Stripped Page 12

  I look down and Aiden has almost cleaned off the whole plate. “Yeah, Lucho, that’d be great.”

  “You’re disgusting,” I tell Aiden.

  Aiden burps, and punches his chest. “I am what I am. But listen to me, Zachary Francis Fallon.”

  I hold on to the bar and hang my head for a second. As much shit as he’s giving me, being ragged on by my best friend puts things into perspective. “Do not middle-name me.”

  “Zachary Francis Fallon,” he says louder, holding his last shot in his hand. “You’re too good to be this pathetic. You want to go after her? Do it. Nothing will stop you, and I am positive she won’t turn you down. But don’t let some douche bag, Principal Pervert, make you feel this way. There is nothing wrong with you. You got this, you hear me?”

  We drink, and this time, the tequila and salt wash away the dregs of my anger. The problem is now I’m left with fear and regret. Regret that I acted like a dick. Fear because she might not forgive me.

  “Besides, you might not have to worry all that much.” Aiden examines the bottom of his glass, like he expects to find a diamond in it. Instead, he finds a few drops of tequila.

  “What do you mean?” I grab the takeout bag Lucho gives me, and leave him one last tip for hooking me up and letting me leave my car in the parking lot until I can sober up to drive.

  Aiden pats me on the back and leads me out of the restaurant down 30th Avenue. “Ricky got a call from Vegas.”

  “Vegas?” We cross the busy street, the sun beginning to rise as people are heading to work.

  “We got an offer from The Royal. Call came in today. They want to make us a bigger offer than Reno.”

  “What? That’s crazy.”

  “It’s not official, so don’t tell the other boys.”

  That’s huge. A spot in Vegas is everything Ricky—we’ve—wanted. “When do we find out?”

  “They’re negotiating with the lawyers now, but it looks good. It’s short notice because they want us to start before September, so we’d have to leave soon. But the money’s good.”

  “Before September?”

  “That’s right. We’re going to Vegas, baby!”

  10

  3 A.M.

  ROBYN

  I can’t imagine what’s worse: your boss sitting at the table beside you on your date, or discovering that your boss is a complete and utter tool.

  How am I supposed to go to work in five hours? How am I supposed to face him after he put me in that position? I type and retype texts to Lily. Lily, who seems to be the only person I know with a life that is put together, will know what to do.

  But I can’t wake her at three in the morning.

  I scream into my pillow, and it comes away with traces of the industrial-strength mascara that needs at least three showers before it completely comes off. Everything was going so great. I can pinpoint the moment everything went to hell.

  It wasn’t when Lukas sat down. If I were any other kind of person, I would’ve moved tables. But I sat there and I tried to be the peacemaker. I hate that, because I’m a woman, I’m supposed to watch these two men act like fools over, what? Me? But leaving that behind, it was when Lukas started asking questions of Fallon. It was when I was embarrassed that Fallon would answer with the truth. I shouldn’t blame myself, but I do. Social programming is a bitch. I judged Fallon. And at the end of it, he felt the need to lie because he thinks titles and degrees and appearances mean more to him than his comfort.

  I’m mad at myself for leaving. I’m mad at Lukas for crossing a line. I’m mad at Fallon for not keeping his cool.

  I shouldn’t have left him, but I couldn’t help it. I try to sleep with his leather jacket on top of me, and when sleep evades me, I type, retype, and then delete every message I want to send him.

  Finally, I do drift off.

  I wake with a start because I know I’m late. I know it.

  When I check my phone, it’s seven thirty a.m. I brush my teeth and throw on a yellow knee-length skirt, a white shirt, and a white cardigan. I pull my hair into a ponytail as I run out the door and into a cab.

  In the cab, I want to cry. Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have gone out on a date on a school night. But if the night had gone according to plan, my morning would look completely different. I could’ve woken up with Fallon instead of with his jacket. All the jacket did was fill me with an ache I didn’t think I was capable of feeling. Is that what longing feels like? Like there’s a hollow chunk inside of your heart and the only thing that can mend it is this one person.

