Long Shot (10 page)

“Are you saying I look sport-incompetent?” I feign shock. Only feign, because it’s absolutely true. I can’t even win Go Fish. “So rude!”

“Absolutely.” Another huge grin breaks out on his face, and I can feel myself moving closer to him. All I want to do in that moment is kiss him again and again and again. Curse being out in public! “You look too sweet, too innocent, to spend time in a pool hall.”

“Only the delinquents play pool?” Okay, so maybe there was a part of me that believed that, just because the places that offered pool back in school were all sort of unsavory, save for the cheap beer, but I don’t tell him that. “So judgmental.”

“Pool is a bad girl’s game. Betting, fondling a stick, spending a lot of time bent over. That’s where the naughty girls go to show off. You’re not naughty.” His voice drops down several octaves.

My voice is barely a whisper. “I think we both know that’s not true. I’m a total delinquent.”

“You better only be naughty for me.” Visions of wildly dirty things take over my mind again and I have the vague sensation of being electrified as he inches closer to me. “I’d hate to have to spank you for doing otherwise.”

“Maybe I’d like it.”

“Maybe I would, too.”

“Rob?” A voice calls out. I immediately turn towards the voice, feeling like cold water doused me. The mood turns awkward and almost sour. “Rob the Stripper?”

There’s a brief moment of silence before he answers with a full grin. “The one and only. You look awfully familiar.”

“Betty!” A girl who looks straight from the Instagram account of the Suicide Girls looks absolutely thrilled. She’s barely dressed and heavily exposed and very much interrupting our moment. “We’re big fans of yours at the Meow Club.”

“Get out of here! I never run into fans out and about in the real world.” He puts his hand on my leg, like he is saying he isn’t forgetting me, but I want these beautiful girls to go the hell away. I have sexin’ to get to with my man, and they are interrupting and ruining everything.

“Can we buy you a drink?” Another one from the table calls out. There are five of them, all beautiful, all edgy, all staring with huge heart eyes at my boyfriend. While discussing him as a stripper. Which means anyone within earshot knows exactly what my boyfriend does for a living. I glance nervously at the bar to make sure the gin-slingers can’t hear. They’d so mock me later. In front of people.

I feel like both dying of embarrassment and punching these girls. One feeling is very familiar. The other? Not so much. But hot damn, the violent streak is taking hold and making my skin itch. Wasn’t it totally obvious we were busy? How dare they interrupt!

“I think we’re okay, but—”

“Please!” yet another one of them begs. “You’ve
got
to do a round of shots with us. Your girl, too! You’re our favorite. The Meow wouldn’t be half the club it is without you!”

Rob cocks an eyebrow at me, and I force up a big smile and shrug my shoulders like,
sure, why not
? When really, all I want to do is bury my head in the sand or whisk us away to a quiet place where no one can find us. My chest feels tight, and I can’t even really say why. I’m just… tense. And angry.

“Great!” Betty squeals. “Pick your poison?”

“My girl is a Jameson fan.” Rob cracks a winning smile, and then turns to me, looking slightly guilty. He whispers, “I’m really sorry about this.”

I shake off the weird, pressure-y feelings that I haven’t yet named, and throw up a bright smile. “It’s okay. Who can say no to free booze?”

“If you want to leave after this—”

“It’s totally fine.” I put my hand on his arm and squeeze, hoping he can’t feel me shaking. What is
wrong
with me? “It’s not like you planned to run into a bunch of girls from the club.”

“Honest to god, I never do.” Rob looks sheepish. He leans in to kiss me, and for a moment I pretend we’re the only ones in the bar. The clock has rewound itself ten minutes and we’re flirting and things are getting hot and no beautiful girls have crashed the party. We break apart and he touches my cheek. “This has to be weird for you.”

I laugh to look lighthearted, not like the crumbled human being I currently feel like. “My life over the last few weeks has been anything but normal. I’m used to it by now.”

I hate lying, I hate being here, I hate that this beautiful girl with beautiful breasts peeking from her low-cut blouse is bringing us drinks and making eyes at
my
Rob. But most of all, I hate this feeling swirling inside of me. I’m never a jealous person, and oh my god I am
so
jealous. So, so jealous. And protective. And… oh no. No, no.

“I’ll be right back.” I squeeze his arm again and excuse myself to the ladies room. I don’t make eye contact with anyone on my way there, and my chest constricts the whole way.

