Bare Assets

by M. L. Stephens

  Reluctantly ending the kiss, she smiled before turning off the shower. Opening the glass door, Angela stepped out to wrap a towel around her naked body and then handed him a matching one which he wrapped around his waist.

  "If you'll wring out the clothes, I'll toss them in the wash," she grinned. The remnants of their time together brought a mutual smile to their faces. He immediately began squeezing the water from the soaked items while she towel dried her hair.

  Though he diligently twisted the clothes to remove the water, he couldn't take his eyes off of her while doing so. Brunette hair hung just above the shoulders, curling and twisting in soft waves as it seemed to search for a place to rest. Her pale skin was decorated with the occasional freckle and he had seen the tattoo at the base of her spine. Some called it a tramp stamp and generally he would agree, but not this one. Not on her. There wasn't anything trampy about Angie Fletcher. If anything, looks could be deceiving. She wasn't at all what she appeared to be on the surface and he intended to find out exactly what lay beneath the hard exterior.

  "If you'll point me to the laundry room, I'll toss these in," he said, holding up the clothes.

  "A man who does laundry? Impressive," she teased with a wink.

  "You really shouldn't stereotype. When you've been single for as long as I have, you're forced into learning the basic tricks of domesticity," he retorted playfully.

  She flashed him a smile and led him through the house to the utility room that was just off the kitchen. "Here you go," she said, opening the doors to expose the small space. "The laundry soap is in the upper cabinet above the washer."

  "Thanks." He opened the front loader, tossed in the wet load, added laundry soap and hit the wash cycle. "See, it's not urban myth. Men can do laundry," he joked.

  With a tooth revealing grin, she chuckled. "You are just full of surprises. What other tricks do you have up your sleeve?"

  "You will have to keep me around to find out, but trust me when I say that laundry is only one of many lesser talents."

  With a long, deliberate look, Angie considered his playful statement and was instantly hopeful that he would stick around. She looked forward to spending time with him. "I'm not sure about you, but I'm starving," she confessed. Sidestepping the subject, she tucked damp hair behind her ears and smiled.

  "Would you prefer to dine in, or out?" he asked, pulling her against him.

  "If we dine in, can I have dessert?" Her eyes sparked with excitement.

  He planted a kiss to the top of her head. "You, my dear, can have whatever you want."

  Strolling into the kitchen, she headed straight for the fridge and surveyed the contents. "Ok, here are the choices. We can have eggs and bacon, or bacon and eggs. Which would you prefer?" she said with a chuckle.

  "Umm, let's see." Tapping a finger against his chin in pretense of contemplating the menu selection, he announced, "I believe I'll have the eggs and bacon."

  "Excellent choice," she commended while gathering the items from the fridge. After she had selected the skillets and set them on the counter, he came up from behind, wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck.

  With a light nibble to her ear, he told her to go sit down. "Breakfast is on me."

  "I love it when a man takes charge of the kitchen." As he shooed her out of his way, she snorted with delight.

  "Actually, I'm best behind the grill, but a stove works nicely, too." As if to emphasize his comment, he slung a kitchen towel over his shoulder.

  Amused by his playfulness, she grinned and made her way to the coffee pot and started a batch of fresh brew. "I would think you were best in the shower, but that's just my opinion. You should consider becoming a professional stripper."

  "Oh, yeah," he snickered. "Well, from what limited experience I have with strippers, I would have to say that you are a much more talented dancer than I'll ever be. And the way you move those hips? Good lord, woman. You'll be the death of me."

  "But wouldn't that be a wonderful way to die?"

  "It damned well would be. You are the best stripper I've ever laid hands upon. Not that I've had my hands on any others," he retorted.

  "Well, you happen to be the best VIP I have ever stripped for."

  Dean turned the sizzling bacon on low so the grease didn't pop out and fry his bare mid-section. "Can I have another private showing tonight?" The comfortable tit-for-tat between them felt natural. It was as if they had spent years together rather than one night.

