Love the Way You Lie (Stripped 1)

“We just talked.”

A roll of her pretty eyes. “I heard you up there.”

My face burns with embarrassment. I climaxed up there, not nearly quiet enough. I enjoyed myself up there, and maybe that’s the most embarrassing of all. I finally figured out how amazing sex could be, and it was on the roof of a strip club.

I hear the metal clang, and then Kip is working his way down. He’s got his shirt back on and his jeans and his boots, and damn does he look good in them.

Then I glance at Candy and realize she caught me checking him out. I blush, even though I think it’s bullshit. The men can ogle us all night long, but I’m not supposed to appreciate a fine masculine body?

He nods at Candy, his voice rough from sleep. “Morning.”

She snorts. “Get yourself a free fuck, did you?”

“That’s not how I would’ve put it, no,” he says, though he doesn’t seem surprised by her sharp words.

“I bet.”

“You have a problem with me?”

“Several, actually.” She smirks. “I know who you are.”

Her words sink in like ice through my skin. She knows something about Kip that I don’t. Unless she’s lying. But his expression goes completely blank, stripped of emotion. And I know it’s real.

“Good for you,” he says, just as flat.

Her gaze slides over to me, her eyes way too innocent to be real. “Does she know you’re related?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask. Related to who?

“Why don’t you fill her in?” she tells Kip. Then she drops her cigarette and strolls back into the club, using her stage walk to swing her hips.

I turn to Kip. “Tell me.”

He shakes his head. His eyes are opaque, as solid as the brick wall behind me. “There’s nothing to tell. My brother is an asshole. He had a reputation around here.”

“So do you, apparently.”

That makes him smile. But I know that’s not the whole story. He’s definitely hiding something. Candy knows he’s related to some asshole, but why would she think I’d care about that? It brings home the fact that there’s a lot I don’t know about Kip. More than just who his brother is. I don’t even know his last name.

The he does something that makes my gut clench. He reaches to his back pocket—for the gun? Maybe he’ll try to give it to me again. But I can’t take it. Or his wallet? For money. And not just because of Candy’s jab. He once told me he’d always pay for the privilege. He promised me that. It had been his line in the sand, but I’m erasing it.

I know it’s messier this way.

“No,” I say. “Don’t.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t make this cheap.”

* * *

Everything is hazy and dark. Not like the stage, too bright to see. Blinding me. The woods are so dark. I can just barely make out the pale path ahead of me. I follow it, hoping to find an open space soon. Somewhere safe to rest. But the trees seem to grow closer and closer on either side until I can barely breathe. In the dark wall of the jungle I can see green eyes blink at me. I can hear the hiss of a snake.

I bolt awake.

I’m drenched in sweat. Like in my dream, it’s dark. I can barely make out the faded floral bedspread covering me. The walls are pitch-black and looming. But this isn’t a jungle. It’s the motel room.

My heart is pounding a million times a minute. I pull myself out of bed and get a drink of water from the bathroom. Then I stand beside Clara’s bed and watch her sleep.