The bathroom is nothing but a single stall behind a saloon-style door. I hate public restrooms more than just about anything. I drop the lid on the questionable hygiene of the toilet and sit on top of it, head in my hands.

I don’t want to say what I’m feeling, but it feels like it’s going to burst out of me. I need to get my shit together. Fast. While taking deep breaths, I look around the cramped stall at the stall “art”. It’s one of my favorite things about bar bathrooms, and this place does not disappoint. There are phone numbers, declarations of hatred, band stickers of bands I’ve never heard of, poems about poop. There usually isn’t this much gold in a women’s restroom, but the clientele here is extra artistic.

Tears fill my eyes, overwhelmed by everything. I dig in my purse and pull out a Sharpie. I have to cleanse this from my body before I explode. Before I ruin everything tonight. Before I combust into a billion pieces from the sheer absurdity of it all.

It’s my turn to write my truth on the nasty bathroom wall.

I love Rob the Stripper
.

I
lean back
in my chair and let out a loud sigh. Hitting
Submit
on this project has been the biggest relief of all. I’ve lost track of how many hours—and how many sex sessions—I’ve lost to this damn thing, but I know the payoff will be well worth it. Not only will I prove myself to Meredith, but I’ll pass this class with flying colors and hopefully make the Dean’s List again. Graduating with honors is a top priority. I’ve got grad school to consider. I’ve got job applications to think about, and this is just one more piece to the puzzle.

I can’t wait to show it to her. In my fantasies, she gets all hot and bothered by the entire thing—by how proud of her I am, by how I make her look as professional and important as she actually is, by how many people are checking her out—and we have crazy sex all over my apartment. I’m really good at fantasizing about sex.

Bonus to turning this bad boy in is I can start picking up extra shifts at the club. I need as much cash as I can get my hands on so I have a buffer between graduation and newfound employment. I would prefer not to list the Meow as my current job when I’m hunting around for news agency gigs. Internships and that sort of thing are a priority. Word is John is looking to quit the club soon, so there’ll be whole other blocks that need dancers, and my wallet wants them.

I try to ignore the feelings that bubble up when I think about how much more time I’ll miss with Meredith when I’m doing double time at work.

I’ve never really had any guilt about stripping before. It’s just a job, the girls are nothing more than bread in my pocket, and it’s not like I kiss them or anything, but things with Meredith are finally feeling… serious? Intense? They feel right. The other night, before we got ambushed by my adoring fans, it finally felt like we were on the same page, that we were clicking together the way couples are meant to click, and she wasn’t fighting it.

As much as I enjoy the challenge, to have Meredith finally with me without fighting is surprisingly nice.

Unfortunately, my last few shifts have left me feeling a little gross inside once I finished on stage, like I wasn’t supposed to be there. I know Meredith doesn’t love it and I don’t want to disrespect her. She’ll never be as accepting as Veronica, and that’s totally fine. I don’t
want
a girl like her, I want Meredith exactly as she is. It’s just making my bank roll a little difficult.

But that will all change when I show her this project that I’ve finished. She’ll see how serious I am and understand this stripping gig is super temporary. I even took a page from Peter, which felt wrong but also good, and submitted my story to PuffPost and ZapFeed. Both sites approved it, which means I’m finally going to start establishing a name for myself in the journalism community. You gotta start somewhere, right? If Meredith can start with dicks, so can I.

She’ll be thrilled -
thrilled
- at the exposure. She’ll be able to sustain a career and move out before she knows it. And then we can bang all over her new apartment to celebrate. I can hardly wait. Matter of fact, we could start the celebration now. I’ll take her out to dinner, show her the project, and then make sweet love all night long. Yeah girl.

I dial her number.

She picks up the phone immediately, sounding very distracted. “Hello?”

“Hey babe!” I keep my voice low and seductive. “Wanna get together later?”

Instead of responding like a normal human, Meredith shrieks and hangs up. It’s all very déjà vu of our first time on the phone together, which would be sweet, if it wasn’t so fucking weird. Definitely not the response I was expecting, especially after our last date. She was practically in my lap from the get-go.

Maybe she’s just really busy finishing edits? Or maybe, after our last encounter with my adoring “fans”, she’s still reluctant to be seen in public with a stripper? If those Suicide Girl wannabes ruined things with my girl, I’m going to burn the fucking club down.

The only way to get to the bottom of this is to meet her. And after our last fiasco in the park, I’ve learned leaving her alone is not exactly the best idea. Also, neither is ignoring her for a week after she gets mad.

