I WON’T SUGARCOAT it, law school’s a bitch.
Over the last three months I’ve read so much I’m surprised my eyeballs haven’t fallen out of my head. I’m closing in on the end of my first semester. It’s no longer warm and sunny in the city, the days have grown shorter, and Thanksgiving is just around the corner. Thank goodness, because I need the reprieve. Not that I don’t love every single second I’m on this campus. I do. I’ve just been feeling a little distant lately. From myself, from my family, and worst of all, from Ryan. I’ve been overly focused on school, borderline obsessed. So the days off will be restorative. And with me immersed like this, Ryan battles for every second he can get with me. I did warn him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I think secretly, he likes the challenge.
I head across campus to the library where I’m meeting my study group, when I hear my name being called. I turn to see my Uncle John walking toward me. He’s decked out in one of his expensive suits—a black three-piece with a white collared shirt. His coat is slung over one arm and a huge smile brightening his face. Once he reaches me he pulls me into a huge bear hug. “How’s my girl?” he asks, with so much emotion you’d think I was really his daughter.
“Fine,” I reply happily. “What are you doing here?”
It’s a nice surprise.
“I had lunch with an old law school buddy.” He grins. “Professor McMillan, do you know him?”
“I’ve heard the name, but he’s not one of my professors.”
My uncle is one of the most renowned lawyers in New York City. All of his clients are A-list, and every case is high profile. He lives every law student’s fantasy. Okay, maybe not every law student, but definitely mine.
“Where are you headed?” He begins to walk with me.
“To the library, I have study group.”
“Looking forward to the long weekend?”
“Yes.” I drop my head back thankfully.
“Are you coming to Thanksgiving dinner?” he inquires.
“Of course, where else would I go?” I stop, dead in my tracks.
It’s not like my dad’s cooking.
“I just thought you might have other plans.” He winks.
I look at him speculatively as the cool November wind blows the ends of my long, blonde hair around. “Why would you think that?”
“Emily may have mentioned you have a special someone in your life. I thought you might be spending the holiday with him.”
I just went into cardiac arrest. “Emily told you?”
My uncle fumbles over his words. “It slipped out. Then I grilled her. But I think it’s great. You deserve to be happy, Alana.”
I stare up at my Uncle John, speechless and slightly panicked. “You can’t tell my father,” I blurt out.
My uncle freezes. “Okay,” he drawls, “I wouldn’t do that without your permission anyway. But can I ask why not?”
“Ryan . . .” I huff. How do I explain this without having it sound worse than it is? “Ryan just isn’t who my father would choose for me.”
My uncle sizes me up. He knows all too well what I mean. Going against my father is like rising up against the government. There are consequences, severe consequences.
“Alana, you know I’ve never agreed with your father’s parenting style. He may be my brother, but I’m not afraid to call a spade a spade. He’s an egotistical asshole who has no right to tell you who to be or who to love.” My uncle’s eyes are fierce. We’ve had this conversation many times. The ‘be who you want to be’ lecture never gets old.
One day I’ll tell him he was the fire that fed my drive to succeed, and that he gave me the courage to emancipate myself from my father’s chokehold so I can live the life I want, with the person I want.
But at the moment, I’m not going to bite the hand that feeds me. Not today. My father pays for everything—school, my apartment, and my credit card bills. So, until I can stand steadily on my own two feet, I’ll play pretty little liar for as long as necessary to get what I want. My uncle may not like it, and I can’t freakin’ stand it, but that’s just the way it has to be.
My father made the rules, I just play by them.
“I know, Uncle John.” I pacify him. “That’s why I’m keeping my relationship to myself. I don’t want to rock the boat and lose focus.”
He smiles as he puts one strong arm around me. “Always levelheaded.”
“I try,” I quip.
“I’m extremely proud of you, Alana.” His sentiment is sincere.
“Thank you.” I rest my head on his chest. I truly love this man.
“I’d like to meet him.” My uncle treads lightly.
I look up alarmed. “Oh . . . I’m not . . . I don’t know if that’s—”
“When you’re ready,” he cuts me off.
I carefully consider.
“Maybe.”
“We don’t have to tell your father.”
“Um, that would be a written clause.” I laugh.
“Good, good.” He gives me another squeeze. “Now, go on and conquer the world like only a Remington can.”
I lift onto my tippy toes and give him a quick peck on the cheek. “See you on Thanksgiving,” I promise before breezing away.
It’s 6:30 p.m. on a Wednesday night, and I’ve been studying civil procedures for the last three hours.
If I didn’t love it so much, I’d ask someone to put me out of my misery. Ryan drops his backpack by the front door catching my attention. I glance at it impassively, knowing exactly what’s in it. His costume or uniform, if that’s what you want to call it—his cowboy hat, eye mask, and tasseled G-string for the Revue, and the little blue metallic shorts for the club. It’s Thanksgiving Eve, the biggest clubbing night of the year, so there’s an extra show this evening and all hands working at Culture tonight . . . yayyy . . . I just sort of block it all out when Ryan goes to work. There’s a lot to be said for blissful ignorance. I try to pretend he’s a car salesman or a waiter or a gas station attendant, basically anything that requires him to wear clothes.
Over the last three months things have gotten routinely comfortable. I don’t get to see him much with school and studying and all, but he’s usually there when I wake up and sometimes when I go to sleep.
Ryan saunters over and sits on the floor next to me. The middle of the living room is my favorite place to study, with all my books and papers spread out in front of me.
He smells intoxicating, a heady mix of my shampoo and his deodorant. Leaning up against the cream leather sofa he props his head onto one hand. “You going to wait up for me?” His tone is suggestive, and it immediately uncurls a very dark desire from somewhere deep inside me.
“Maybe, are you going to be a good boy tonight?”
“Baby, if you want a good boy, you’re wasting your time with me,” he flirts.
“I didn’t say I wanted a good boy,” I counter, “I just want to make sure you remember who you’re coming home to.”
Ryan stalks closer to me. “I could never forget,” he growls.
“Good,” I groan as he pushes me down and crawls on top of me. Pinning my hands down, he slowly starts licking my neck, teasing his way up until he reaches my mouth.
“I thought you were leaving for work?” I taunt right before he kisses me.
“I am, but I want to show you just how good I can be before I go.” He circles his hips lazily, his erection growing rapidly between my thighs.
“Do you have time for that?”
“I can make it quick.” He nips my bottom lip.
“That’s disappointing,” I joke.
Ryan snaps his head up with a feral look in his eyes. “Oh baby, this is just the warm up.” He then attacks me, his tongue on a mission. I moan into his mouth, breaking my hands free so I can rake them through his hair, my body arching up to feel his.
“What’s underneath here?” Like the bad boy he is, Ryan slides his hand up under my shirt. I’m dressed in my usual studying attire, a gray Columbia sweatshirt and black leggings. No bra.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I provoke.
“I would like to know, and I’m going to find out.” There’s a fight in his voice as he forces my sweatshirt up, the warmth of his hands spreading deliciously across my skin. I didn’t realize how much I needed him until this moment. How much I needed this.
Just before Ryan gets a chance to pull my top over my head, my phone rings.
“Don’t answer it,” he protests immediately, a decibel short of desperate.
I glance down at the screen. Motherfucker. If it was anyone else calling I would listen to him. Instead, I push Ryan off me and adjust my shirt.
“Hello?”I scramble to answer it. A soon as I hear his voice I sit straight up.
“Hi, Daddy.” I look at Ryan, who’s kneeling in front of me with lustful eyes.
“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 mine, 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.”