Stripped (11 page)

My stomach lurches. A flash of heaviness distributes thick lava in my veins. I can feel my smile instantly disappear and a nasty expression replacing it.

“Hey, sexy! Where ya going?” one of them shouts. They both giggle and effectively ignore me. As if I’m not even sitting right here beside him.

I look the other way to hide my flash of anger from the three of them. Fighting with myself for feeling this way, I swear under my breath. Stone is not mine to be jealous over. I hardly even know him. Nonetheless, I
feel
it.

Please get a grip, Emelie.

My heart is thudding so hard in my chest. This is what I get for going out with him, for moving away from my comfort zone.

Men regard women as conquests—my dad did it to my mom, my fiancé did it to me—

fuck them all.

I want to get rid of this unwelcomed burning sensation in my belly. I really want to vanish.

“I’M ON A DATE WITH THIS HOT BABE!” he shouts back, using both his hands to point at me in an extreme gesture. “LUCKIEST BLOKE
EVER
!” He draws out the last word, and with his accent it sounds like, EEV-AH!

I can tell my returning smile must be nearly resplendent—victorious. I catch hold of it fast, attempt to appear neutral and peek at their reaction.

The girls shrug in a too-bad gesture and drive away.

Stone examines me. “You alright, Sunshine? You didn’t look very happy a second ago.”

“Fine. I’m fine.” I’m still shaking with anger-adrenaline.

“You’re not—” He stops mid-thought. “Ooo, someone got jealous.”

“Did not!”

“Oh yeah you did. Like a territorial cat.” He meows and claws at the air.

He’s obviously excited over this development. I’m mortified and can only imagine how many shades of red on the color chart my face is turning.

Stone flips his armrest out of his way and gets his body all up next to me—he’s still only wearing underwear!

“I like it—makes you even more enchanting.” He uses a gentle hand to hold my hair up and runs his tongue up the length of my neck to my ear, where he breathes torridly, “I want you…
alone
.”

That could mean alone together or exclusively. Either way is provocative and serves as a soothing balm for my ego. “Yeah?”

“Oh Yeah, Em. No intelligent, sane man could look at or think of any other woman when you’re next to him.”

That just about does me in and I blush.

“Ahh, there she is—my Sunshine. Love when you get that pouty bottom lip between your teeth. Makes me want to do it to you too.”

Despite the probability of a massive LA freeway pile-up, he leans his head in and nibbles at my mouth.

“Oh God, Stone. Clothes,” I groan. “Please.”

“First time I ever had a call to keep my clothes
on
.”

“Do you often striptease in the front seat of your car?”

“Nope, this was a first.” He laughs gently. “In fact, I was really only trying to change. You’re the one who made me go all rowdy.”

With that, he twists and reaches into the backseat for a moment and comes back with fistfuls of clothes. He pulls it all on—loose fitting blue denim jeans and a black tank top—and exclaims, “That’s a hell of a lot more comfortable than a suit.”

How does he always look so amazingly sexy?

“I probably… was… maybe… a
little
jealous,” I admit.

He shifts closer and runs his hand up my leg. “Baby, I’ve only got you in my sights.” He traces his fingertips to the sensitive skin behind my knee and stops to etch lazy little circles. “All I’ve wanted to do since I picked you up is get my hands up your dress.”

I need an oxygen machine. Or a ventilator.

That’s when my phone rings. Worst. Possible. Timing. Or best? Yep, best—there’s no way I was resisting him for long.

It continues ringing. What is it with the people in my life and setting ringtones in
my
phone?!

The never ever
ever
getting back together song is playing in my bag in the backseat.

“Who’s that?” Stone lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t move his hand away.

Would he believe me if I said Taylor Swift? Doubtful. “Ummm…”

He pulls back to get a better look at my face. “Did Vi change her ringtone?”

When I say nothing he deduces, “That’s not Vi’s ringtone. Why would it be?”

Shit!
“Don’t worry about it. Not important. Whoever it is, it’ll go to voicemail and I’ll deal with it later.”

“I knew it! It’s the tosser.” Mr. Grab-hands is now in the backseat grabbing for my phone.

