Strip for Me

by Coffman, Georgia

  My mom shakes me again, so I answer, “It’s a wedding, isn’t it? Don’t people drink here? Jesus.” The last word comes out more like cheez-us, which makes me laugh.

  But my mother doesn’t think it’s funny. “Do not use the Lord’s name in vain.” She grits her teeth but strains a smile to the guests. A few come up and thank her for a wonderful night, but they have to take off since it’s getting late, and “Mary Jane just has to get to bed, bless her heart.”

  I wave at them princess-style, fingers glued together and cupped. Then I giggle like I did in middle school when Emma and I got caught sniffing markers because I’d seen a guy doing it on TV. At the time, the guy seemed cool in his leather jacket, so I thought sniffing markers was cool. Emma didn’t forgive me for a whole week for getting her in trouble.

  “Go splash some water on your face.” My mother keeps up appearances as she manhandles me behind her back.

  Nod.

  Wave.

  Tight-lipped smile.

  It’s almost enough to tell her how I really feel. “What I need is to splash my face with more tequila.” I wave at the hot bartender with wavy hair. He nods at me and smiles, and I move toward him like his dimples are calling to me.

  But my mother follows and glares at him.

  Worst wingman ever.

  Shaking her head so hard her hair flaps around her shoulders—as much as the hairspray will allow, anyway—she says to him, “Do not give her any more. Can’t you see she’s hammered like a teenager at prom?”

  That makes me laugh. Hard.

  I snort and lay my head on the cool surface of the bar. More guests come by to say their goodbyes, while my mom basically lifts my head up by my hair like my body isn’t attached to it.

  Although several guests have left, there are still plenty littering the dance floor. “We have to do the sparklers before everyone leaves. Then you’re going home to sleep this off.” My mom licks her finger and wipes at my mouth. “Your lipstick is smudged.” Then she smooths my hair down again. For the hundredth time, at least. “That hairdresser should’ve curled your hair with a smaller curling iron, and she definitely should’ve used more hairspray. When was the last time you got a trim?”

  Now that’s enough to make me snap.

  I swat at her hand, ready to explode when Lauren comes up, pulling us to the side of the bar and through the hallway where we can’t see anyone.

  Or more importantly, where they can’t see us.

  “What’re you two doing?” she hisses. “People were staring!”

  Lauren’s been dancing and kissing Rhett like they don’t have the rest of their lives to do that. Like if she doesn’t kiss him nonstop right at this moment, she won’t survive. And yet, she still looks flawless.

  Her lipstick isn’t the least bit smudged. Hair is perfectly pinned in place, save for a few strays on the sides. And she smells like she just walked out of a spa, fresh and citrusy.

  She looks perfectly put together, while I apparently look as though I ran through a car wash without a car.

  That pisses me off even more as I run my fingers through my matted curls.

  “Honey, everything’s fine,” my mother coos again, gripping Lauren gently by the shoulders. “Go back and enjoy dancing. I’m just helping Kendall freshen up. We’ll be out in a jiffy.”

  Lauren exhales and relaxes at my mother’s soothing tone. But then her rage returns when she looks at me. Her eyes narrow, and she grits her teeth. “While you’re physically freshening up, can you check your attitude at the front desk too? You’ve been a moody bitch all night.”

  “Now, Lauren,” my mom starts, and my shoulders relax, relieved she’s here to mediate. That finally, my mother won’t go along with everything Lauren says and does. That she’ll stick up for me for once. “No need for language, but Kendall, honey, you have been moody. I know that boy left, but this is your sister’s wedding. You can pretend to want to be part of this day and this family for a couple hours, mm-hmm?”

  So much for sticking up for me.

  No, instead she twists the knife in my heart that Sebastian left me just hours ago.

  That he’s not returning my texts.

  That I’ll probably never see him again.

  My mom and Lauren watch me, searching my eyes for any sign of cooperation. Or for any sign that I’m a bomb about to go off.

