Dr. Killroy must have ripped off a few of her buttons. She was naked down the middle, though wasn’t completely exposing her breasts, thank God. She clenched the shirt closed with both hands.
She’d known this was a mistake—all her brother’s fault. The next time she saw him she was going to … to what? She still owed him. She should have saved him from being stuck in a wheelchair.
Out of the corner of her eye she watched a two-by-four swing… and hit The Stripper across the back of the head.
“No!” she cried as he went down.
Then she realized his attacker was none other than her brother.
“Duke!” She ran up to him. “What are you doing?”
Clenching his head with his hands, Jason got up, stumbled and collapsed on the mat.
“I meant to nail you, Dr. Killroy,” Duke said into the microphone. “You’re the reason I’m in this wheelchair.”
The crowd roared. Sandy felt sick. They were using his disability as a story angle?
Jason stood again, wavered and ambled back to the ring, his hand gripping his head. Okay, okay, this was all a good show. He wasn’t really hurt. Duke knew what he was doing.
“Well, I appreciate your help, young man,” Killroy said into a mic. “It makes my job that much easier.”
Someone threw him a doctor’s bag and Killroy climbed into the ring, dropped the bag beside The Stripper and pulled out a syringe. She shuddered even though she knew he wouldn’t really use it.
Duke gripped Sandy’s arm. “What’s he doing? That wasn’t in the script!”
Chapter Ten
No, this couldn’t be happening. Killroy hadn’t really gone mad and wasn’t really going to inject Jason with ... with what?
“I’m doing this for you, Nurse Virgin,” Killroy said into the microphone. “This serum will make him tell the truth. He doesn’t love you and he thinks you’re a spoiled ice princess. I’m the only one who truly loves you.”
Clutching her shirt in front, Sandy raced up the steps and launched into the ring.
Killroy’s hand came down on Jason’s shoulder before she could get to him.
“What have you done?” she demanded, shouldering Killroy out of the way. The syringe flew out of his hand and made a perfect arc, landing dead center on the announcer’s table.
She shoved at Killroy. “What was in there?”
Jason moaned and pushed up on all fours, then stood, leaning against the ropes. “What the hell?” he muttered.
“How do you feel?” she asked, looking into his eyes. “Are you dizzy? Someone toss me my bag,” she ordered a roadie.
Jason pulled her against his chest and leaned close. “It’s okay,” he whispered.
“It is not!” She pushed away. “What did he do to you?”
Killroy whipped the mic in Jason’s face. “Tell her what you really think about her.”
She shoved at him. “Get away!”
“You need to hear this,” Dr. Killroy pressed. “You need to know the truth.”
“What did you give him?” she cried, her voice vibrating with anger. Were they all insane? What if Jason was allergic to whatever Killroy injected him with?
Killroy slapped Jason across the chest with the back of his hand. “Tell her!”
The crowd hushed. Sandy seethed.
Jason shot her a half smile. “There are so many things that I love about you.” He ran his fingertips across her cheek. “The way you wear your hair in a ponytail like a little girl. The way your eyes get small like a rat’s when you’re mad. The way you rub your necklace when you’re nervous, hoping a genie will pop out and solve your problems...”
His legs wobbled and he crumpled to the mat.
She knelt down, stroking his hair. “Jason?”
Killroy got between them. “All these things—what, Stripper? What!” Killroy punched him in the gut, a mock punch but still, with the way things were going tonight, Sandy wanted Jason out of the ring five minutes ago.
“Tell her!” Another punch. The crowd roared.
“Leave him alone!” she cried.
“Tell her!” Killroy said, holding the mic steady.
“All these things,” Jason started, taking a few short breaths. The crowd hushed. He looked up into her eyes. “All these things make me love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life.”
Surreal, that’s how it felt, like those dreams you have when you’re in the dream yet watching as you float on the ceiling. He’d said he loved her. She knew it was part of the show, but something in his eyes tore at her heart.
“No!” Dr. Killroy tossed the microphone and started pummeling Jason who lay helpless on the mat.
Kick, kick, boo
t to the throat.
Fingering her rose quartz heart necklace—the same one he mentioned she touched when she was anxious—she stood there in shock, trying to make sense of what just happened.
Nothing happened. It’s all part of the show.