  "That depends on how much I enjoy your breakfast," she prodded.

  "Then I'm putting it all on the line. This will be the best breakfast your beautiful little mouth has ever wrapped itself around."

  "That is an awfully bold proclamation considering I wrapped my taste buds around another one of your creations earlier and was immensely pleased," she remarked.

  "In that case, this will be a double victory for me. Once you savor the flavors of my mouthwatering bacon and eggs, you'll never be able to enjoy another breakfast with anyone else ever again."

  Laughing, she sat at the kitchen island and watched him as he created culinary magic. Watching him flip the bacon and fry eggs while being scantily clad was seventh heaven.

  She could hardly believe her luck. The man could kiss, was a master of oral satisfaction, was gorgeous, was easy to converse with, could cook, could do laundry and obviously knew his wine. Angela wondered if the universe had gone through her check list of likes and dislikes and specifically designed for her, the seemingly perfect man who was presently standing in her kitchen.

  Maybe she was still giddy from their romantic encounter or maybe he really knew his stuff, but either way, it was irrefutably the best breakfast she had ever eaten. "You're the best cook this kitchen has seen."

  With an ear splitting grin, "I might be the best cook this kitchen has seen, but you are by far the best stripper these eyes have seen."

  She planted a quick kiss to his cheek. "No need to lay it on so thick. You won the wager. You provided the perfect breakfast and now I owe you another strip tease."

  "Do you know how beautiful it was to watch you let go of your inhibitions while water streamed down your body?"

  "You liked that did you?"

  "I won't lie. I loved it."

  "Thank you," she said.

  "For what?" He knew, but wanted to hear her say it out loud.

  "For helping me accept that part of me," she said with a sigh.

  "As far as I can tell—and I have an eye for these things—you don't use drugs, you don't binge drink, and you operate one hell of a business. Don't be ashamed of the road you took that led you to where you are today. Dancing played a huge part of creating the person you've become. You can attribute the bad ass club owner directly to your years of being a stripper. You should be proud."

  "Your years of being a what?" Perplexed and unnerved by their conversation as well as their state of dress, Cutter stood in the kitchen doorway wearing nothing but boxer briefs and balled up fists.

  The only reason Cutter didn't throttle the towel clad creep, was because it was in Angie's house and this man was apparently an invited guest. He had lost his claim to Angie years ago. There wasn't any reason for him to be angry about the man's presence, but he did have a right to be upset over the insinuation that his ex-fiancé was a stripper.

  Chapter 6

  "Who are you to judge her sins?"~ Cutter

  Dean in a towel and Cutter in boxers, are you kidding me right now? In what dream, or more likely, what nightmare does something like this happen? Angela wondered.

  Under different circumstances, having two bare-chested, drop dead gorgeous men in her kitchen might be a dream come true. For the moment however, it was a complete and total nightmare. The unexpected intrusion ruined what had promised to be an entertaining after-breakfast rendezvous. Jumping up from her place at the kitchen bar, she stalked over to the coffee pot, poured a cup and did her best to avoid making eye contact with the man she had almost married.
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br />   "Who is this guy? More importantly, why are you just sitting there while he casually demeans you?" he demanded.

  Shuffling her bare feet against the cool tile floor, Angie kept her eyes cast to the floor without offering up an explanation.

  Because of their extensive past, Cutter recognized her silence as admission. "Seriously, you're a stripper?" he asked. He knew she owned the club, but her brother had never mentioned her being a dancer.

  Be proud of who you are, she reminded herself. Daring to look up, she squared her shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. "Not anymore, but yes. I was."

  "You say that as if it is something to be proud of. Does your brother know about this?"

  Reflecting on the earlier conversation with Dean, she stood her ground. "If you want to know the truth, I am proud of it. The money and the experience I earned and gained while dancing, made it possible for me to buy Bare Assets and turn it into a successful club. And to answer your question, I didn't feel as if my employment status was anyone's business. I thought it best to let everyone assume what they wanted and they assumed I made my living as a waitress...which wasn't too far off base."