  This family always gangs up on me like I’m a train wreck in need of their assistance, like I can’t handle myself. And it all fuels my anger further, something I’ve gotten used to tamping down since the incident that ended Adam and me for good.

  The alcohol, the anger that Sebastian abandoned me, my mom and sister ambushing me about my poor attitude when all they do is point out my flaws?

  Oh hell no.

  Then I do something I haven’t done since Lauren and I were in middle school and she stole my favorite hoodie.

  I lurch forward and take her down by her pretentious updo.

  Chapter 42

  Sebastian

  On the plane back to San Francisco, I order three drinks and stare out the window at the dark sky. Only thing visible is the light flashing on the wing.

  I take another sip of my Jack Daniels and let it burn the back of my throat unflinchingly, the same way I did on the way to Alabama. Except that had been for an entirely different reason. I at least had Kendall’s smiling face and soft skin to look forward to then.

  Now I only have a hotel room shared with Ty waiting for me.

  While my ex is happily married by now, with many of the same guests we would’ve invited to our own wedding to witness it all. She probably even used the same list.

  I finish the rest of my drink in one gulp and fight the urge to bang my head against the window.

  I can’t believe I was so stupid to fall for it again. To fall for a girl from the show. To get clobbered like I’m the mole in Whack-A-Mole. I’m quick, but I can only outrun the same scenario so many times before the hammer comes down on me, embarrassing me for not getting away quickly enough.

  For getting attached to someone who’s ashamed of me.

  Guess I can’t beat myself up too much. It’s easy to get lost in eyes as big as Kendall’s and her girl-next-door southern accent.

  Images of having her on top of me, coming undone unhindered and unapologetically, invade my senses. Her whimpers, vanilla scent—everything consumes me.

  I should be going through round 457 with her right now in a secluded corner of that reception.

  Instead, I groan and hide my growing hard-on before I order yet another drink, alone.

  I’m alone.

  Just me and Jack Daniels.

  I’m barely able to request an Uber from the airport, my phone screen blurry.

  And still on airplane mode. I switch it off, then pull up the Uber app once more.

  As I climb into the car moments later, my phone vibrates with incoming messages, but instead of checking them, I let the driver make mundane conversation about his kid starting Little League in the fall.

  When we get to the hotel, I knock and then wait outside Ty’s room, but no one comes to the door. I pace down the hall with my duffel bag, ready to set up shop on the paisley carpet, when the door flies open.

  “Hey, man—” I stop when I see Ty’s naked with a pillow over his gems. “I can come back, or maybe I’ll just shack up with Leo.”

  Out of breath, he looks up and down the hall. “Dude, what’re you doing here?”

  “I texted you I was on my way back hours ago. You answered me!”

  He shrugs, closing the door behind him when we hear a soft plea from inside for Ty to come back to bed. Ignoring it, he asks, “What about Kendall? I thought you were both coming back, like maybe the wedding was a snoozefest and you wanted to have some real fun.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Away from her family’s prying eyes.”

  I give him a tight-lipped smile and change the subject. “I’ll just call Leo. Have fun tonight.”

  “Whoa, w
hoa. Talk to me, player.”

  “Don’t think I’m the player here.” I point back and forth between us and tilt my head toward the room.

  “She’s a flight attendant. You know how I like my women in button-ups and tiny scarves.” He winks, making me feel gross. The idea of a one-night stand depresses me at this point.

  “Night, man.”

  He fist-bumps me and flashes his bare ass on his way back in the room. Squeals follow me onto the elevator next to his room. My finger hovers over Leo’s name on my phone, but instead of dialing, I close out of it and lean my head on the elevator wall.

  When the door opens, I continue through the marble lobby, past plush cream couches with gold throw pillows. One wall is full of mirrors, where my disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes reflect back at me.

  I hoist my duffel bag farther onto my shoulder and request another Uber to take me out of here.