Yet, something felt different. An ache consumed her and she realized she needed to be loved by a man like Jason.
“Hand me a mic!” she called. She needed to end this match before she lost control of her emotions. The roadie tossed one to her. “Dr. Killroy!”
He stopped in mid-kick and looked at Sandy. Could she get the words out without shedding real tears?
“I don’t love you and never will. I don’t know if I love The Stripper,” she hesitated and Jason blinked his eyes open, “but he’s treated me better and with more respect than you ever have.”
Killroy took a step toward her, his arms wide.
“Stop.” She put out her hand. “Don’t you get it? You can’t make someone love you,” she said, her voice choking on the last word.
She dropped the microphone, climbed through the ropes and raced to her brother. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Nice job.” He smiled.
“Don’t smile at me. I hate you for making me do this.” She pushed him up the ramp, the crowd waving and cheering, and shouting encouragement. She’d probably become a fan favorite tonight, standing up for herself, fighting for her man.
Speaking of which, where was Jason? She glanced over her shoulder and spotted him lying motionless in the ring. Damn, why didn’t he slide under the ropes and get away from the crazy doctor?
“What’s he doing now?” Duke muttered, straining to see over his shoulder.
They watched Killroy grab a stethoscope from his pocket, wrap it around The Stripper’s neck and tug. The Stripper kicked and writhed, but he couldn’t get free. Sandy motioned to Cosmo’s chief security guard.
“That’s enough. Break it up!” she ordered.
He nodded and mumbled into his walkie-talkie. Four guys raced into the ring and pulled Dr. Killroy off Jason.
But Jason still didn’t move.
“Go help your guy,” Duke said. “It makes for better drama.” He winked.
The charm of her big brother.
With her left hand still clutching her shirt closed, she went back into the ring. Jason lay near the edge, one arm draped over the side. She folded his arm across his chest and stroked his brow.
He turned his head and opened his eyes. “You okay?” he asked.
“I should be asking you that question.”
“He didn’t really inject me.”
“Can we just get out of here?”
“Yeah.” He slipped under the ropes and stood, putting one arm around her shoulder for support.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Jack the Stripper and Nurse Virgin!” the announcer cried.
Sandy struggled to nod and smile at the fans but failed. Her energy had been drained from her body by the heady emotions tearing at her soul. The Stripper played to the crowd, while she focused on getting backstage where she could check on the boys. There had been a few rough matches tonight. Most likely, someone had gotten hurt.
“It’s not over! It’s never over!” Dr. Killroy screeched from the ring.
How nice of a security guard to hold a mic to the idiot doctor’s mouth. Idiot was right. The jerk had gone into a public place with a syringe? She ground her teeth.
Tonight had gone off the rails between her nearly-naked breasts flopping around, a dangerous syringe filled with who knows what, and a profession of love from a man who, she guessed, lied about everything that came out of his mouth. This was why she stayed in the back tending the boys. She detested chaos.
Yet worse than the chaos was her inability to find a man that could ease the ache in her chest. Was she so unattractive, or boring or what? Why couldn’t she attract a decent, honest guy to make babies with?
She glanced at her coworkers: Flamboyant Floyd, Psycho Fred, and The Luminator. No way would she ever get romantically involved with any of these bozos.
They were big kids, play fighting, and abusing drugs for glory.
“You’re too quiet,” Jason said.
She glanced at him.
“I blew it, didn’t I?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” Even her voice sounded tired and weak.
“The way you looked at me before, in the ring ... you looked hurt.”
She ripped her gaze from his amazing blue eyes and stared straight ahead. “I’m frustrated.”
“I know hurt when I see it.”
“It’s not your problem.”
“It is if I caused it.”
She studied his eyes, puzzling over this caring, sensitive man whose every word seemed peppered with lies.
“Great balls of fire!” Cosmo cried, running up to them. “That was the best show we’ve had in weeks! Great thinking Stripper. You tell her you love her and throw everything off balance.”
Sandy glanced at the floor. You can say that again.
“This story line is damn strong,” Cosmo said. “Should be hot for at least three months.”
“Wait a second,” she said. “I got in there tonight because—”
“And what a clever girl you are. Exposing your chest and all.” Cosmo eyed her with admiration. “I never knew you had such good instincts! My new team.” He slapped them both on the shoulders. “My new winning team!”