  "How could you keep this type of secret from us…from your brother?"

  She shrugged her shoulders. "You make it sound as if I made my living doing illegal activities. I was a dancer, for crying out loud. Not a drug lord. Besides, I guess a small part of me still wanted to be the sweet girl from Arkansas. So much for that illusion, I suppose."

  Uncomfortable seconds passed as he glared at her, puzzled by the revelation that his precious little country girl had gone rogue. What was even more surprising to him was that she was proud of it. The girl from his past was no more.

  Eager to change the subject, Angie turned to Dean to make the proper introductions. "Dean, this is Cutter. Cutter, Dean."

  Standing, Dean extended his hand in greeting but Cutter was too busy staring at the woman he used to know while trying to wrap his head around what he had just learned. Who are you to judge her sins when you have plenty of your own? he asked himself.

  Angie could feel Cutter's eyes burning holes into the deepest recesses of her soul, ripping away the last shreds of false innocence she had tried to hold on to.

  Dean cleared his throat. "It's nice to meet you," he directed towards Cutter. Thankfully, his considerate rescue method worked and Cutter glanced at him, extending his hand.

  "Good to meet you, too." He glanced over at her and then back at Dean. "And how do you know, Angie?"

  Sharply cutting her eyes over to Dean, she opened her mouth to answer the question and the lie of the century found its way out. "We're dating. We have been for some time."

  It was a damn good thing that breakfast was over or Dean would have choked on his bacon. He found it amusing that she exaggerated their relationship, but he assumed there had to be a reason so he played along for the fun of it. Siding up next to her, he draped an arm possessively over her shoulder and squeezed his new girlfriend firmly against his side. Using the most genuine smile he could muster on such short notice he said, "We're practically engaged. Aren't we, love?"

  Cutter glanced back and forth between the two. "Why didn't you tell me you were involved with someone?"

  Flustered, she shifted her feet yet again. "We didn't have much time to talk," she confessed with rosy cheeks. Angie hardly ever lied, but after the stripper admission, explaining to her ex that she was actually in the process of her first date with the towel wrapped man would only add another element of scandal.

  "We had all night to talk…or morning rather," he flatly stated. His feelings were perched on his shoulder for the world to see, or at least for the three of them to see. Angie's brother hadn't mentioned the fiancé to him at all so to say that it had come as an unexpected shock would be a mild understatement.

  "All night?" Dean asked. "I thought you were working last night," he teased. He knew exactly where she had been because he had seen her and had been waiting for her at her house as soon as she arrived home afterwards.

  "I was," she stumbled. The situation had just turned from bad to worse. She didn't want Dean to think that she'd spent the previous morning after work with Cutter, and Cutter obviously knew that she had spent this morning with Dean.

  "But Cutter just said that you spent it with him," he prodded, pretending suspicion.

  "He obviously didn't mean this morning after I got off work. He meant yesterday morning after I got off of work." Gasping at what she just said, she heaved a sigh. "I didn't spend the morning with him…with him. I spent the morning talking to him."

  "I see, and that explains why this man, whom I have never seen, is now standing in your kitchen wearing boxers?" He knew that he should stop teasing before he pissed her off, but having her backed into a corner was too fun to resist. Besides, he did want to know the story surrounding the man in the boxers and now was his chance.

  Now it was Cutter's turn to blush. "Hold up. She and I didn’t sleep together, if that's what you are suggesting. I mean, we did sleep together, just not last night…or morning, or whatever the hell time of day it was."

  "But you did sleep together?" Dean was still slightly amused as he watched her uncomfortably continue to shift her weight from foot to foot.

  "Once upon a time we did," Cutter confessed bashfully. The realization that he had walked away from her was still a hard one to accept. Confessing it to her new boyfriend was even harder.