  No, I think. I’ve felt that way for a long time, and I don’t know if Fallon is the solution. Maybe there isn’t a solution.

  I push those thoughts aside as I arrive at school determined to file a UFT complaint against Principal Lukas. I’m going to call Fallon and right things. I’m going to get myself together, because whatever I’ve been doing isn’t working.

  At some point during the day, I lose the nerve. I start to think about how I would file a complaint to begin with. “Principal Lukas and his date sat next to us and asked my date questions!” That’s the problem with feeling threatened. How do you explain a feeling? Who would believe me, the perpetually late teacher who is lucky to be employed? Or the handsome young principal who volunteers on Sundays at school?

  I get to my classroom and set up for the day, but I feel like I’ve already lost a battle I never had a chance of winning. When I check my phone, I see his name. Fallon. A text I missed.

  Fallon: I’m sorry. You up?

  And maybe, things aren’t as lost as I thought.

  * * *

  I run down the steps of the school when I hear my name called out.

  My stomach constricts with nerves when I look up to see Fallon sitting on the hood of his jet-black Camaro looking absolutely adorable and rumpled. His brown hair curls at the edges of his Red Sox cap. He hasn’t shaved, and the closer I get, the more I want to run my hand along his jaw to see what it feels like. But I keep my hands tightly clasped on my briefcase.

  A few of the parents picking up their kids do a double take as I walk up to this man who does not belong at an elementary school with his worn-in jeans and sports car and aviators that reflect the afternoon sun. Other than texting, I haven’t seen him since our failed first date Tuesday night since he’s been busy with practice and shows, and so I savor the sight of him.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “How was school?” he asks.

  “Can we not?” I say. “No talking around the pleasantries. Let’s just put it out there.”

  He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks up at me. I hate looking at people when they wear sunglasses. I want to be able to look into his eyes. I reach for them, and he doesn’t even budge as I gently pull them off. His blue-green eyes never leave my face.

  “Okay,” he says. “I shouldn’t have started in on your boss. I’m sorry.”

  I want to laugh. “I’m sorry I left you with him. Do I even want to know what happened afterward?”

  Fallon quirks his eyebrow. “You haven’t seen him?”

  “There was a lot of avoiding being done, I think, by both parties.”

  He bites down on his teeth, making his jaw ripple. I see the tightness in his body, like a feline ready to pounce. His eyes flick over my shoulder, and I automatically turn to see what he sees. Lukas and Lily are talking at the top of the steps.

  “Did you drive here to apologize or do you want to give me a ride?”

  “Actually,” he says, “both. Are you hungry?”

  I know he means if I’m hungry for food. But I feel a different kind of hunger when I’m around him. I’m hungry for his kiss, his touch, his everything. I’m hungry for him.

  He opens the door to his car, and I get in.

  “You still have my jacket,” he says, arms stretched out toward the wheel.

  “It’s a little big on me,” I say jokingly. “But I can be convinced to return it.”

  “Convinced how?” H
e’s trying to keep his eyes on me while paying attention to the road.

  “I’ll figure something out.” When he turns onto the BQE, I realize we’re leaving Queens. “Where are we going?”

  “It’s Friday and I think we both need to do something fun.”

  “I can think of something fun we can do back at my apartment,” I say. Who am I?

  He chuckles. “What happened to not knowing what you want and taking things slow?”

  I shrug. “Well, now that we got over the Worst Date Ever, there isn’t anything that can beat that. It’s all up from here. Plus, we’ve got a little over three months before you go off to Reno and I go off to whatever MFA program takes me.”

  Fallon gets quiet and brooding for a long while after that. I wonder if the reminder that this is temporary upset him. It shouldn’t. We both decided this. Still, I wouldn’t want to be reminded that this, whatever this feeling is, comes with an expiration date.

  “There’s one thing I’ve always wanted to do.” He winks at me, his sexy smile returning as if whatever was upsetting him is long forgotten.

  I tell myself to ignore it. Enjoy the here and now.