Catherine “The Cat” Zelinski walked up to them. “Nice job, guys.”
Sandy nodded her thanks, but suspected The Cat was PO’d. They were grooming her to be the next female lead heroine for BAM.
“Especially you, Stripper.” The Cat eyed Jason up and down, taking her sweet time. “Amazing stuff tonight.” She extended her hand, and Jason shook it.
“Thanks,” he said.
What was this about? The Cat never showed interest in any of the guys. She radiated the message: untouchable.
“Let’s check in with Johnny,” Sandy suggested, steering him toward first aid, feeling suddenly protective. Protecting a man she couldn’t trust? Swell. What else was new?
“We all did a pretty good sell tonight,” Jason said as they headed down the hall.
“I could have lived without the syringe business. Scared the crap out of me. Killroy’s an asshole.”
“Yeah, but it’s a good story line.”
She stopped suddenly. “What if he’d really hurt you? Do you have any idea what was in that thing?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? Probably ... steroids.”
Anger brewed in her gut. “Sure, of course. Steroids. Harmless enough, right? God, you’re all a bunch of idiots.”
She stormed into first aid.
“Sandy, wait!” he called.
She blocked it out: his voice, the men being tended to. She blocked out everything but her need to find her clothes, change, and do her job: heal the wounded.
“Hey, there’s the new star,” Oscar said.
“I need to be alone.” Sandy grabbed her backpack and went into an alcove to change.
Damn steroids. Besides being illegal, they were dangerous as hell. Men died of heart attacks at thirty-five and their bodies fell apart at fifty, if they lived that long, and for what? So they could be macho and popular and attract women?
She whipped off her clothes and dressed in her sports bra and T-shirt. Her face grew hot with the thought of the men she tried to help, men who’d probably turn to drugs in the end. All of her work, all the healing went down the toilet when the boys abused steroids.
“Where is she?”
She recognized The Stripper’s voice. Why couldn’t he let it be, leave her alone until they had to step into the ring again? A pit of dread grew in her stomach at the thought of prancing alongside him, her arm looped through his, the perfunctory kiss for good luck.
“Leave it alone, Stripper,” Johnny said.
“I need to talk to her.”
“Not now.”
> Sandy clutched her pack to her chest and closed her eyes. The sudden realization of what she’d done tonight hit her full force: she’d exposed herself. Although not completely in the physical sense, she’d exposed herself emotionally to The Stripper. He’d called her on it after he read the hurt in her eyes. Sure she was hurting. From lack of love.
Daddy, do you love me?
She was twelve when she asked the question, and couldn’t remember a clear answer. Just a grunt and a “Come on, we’ll be late for the show.” Then, a few years later, she’d announced that pro wrestling needed good medical care, and Pops’ face lit with pride. That look of admiration was what drove her. She knew, deep down, it was really love. Wasn’t it?
“Give it a rest, Stripper,” Oscar said.
Good old Oscar, always her protector.
“I need her,” The Stripper said.
“You need to leave her alone until she’s ready to talk to you.”
“And who made you the expert on Nurse Virgin?” The Stripper said.
Sandy cringed at the moniker.
“Don’t be an ass. Get lost and give her some space.”
Silence. Shame crawled up her back. Since when did Sandy Ryan hide from trouble?
She whipped open the alcove curtain and stepped into the main room, tossing her bag on a bench. “Who’s next, Johnny?” she asked, all business.
“Oscar, you’re up,” Johnny said.
But Oscar was facing off with The Stripper. Nearly toe-to-toe, they glared into each other’s eyes, sweat dripping from their temples, Jason’s fists balled tight. Sandy couldn’t stand the thought of more injuries because of her.
“Come on, Oscar. Let’s get to it,” she said.
He didn’t move. Jason glanced over Oscar’s shoulder at her, but Sandy kept her focus trained on her next patient.
“Oscar, come in,” she said. “I’ve got a date tonight.”
Johnny, Oscar, Jason and the two other wrestlers in the room stared at her like she’d grown a tulip from the crown of her head.
“What?” she asked.
The men glanced away, going back to whatever they were doing.
“Back off,” Oscar said, shoving at The Stripper with both hands.
Jason stumbled backward and for a second, she thought he was going to start a brawl. Instead, he quietly sat on a bench.