Ripped (30 page)

Pierre never saw me leave, or at least if he did, he was too caught up in his phone call to care. It was freezing outside as I waited for the cab but I welcomed the cold as it stung my cheeks, the wind whipping through my hair until it loosened tendrils that covered my face and stuck to my lip gloss.

Never again would I put myself in that position. Regardless of the outcome my escape may bring tomorrow at rehearsals, I vowed to myself to quit the production before I ever let Pierre lay a finger on me again.

A
S USUAL
, there were a few stragglers hanging around outside the door that led from the alleyway into the club. Keeping my head low, my beanie pulled down to cover my ears, I strode past without making eye contact. There was always that awkward moment after banging on the solid black door when I had to wait for Jerry to open up and let me through, and the ladies would start to close in like hyenas circling their prey.

I thumped again, harder this time. “Open up, man,” I yelled, spying one particularly scantily clad blonde coming in for the kill.

“Hey there. Are you a stripper here?” she purred.

“Uh-huh, yep.” Where the fuck was Jerry?

“Do you do private shows?” She was up in my face, her tits pushed so high they were keeping her ears warm on this chilly evening.

Finally, the door opened, and Jerry’s scowl turned into a toothy grin when he saw who it was.

I turned as I stepped through the doorway to glance back over my shoulder at the type of girl who got all dressed up to hang out in an alleyway. Was this really what my life had amounted to? I guessed one day I would be desperate enough to take up the offer of someone who was willing to wear so little clothing that she was at risk of hypothermia, but not tonight. Shaking my head in her direction, I felt the need to instill some parting advice. “Everyone deserves some respect, and the person it has to come from first and foremost is yourself.”

As soon as I stepped foot inside, I could hear the cheers and whistles for Danny the policeman as I made my way to the dingy dressing room to get changed and pumped up. Most of the other guys had been on already and were mixing with the ladies out front, picking up numbers and weighing up their options on who to take home for the night.

“There you are,” Captain said as he stuck his head in the room. “You’re late again, but I’ll build the vibe to give you time to get ready.”

“Thanks man,” I said to no one, as he’d already left as quickly as he’d arrived.

My costume was pulled on, and I dropped to the floor to do a set of push-ups, followed by fifty crunches to make my abs pop. It was the ritual we all went through before every performance, but my routine was a little different because after the muscle-building exercises, I stretched, taking myself through a dancer’s warm-up. Starting at my feet I worked my way up until every muscle was ready for a performance that far exceeded the little bit of dancing I’d be doing out on the tiny stage in about fifteen minutes’ time. But I didn’t care; it was habit and after everything I’d already lost, I refused to give up this one tiny piece of my past that reminded me of where I had come from. I wasn’t a guy with a few sexy moves who could take his clothes off to the beat of a song, I was a dancer. A trained-for-fucking-twenty-years dancer, who could leap five feet in the air and do an eight-revolution pirouette. The people out there may not have cared how good I was, but I did … and so did Jaz.

Jaz had always believed in me even after I had long given up on myself. She had seen something in me that no one else had and had pushed me to keep trying, to give it just one more shot because in her eyes, I was too good to stop. I sat on the floor, my back against the wall, my arms hooked around my bent up knees. I missed her. I missed her so bad that my chest physically ached with the thought of her, which meant it ached twenty-four/seven because I thought of her every single second of every day.

“You’re up,” Captain told me with a bang on the wall to gain my attention. “Go get ’em, man. They’re all yours.”

They may have been all mine, but I wasn’t feeling it at all.

“Okay, Bax, this is it. This is what you live for. The spotlight, the cheering of the crowd. This is showbiz.” My pep talk wasn’t working. I felt so flat. The only thing I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and go to sleep, because in my dreams Jaz was still with me. She had forgiven me and the stupidity of my lost way, and we would dance together, whether it was on a stage or in our little apartment. She was in my arms, her warmth and belief in me making me feel whole again.

The smoke puffed across the stage, and I held my breath for a moment so as not to choke on the fumes. I hated the smoke machine but it gave off that mysterious vibe and the girls seemed to get off on it, and Captain thought it was the best investment he’d ever made and insisted on using it every chance he got. The spotlight hit the back of my head, shining through the haze as the music built. I let out a huge sigh. What the fuck was I doing here?

There was a line of girls at the side of the stage, my ‘targets,’ as we liked to call them. From where I was standing, I could see that tonight I had one girl who was wearing a sash that very proudly told me her age was twenty-one, three brides-to-be, and two older women who were most likely there with a bridal party. They looked harmless enough, and I sent out a ‘thank you’ to Captain for choosing my targets wisely, because I was in no mood for some handsy drunk chick who thought it would be okay to grab my junk and squeeze until my face turned blue.

I needed to get into character, to be the sexy Commando that they came to see because right now, I was the sad, pathetic loser Baxter who had no prospects, lived above a pizza restaurant, and had fucked up his relationship and lost the love of his life. If they only knew, they wouldn’t be leering at me through alcohol-fogged eyes, waiting with bated breath for the first glimpse of flesh. They’d be running in the opposite direction from the tragic waste of space that I’d become.

The music pumped, and my body moved through the motions on autopilot. At least my training as a dancer was of some benefit; I could perform this routine without any thought, and even dancing half-heartedly, it was still good enough for the crowd to cheer.

Miss Twenty-One was up first and I could see Captain holding her hand, waiting for my signal to prompt her to take to the stage. My eyes scanned the audience, all the pretty faces distorted in their screams for more, their preparedness to take and take until there was nothing left to give. I could see from the corner of my eye that Captain was waving, trying to gain my attention. I glanced over and gave him a subtle shake of the head. I didn’t want Miss Twenty-One or anyone else up on stage with me. One more night of being pulled and clawed at, licked and groped would seal my fate, and I would never be able to go back. So instead, I danced. Not the stripper dance I had rehearsed, but proper freestyle hip-hop. From popping and locking to break dancing, I threw in every move I could think of until the music stopped. And when it did stop, I was out of breath but still fully clothed.

I had given it my all, but the crowd was not impressed.

“Take it off. Take it off,” they chanted, their faces now distorted in anger. They hadn’t come to see me dance—they had come to see my chest, and abs, and ass.

Shaking my head slowly, I bowed, blew them a kiss, and walked toward the stairs. “Sorry man, but I quit,” I told Captain as I passed him, not taking the time to slow or hear his response. It would take me five minutes to get changed, grab my stuff and get out of there, and it would be the last five minutes I would ever spend in that venue.

“Can I see you?” It was a simple enough question but waiting for an answer had my stomach twisted in knots.

There was a soft sigh from the other end of the phone, and I knew she was weighing up her options. “I … I guess so. Where?”