  Forty-five minutes later we’re parking in a lot in Coney Island.

  “You’ve always wanted to go to Coney Island?” I ask skeptically.

  “Corn dogs. Beach. Ferris wheels,” he states, ticking things off with his fingers. “Men are like children, except we get to drink beer.”

  “Clearly,” I laugh, and follow him out of the car.

  I haven’t been to Coney Island since I was in high school. When we were little, my cousins and I would run around the boardwalk with our allowances tucked in our shorts, and try to win stuffed animals off the clearly rigged carnival games.

  “It isn’t season yet,” Fallon tells me. As he walks around the car, I can’t help but watch his every move. His body is a thing of beauty. Shoulders and arms that frame hard-earned muscles. Jeans that hug an ass that begs to be bitten into.

  I think I’m hyperventilating when he closes the six paces to get to me. He takes my hand and leads me down the boardwalk. We pick up corn dogs and two beers, walking and eating as we make it down toward the Wonder Wheel.

  It might not be season, but Coney Island is never empty. Neighborhood kids gather in groups on the sand, backpacks on and everything. Hipsters in skinny shorts and waxed mustaches take photos of the garbage, the grit, and the locals that make Coney Island unique to New York shores.

  I shut my eyes against the sea breeze that wraps around us, and for the first time today, I feel at peace.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” I say.

  Fallon looks over at me. He takes our meatless sticks and throws them in the nearest garbage can. With a touch, he guides me toward the metal railings that separate the beach and the boardwalk.

  “What doesn’t make sense?”

  “You. This.”

  He stands in front of me with his amber beer in a plastic cup. Drinks from it. It doesn’t hide the corners of his smile. When he lowers his drink, he has a foamy mustache, and without thinking, I stand on my toes and lick it, softly sucking his top lip. He answers by wrapping an arm tightly around my waist, bringing us so close so quickly, we slosh beer everywhere. I don’t care about the beer. I don’t care that this is the most PDA I’ve ever done. I care that he kisses me back, meeting his tongue with mine, searching and searching. I grip his shirt with my free hand, but the only way to be closer is to be naked.

  His hand roams my back, until he reaches my neck. His nails rake hot marks up my skin, and with one pull, he undoes my ponytail, and my hair falls wildly into the breeze. Fallon kisses my ear, my neck. His tongue tugs at my earlobe, tracing circles that send fireworks through my body.

  “You’re right,” he says, pulling away abruptly. “It doesn’t make sense. But I’m not trying to force it to.”

  The sun sets lazily toward the horizon. The lights along the Luna Park carnival start to come alive, empty rides spinning and spinning, waiting for people to hop on.

  “Come.” I pull his hand. We dump our empty cups. Every step we take is accompanied by touching. He holds on to my waist and I dig my hand in his jeans pocket, as if this is the most normal thing in the world. As if there were no yesterday and there is no tomorrow. As if this entire playground is for us entirely. We get two tickets to the Wonder Wheel, and hop on.

  The operator gives me a knowing wink as he slides the grate closed. “Keep hands and legs inside the car at all times. No standing. No—”

  His advisory is drowned out by the sound of cranks turning, and the car swinging as we climb higher and higher.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, a nervous blush creeping up his cheeks.

  I grab hold of the front grates that enclose our car and push my weight forward. “Hang on.”

  And he does. He grabs the side of the car and keeps one hand on my hips. The car swings outward, and for a brief moment, it feels as if the whole car will fly off the hinges and right into the sea.

  “I don’t know if that’s more fun or terrifying,” he says, pulling me back against him.

  I turn to him easily, draping my legs across his lap. “That’s the point. Cheap thrills.”

  “You are wonderful, you know that?”

  I’ve been called lots of things by lots of men. Pretty. Hot. Gorgeous. Sexy. Words lose their meaning after a while. But wonderful is new. Wonderful has a certain magic that starts to fill that hole in my chest. But something inside of me won’t let me acknowledge it completely, and I do what words can’t. I kiss him instead.