I’ll just go to her house. If nothing else, I can maybe watch her edit the photos and make fun of the other dicks if she’s busy. Or maybe I can just go down on her while she’s working. Or maybe I can do her from behind while she’s photoshopping or whatever. All of these sound like excellent plans.

Jane answers the door, smartass grin on her face. “Do you have an appointment? The photographer is very busy.”

“The name is Dick McHand, appointment for five minutes from now.”

“Let me check the list.” Jane disappears for a minute. “Oh, yes, here you are Mr. McHand. Please come in.”

“Are there really a lot of them?” I ask, trying not to sound grim as I walk inside.

Jane looks sympathetic for a moment, which doesn’t bode well for the answer. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

“Me?” I wave her off with a laugh, instead of screaming YES GOD YES I DON’T WANT HER LOOKING AT ANY OTHER DICKS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. “I don’t get jealous. I’m a stripper, remember? We’re impervious to jealousy, shame, and dollar bills.”

She doesn’t look like she believes me, but she smiles anyway. “Meredith is upstairs working right now. She needs a break, so you better get up there ASAP. Watch out, though. She’s prone to throwing things if she’s in the zone.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“I just wanted to see all the dressed up dicks.” Jane sighs forlornly and fluffs her hair. “Is that too much to ask?”

“Have you seen them?”

“A few. They are hilarious. She’s got a knack, that Meredith. I know this isn’t her first choice, but I’ll be damned if she’s not exceptionally good at it.”

Of course she is. My Meredith is good at everything. “I’ll see if I can get her to relax for a while.”

“Don’t forget my son is here!” Jane calls after me as I head upstairs. “Keep it quiet!”

“No promises!” I call back.

I like Jane. The most important thing I like about Jane is that she doesn’t judge me for being a stripper. If anything, I think she actually likes that I take my clothes off for a living. She certainly seemed to enjoy herself the night I met Merie, anyway. She and Bobby have never been anything but supportive to me through this whole thing, though. Bobby even called yesterday to ask if I wanted to go fishing. We’re going out this weekend.

Winning over the family is hard when you take off your clothes for a living, but hers don’t seem to care at all. That’s not only a huge relief, but pretty damn awesome, too. Everything feels like it fits, like we belong together. I haven’t felt this way in a really long time and I don’t want to lose it anytime soon.

I knock on the door and pop my head in. Meredith is hunched over her computer, playing around with some settings on a picture of a someone’s cock dressed up as a pharaoh. Damn, I wish I’d thought of that one.

“Did you make that costume?” I ask.

Meredith jumps, clearly startled. “You’re here.”

“I am. You sounded a little surprised and overworked on the phone, so I thought you could use a break.”

“Oh, I um…” She trails off and looks around. This is not exactly the same girl that was practically jumping my bones at Buzzard Beach. Meredith scratches her arm, straightens her white button down, and finally says, “Okay. Cool. What’s up?”

“Up for an editing break?” I straddle the corner of her desk and poke around her gear—lenses and other camera-y pieces of equipment I don’t remember the names of but probably should. “Something to clear your mind for a bit?”

She chews on her lip and studies me. I hump the air and wink at her, which makes her laugh. In one fluid motion, I spin off the desk and pull out the couch bed with a flourish.

“Oh, look at that. A bed is waiting. What are the odds?”

“What are the odds, indeed.” She cocks her head and keeps staring at her monitor, she’s so into this editing. I know what that’s like, working on my project and all that. I’m probably seriously interrupting, and she mentioned that she needed to finish her current client list so she could start moving out, but I’m ready to celebrate and take her mind off things for a while.

“A break is good for the creative juices to flow. You’ve spent too much time at that computer.” I pull her into me and kiss her neck. She resists only slightly, folding herself into me as my lips move across her skin. “When your juices flow, good stuff comes.”

She lets out a tiny laugh. “You’re disgusting.”

“You like it.” I bite her earlobe and feel her shiver under me. “Come on. You make me want to do all sorts of naughty things.”

“Like what?” Meredith asks coyly, finally turning to face me and running her hands across my chest and shoulders. “Tell me all the naughty things.”

“Well.” I push her hair to the side and place a kiss on the curve of her neck. “I’d like to start by slipping these clothes off, and leaving you in nothing but those sexy underthings.”

“What if I’m not wearing underthings?”