  When I reach the beach, I set my bag on the sandy ground and take off my shoes, Kendall’s words echoing in my head as I walk along the cold water.

  I had dreams once.

  They didn’t involve me taking my clothes off for money.

  I wanted to be a businessman—that’s why I got my business degree. I’d known it since I was in high school. Although they tend to have long hours, businesses are more stable than stripping.

  I wanted a stable life for a family.

  To provide a stable life that I never got growing up.

  Kendall doesn’t understand. Her family may give her shit, but they do it because they care. They want the best for her.

  Pisses me off that she doesn’t get it.

  But it pisses me off more that I didn’t admit to her that she was right, about more than the stripping. She was right about Joelle too, but not for the reasons she thinks.

  I want to own my own hotel. I meant it that night I took her to the empty lot. I made love to her in the middle of it. I had everything that night—a bright future.

  But it’s all crashing down.

  And I know where I need to start to put it back together.

  Chapter 43

  Kendall

  On the plane back to LA, I rest my head against the back of my seat, scrolling through my Instagram newsfeed. Trying to escape. Wanting to forget about this weekend.

  Except I find Samantha Ray’s new posts I missed from the last hellish few days.

  They’re all of her at the gym and videos of her workouts. She’s naturally beautiful, with the body to match. But what I like about her isn’t that she’s just cute and fit on the outside, but she’s honest and open about her struggles. How she falls off the wagon with her diet sometimes, how she often goes through a rut with her workouts. It’s all part of the process.

  Her post now is of her at Venice Beach with a caption that talks about doing the fitness thing from the inside out. Exercising for the mental and emotional benefits as well as the physical.

  That’s what being a fitness influencer is about to me: being inspiring to others. Which is why I haven’t fully pursued such a thing.

  I’m not inspiring.

  I’m a fuckup with nothing to offer.

  I turn my phone off and close my eyes, my heart sinking at the familiar voice in my head telling me I’m not worth shit, especially after this weekend. After ruining my sister’s wedding.

  Rhett had to pull me off her, after which a few guests rushed over to the embarrassing scene. In my drunken state, I’d found satisfaction in the fact that I finally smudged Lauren’s lipstick, tousled her hair, and scratched her arms. She looked more like a zombie bride for Halloween than a princess on her wedding day.

  But now? Now I want to vomit from the hangover and from my behavior. Both of which I got a good lecture for from my parents. My dad’s a quiet man, hardly speaks since my mother does enough talking for the both of them.

  But he wasn’t quiet last night. Far from it.

  “When are you going to grow up?” my parents said, repeating the same words Sebastian spat at me before he walked down the steps of the church and out of my life.

  Those words play over and over as a drink cart bumps into the back of my seat. I scowl, thinking that could’ve been my elbow, but the flight attendant lightly touches my shoulder. I turn and see her red hair twisted on top of her head. She’s an older woman with high cheekbones and red lipstick, a nostalgic vibe in her soft expression. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I didn’t get you, did I?”

  I shake my head at her, regretting that I wanted to say “fuck you” just seconds before. “I’m fine, really.”

  She nods and asks if I want anything to drink. I order a Diet Coke, still feeling guilty as she continues down the aisle.

  It was an accident, and I was rude about it.

  What happened to me?

  I used to be nice, right?

  I think back to high school, before my bad choices got me thrown in jail for a night, before I made out with Lauren’s boyfriend, before Adam tore me down and left only a shell in its place. Before he took away my self-esteem and confidence, both of which I’ve been searching for in all the wrong places ever since then.

  I think back to when I had friends—real friends who looked out for me instead of plotted my demise. When I got asked to dances by the neighbor’s son who wore a bow tie and opened my doors.

  Fast-forward to after the incident with Lauren’s boyfriend. Being so close in age, we hung out together and with the same friends. After she caught me making out with her boyfriend, they picked sides, and only Emma stuck by mine.

  The others didn’t believe me when I said I had good intentions, to expose the lying bastard.