  His mouth fits perfectly on mine. I wrap my arms around his neck to hold on to him, to this feeling he brings out in me. His hand finds its way beneath my skirt, and I gasp when it grips my thigh hard.

  “Sorry,” he whispers.

  “Don’t be.” I tug on the collar of his shirt.

  The car climbs higher and higher until we reach the top, jostling us closer together. In this moment, I realize a few things: We are high in the sky and I want Zac Fallon more than I can say. I want to do unspeakable things with him, right here with the whole city beneath our feet.

  FALLON

  I might die in this metallic contraption of doom. But I’ll die happy, with the most beautiful woman kissing me senseless. When the Wonder Wheel stops to let on more passengers, we’re at the very top. I look up for a moment at the seascape, deep and dark-blue waves crashing against the shoreline. The wind is hard and chilly up here, and Robyn’s skin is covered in goose bumps. I rub her thigh until I feel her skin relax and warm to me.

  When she moans, I feel the vibration deep in my throat. I pull on her leg to sit her completely on my thigh. I want her to know what she does to me. I want her to feel my dick reacting to every inch of her.

  But my pleasure doesn’t end with her rubbing her palm on the bulge that (painfully) strains against my jeans. My pleasure starts with her. I trace my middle finger across her thigh, pull away to watch her face change. Her eyelids flutter the closer I get to the magic spot between her legs. I press a kiss on each of her cheeks, never letting my finger stop from roaming.

  “God, you’re so wet,” I say. The breath in my chest might shatter me. Her panties are soaked through.

  She whispers too low for me to make out what she’s said, but her hands say otherwise. Her clever fingers undo my button and pull down my fly. I shut my eyes. She pulls down my boxers and my dick springs into her hand. Her thumb traces a wet bubble that beads at the head of my shaft.

  I want nothing more than to bury myself inside of her, feel her walls close in all around me. Lose myself in her. But the car jostles. Robyn yelps as the rocking motion threatens to topple her off.

  “I got you,” I assure her, and pull her back up on top of me. “Where were we?”

  She takes my hand and guides it back between her legs, and when I push her panties to the side and slide my finger in, I lose all of my breath. I feel her squeeze against my finger as I pull
out and slide two fingers in and stroke. With my thumb, I rub wet circles around her clit. Robyn falls into me, rocking her pelvis against my hand, and suddenly we’re slowly moving and falling back to the ground. I stroke my fingers faster, deeper. Bite the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder, until she moans a kiss that lingers and she relaxes wet and slack against my chest.

  I slip my hand out of her and bring it to my lips. She watches with wide eyes as I taste her, sweet and slick.

  We tear apart from each other just in time for the ride to reach the bottom. I drape my jacket over my dick, stiff and aching with want. While we wait for the Wonder Wheel to ascend, she climbs up on top of me, her knees on either side of my thighs. Her hands cupped around my neck while she kisses me senseless, and we’ve reached the top of the ride again.

  Robyn’s sweet laugh makes me even harder, and my dick stands up at attention as she pulls my jacket off and she takes me into her hands. When she gets on her knees and looks up at me, I could break apart and come in a second. But I try to hold back. I shut my eyes and hiss as her warm tongue slides all along the wet tip of my dick. She takes me into her plump, hot mouth and sucks until the friction makes a popping sound, like the smack of a lollipop.

  “God,” I hear myself say. “Do that again.”

  My vision is so dazed from how good it feels to be inside her mouth that I can’t even see straight. There are, like, four of her. Four Robyns, on her knees, pumping her hands up and down my shaft while she sucks the essence out of me. I buckle when the car swings outward toward the open air. This time, we’re bracing for it, and I grab hold of her.

  She takes me in deeper and deeper, and I think I might faint when I feel myself against the back of her throat.

  “I’m going to come,” I manage to say.

  I’m not sure I’ve even spoken, because she doesn’t let up, and keeps her mouth around my head, sucking and licking, and I say her name over and over. Robyn. Robyn. Her eyes are dark pools, and I reach over and tug on her hair, breathing hard as I come in her full, raw mouth.