My cock jumps. “I see a bra strap right here.” I pull down the shoulder of her shirt and kiss the top of her bra strap and my hands run down her stomach. I tug at the waistband of her yoga pants and sneak a peek. Bare. Totally bare. Oh, holy heavens. My fingers dive into her lush center and I am pleased to report she is deliciously damp. A growl escapes my lips. “Naughty girl.”

“Maybe I like it,” she coos.

Fuck, this girl. Perfection. My fingers curl around her opening until she gasps against me. “I think you do like it.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Her eyes pierce me, heavy and intoxicating, this curious girl who shrieks when I call her and pretends I don’t strip and only recently started to look like she even enjoyed being my girlfriend… is egging me on. I’m addicted.

“Make you scream my name,” I hiss in her ear. “Again and again and again. Quietly, though, because I promised Jane.”

Meredith pushes me on to the bed and I let her, waiting for her next move. With a smile that promises way more than I could ever hope for, she strips for me. Starts with her shirt, undoing the buttons one at a time, never breaking eye contact with me. I resettle myself against the pillows and brace an arm behind my head so I can watch this in all its beautiful glory.

Her shirt slips off and she tosses it across the room, but I don’t see where it lands. My eyes are for her and her only. Meredith spins in a small circle, pressing her breasts together and running her hands across her smooth stomach, entrancing me. My cock presses painfully against my jeans and I go to unzip them, but she stops me with a sexy tut. Sexy Tut. Haha. Like the dick on the screen behind her.

Idly, I wonder what song is playing in her head as she sways back and forth. I bet it’s Rihanna.

“I can’t touch?” I ask.

Meredith doesn’t say a word, just shakes her head and runs her fingers across the waistband of her yoga pants. Yoga pants are some of my favorite things in the world, especially when the girl has a killer ass. Meredith has a perfect ass, so they are perfect pants.

The pants join the shirt on the floor and what I want more than anything in the world is to rip off my own clothes and bury myself in her. Instead I watch her continued to caress herself carefully, paying close attention to her inner thighs. She slides a finger between her pussy lips and sucks it off with a wink.

“I want you,” I growl at her.

“How bad?” Her voice is breathy as her hands traipse across the tops of her breasts.

I sit up and peel off my t-shirt. “I need you right now, Merie. I need your tight little body under me. I need to feel myself in you, thrusting, until we both can’t walk for a week. I need you like a desert needs water. I need you like a body needs air. I need you like a homeless man needs a goddamn sandwich.”

Meredith slips her hands behind her back and her bra falls to the floor, exposing her glorious breasts. “Then come get me.”

I don’t have to be told twice. I lunge for her and pin her under me, devouring her lips with my own. We paw at each other with a fierceness, this ferocious kitten of mine. We get lost in a mess of limbs and kisses and passion. I fumble with my zipper and kick my pants off, leaving my throbbing cock exposed and pressed against her soft skin. I dive for her, hungry for her, but she stops me and whispers,

“Lick me.”

Yes. Ma’am.

My fingers dig into her skin as I lick her from breast to hip bone. There’s no teasing, there’s no waiting. That little striptease has my engine thrumming at top speed and I need to be buried in her. She’s so wet and sweet, and I run my tongue from top to bottom, savoring the taste of her.

Groans escape my lips and my hips grind against the edge of the bed as I ravish her orally. My beautiful girl gasps and twists, her hands in her hair, with every flick of my tongue. Every trick in the book comes out: the Japanese alphabet trick I learned from Logan O’Toole she loves so much, clit nibbles, darting my curved tongue into her opening. She’s breathless and beside herself when I stop and slide up to her breasts. I love every inch of her body, and I want to honor it as best I know how.

First, the right breast. Tender suckles, nibbles, a hard suck. She likes it hard. I do it all over again to her left breast and rub the head of my cock against her clit. She opens like an oyster with a pearl. Unable to help myself, I slide just the tip into her heated wetness, and I have to bury my head in her shoulder to keep from plowing into her without abandon.

“Not yet,” she begs. So I obey.

I bury my face in her and worship her with my mouth, my cock aching and pulsating against the soft bedsheets. One well-placed nibble of her clit finally sends her flying. She screams my name and bucks against my mouth. I dig into her hips and ride out the wave, licking gently until she stills.

We’re both panting, but she looks like she just ran a marathon. Mission accomplished. I’d high-five myself if it wasn’t so lame. I stand over her, dick protruding like a sword, and give her my best smolder.

“Are you ready for Captain Cock?”