  Now he had to know. "When was once upon a time?" he pressed, glancing back and forth between the two. The idea of another man touching her was unsettling. Just because they had hot shower sex less than an hour ago didn't officially make them a couple, yet she had told Cutter that they were dating. This was the perfect chance to step into his newly acquired boyfriend status shoes and ask the questions he wanted to know. He wasn't about to let this opportunity slip past him. No, he would grab it by the horns and ride this bad boy the full eight seconds. Yeehaw!

  "It's been six years since we split up and with the exception of a brief hello, it's also been six years since we last spoke. Does that answer your question?" Angie irritably huffed.

  "So, up until just recently, say within the last week or so, you haven't spoken in six years? What brought about this recent change in your friendship status?"

  Tired of the drama she had created, Angie rolled her eyes. "Listen boys, I only have a few hours left to catch a nap before heading back to the club. Can we do this another time?" As the awareness of her newly complicated life settled heavily upon her shoulders, the delicious meal she had eaten earlier threatened to rebel.

  Dean smiled. "I say there's no time like the present. What do you think, Cutter?"

  With a brief shuffling of his feet, which was oddly similar to Angie's, he answered. "When would be a better time to have this come to Jesus meeting, Ang?"

  Crossing her arms over her towel wrapped breasts she sneered, "I was thinking never would be best."

  That got their attention. Both men challenged her with their gaping stares, but she hadn't single handedly forged the best strip club in Dallas, Texas, in a sea of male club owners because she was afraid of men. Mary, Mary, quite contrary, she silently mused. The nursery rhyme came to mind as she upped the stakes of their challenge.

  "I don't owe either of you anything. So if you don't mind, I'm going to bed. Cutter, you know your way home and Dean you know your way out. If you feel the need, you can both stay and battle it out amongst yourselves. Either way, I have a club to open in a few short hours and I don't do male drama. As you both know, I specialize in women—not men—so figure it out. Goodnight boys." With a flippant twist of her head and a lift of her brow, Angela Fletcher—aka Angie, aka Ang—strolled gracefully out of the hornet's nest and went straight to her room.

  Not counting pre-adult birthdays, this had turned into the best and worst birthday of her life. Within the span of two days, she had reconnected with her ex, made love to her fantasy man and stood in the kitchen with
two of the most desirably naked males in her universe. Yeah, rough day.

  Even with the drama unfolding in her house, Angie crawled into bed. Quickly succumbing to her fatigue, she gratefully drifted into the open arms of much needed sleep.

  The high-pitched alarm on her smart phone startled her awake. Waking on her side, she reached over to switch it off, pulled the comforter over her head and moaned. Missing the extra hours of sleep last night was already taking its toll and she wasn't even out of bed yet. It was going to be a long day. Allowing herself the luxury of lingering beneath the covers a few minutes longer, she thought about Dean and wondered how she would handle seeing him at the club. "I'll deal with it when it happens," she said out loud with a huff.

  "You'll deal with what when it happens?"

  Tossing back the covers, she bolted out of bed and glared at the man behind the question. Casually leaning back on the pillows, with his hands tucked behind his head and his feet crossed at the ankles, Dean Murray wore an amused expression as he lounged on her bed.

  "Are you crazy?" she hissed."What are you doing in my bed?"

  The sight of her lean, nude body caused his lip to curl up at the corner as he considered half a dozen ways he could ravage her. "Well," he said with a sly southern drawl, "considering we're practically engaged, who else's bed would I be in?"

  "One tryst in the shower does not mean that we're practically engaged," she fumed. Realizing her state of undress, she pulled her robe from the chest at the foot of her bed, jammed her arms into it and hastily tied it closed.

  Sitting up, he put his hand over his heart and pursed his lips into a pout. "Are you breaking up with me? Why now? Why, after all this time?"

  Stretching her arms to her sides, she balled up her fists and stomped a bare foot into the carpeting. "We were never in a situation to break up," she seethed.

  He enjoyed seeing this side of her. The controlled, perfectly organized and highly motivated woman he had spent two years pursuing was out of her comfort zone and he loved it. "That's not what you told Cutter, my love."