  After that, I only got asked to the dances by guys in leather jackets and Converses who asked to borrow a cigarette, then left the dance with other girls.

  Lauren and her minions would laugh, but Emma was always there to pick up the pieces.

  Even though she was dealing with her mother’s alcoholism after her dad remarried, she stuck by my side and listened to me.

  I need her now, so when I find her waiting at the airport for me, I all but run toward her. I’m ready to take her small frame down with me, but she holds me upright.

  Like she always does.

  For whatever reason, the sturdy hug she gives me, which is rare for her and her aversion to physical contact, makes me cry the tears I was holding onto the whole way here.

  She doesn’t say anything, just helps me carry my bags toward the car. And when I get out into the LA sun, cars whizzing by, palm trees swaying in the light breeze, I’m home.

  It feels more like home than entering my small Alabama town with the deteriorating Welcome sign. The letters for “Small town with a big heart” are fading and sad, not inviting as the slogan might suggest.

  But as we pass the large metal LAX letters surrounded by plush greenery, I know I’m home.

  All that’s missing is that I was supposed to be coming back with Sebastian. He was supposed to stay the night here before meeting the guys in San Francisco.

  We were supposed to have one more night together, one to ourselves.

  Emma doesn’t ask about him, which I appreciate. I told her before I got on my flight that he left early. Instead of talking about him, she tells me stories of her Pilates class, of a guy who attended to impress his obviously new lady friend. He watched her the whole time with the look of puppy love and missed the next move. Fell right on his face.

  I chuckle but feel a sting that this guy would go through a Pilates class for a girl he barely knew. Sebastian couldn’t even make it through a whole day with my family and me.

  When we arrive at our apartment, I toss my lilac leather backpack onto the floor and face-plant onto the couch.

  Emma shuts the door and sits at the kitchen table. “Are we going to talk about it now or later?”

  I inhale and strain my neck to see out the window at the setting sun. “Let’s go out. I have the night off already, anyway.”

  “So later, then.”


  “I’ll tell you on the way.” I jump up and head toward my room, muttering, “I need a drink.”

  Chapter 44

  Sebastian

  I jog around the corner and head back to the hotel, sweat dripping from my hair onto my bare shoulders.

  “Congratulations on your wedding,” I said to her last night.

  I’d pulled my phone out and dialed a number I’d called too many times to count, one I knew by heart, even though I didn’t want to admit it.

  And when she answered, I wasn’t prepared to hear her voice.

  It was happy.

  Joyful.

  Like that of a newlywed.

  While I sat on the empty bench with waves crashing a few yards away. The occasional car honking in the distance. Alone.

  Her happiness was a punch to my gut.

  “Hello?” Joelle said again, in her singsong voice that I hadn’t heard in months.

  When I congratulated her and she realized who I was, she scoffed and cursed me. It stung, but I wasn’t surprised. Not at all surprised that she’d forgotten my number and me altogether.

  I put my shirt back on as I enter the lobby, careful not to run into the small family of four as they roll their luggage out. We have a show tonight, and I need to be on my game. I can’t let the guys down, but the jog wasn’t enough to clear my head.

  I knew it was a bad idea to call Joelle last night. I almost said as much, but she cut me off, as usual. I could never get a word in with her around. “Why are you calling, Sebastian?” Her voice was soft, taking pity on me even.

  I exhaled and paced in front of the bench. All I could hear were the waves crashing behind me, like the blood rushing to my ears as I figured out how to say what I needed to say. Why I felt I had to call her to begin with. “Why did you leave? We were happy at some point, right? Tell me the truth.”

  She didn’t hesitate, like she had the words sitting on the tip of her tongue all this time, just waiting to unleash them on me. “We were happy, Seb. Until you lost your drive.”

  “What?”

  “Your drive. You lost your will to do anything worthwhile. You left the hotel business you had with your uncle when it got tough. When you had to make hard decisions, you went running back to Naked Heat. It’s always been your comfort zone.”