Had the tone been a tweeting bird or a ringing bell, none of this chaos would be ensuing right now. But my best friend thinks it’s good for my psyche that I hear confirming mantras, especially the one that says I am
never ever ever
getting back with Viktor—ever.

The phone stops ringing. “Bloody hell, missed it. HA! Gotta love the profile photo.” Stone settles back into the front seat with my phone in hand.

“Is it still the picture of the glob of roadkill?” I ask.

“Nope, looks like a movie still from
Texas Chainsaw Massacre
—some bloke’s getting decapitated.”

“She must have done that recently.” I’d never even seen the movie.

Stone snickers again.

“Now what?” I’m afraid to ask.

“She has his name as ED, aka Erectile Dysfunction.”

“He has several nicknames dubbed upon him by Violet. A couple weeks ago it was WS, aka Whale Shit. Then she took it off; said it was an insult to whales everywhere. Then it was JAD, Justa Dumbass.”

He snorts a laugh before asking, “Why’s he still ringing you? Aren’t the two of you broken up?”

“Yes. As of a year ago.”

“So why isn’t he deleted from your mobile?”

I hate this question.

“Em?”

“I did—I had—deleted him. He still calls, albeit irregularly.” Usually when I’m starting to feel good about my life. “Stays in touch… especially with my father. He’s a choreographer for the company and sometimes calls me to consult.”

“In other words, he’s a selfish prick who doesn’t really want you to get over him, so he hangs in there just enough so you can’t quite heal… like a bad piece of shrapnel.”

“Pretty good analogy,” I admit.

“What’s his name?”

“Oh, please don’t.”

“Okay, but I’ll have to make up my own,” he states with glee. “Dinky Dick? Tiny Tim? Pathetic Peter? We should give him a call and tell him how happy you are.”

“Uhh… no.” I feel desperate to distract him from his present course of thought. “We should put the phone back in my bag and get back to your hands being under my dress.”

“EMELIE CARTIER!” He bursts out laughing. “What a filthy mind you have!”

But the universe seems to have it out for me today, giving me happiness then taking it away, because Taylor starts belting out the song again.

Stone gets a devious, devilish glint in his eye…

Then
answers my phone!

Chapter Twelve

Stone

They are never ever getting back together!

(No bloody fucking way… ever)

“G’Day. Is this Emelie’s
ex
-boyfriend?” I say, emphasizing ex, and wink over at Em who is white knuckling the steering wheel.

“Who is this and why the hell are you answering Emelie’s phone?” ED blusters angrily.

“Ah, I’ll take that as a yes, and I’m Emelie’s new
dance partner
. Now listen, you need to stop acting like a fuckwit. Emelie’s not livin’ in the middle anymore, she’s moving on from you. It’s time for you to stop ringing her, so lose her number.”

He starts to give me an earbashing, like I knew he would. “Hey, you brought this on yourself. I don’t know how you could let an extraordinary woman like her go, but you did—in a classless, douchebag move—but I sincerely thank you for fucking up so monumentally, or I may never have met her and had the opportunity to show her what being with a real man is like.”

I end the call and turn off the ringer, throw the mobile into the backseat, and assess the damage.

Emelie isn’t smiling.

She doesn’t look exactly angry either. She seems more relieved. That’s when the pieces suddenly come together for me.

“When you were first recruited for NYB, he was a choreographer for the company, wasn’t he?”

She nods her head.

“Tell me he wasn’t on the entrance panel.”

Her expression drops. “He was,” she answers in a small voice.

“How old were you? Eighteen?”

She’s quiet for a moment before correcting me. “Seventeen.”

“And him?”

“He was thirty.”

“How long was it before he started putting the moves on you?”

Em swallows hard and tells me, “After performing in front of the panel, he pulled me off to the side and told me he could already tell I would be his muse and inspiration.”

“Motherfucker,” I growl.

“I was with him for almost three years—part of me felt like it was love because he and my dancing for the company became one and the same. I loved ballet and he was an integral part of that. He was older, more experienced…”

“Your boss, your instructor.”

“I know. It was destined for disaster. Girls talk, and the silly word frenemies is not for nothing—you were always vying for positions against your friends in the company—also making those same
friends
rivals. It didn’t take long before I understood I was part of his little harem.”

“Oh Em, that completely sucks.”

“Once I made principal and he asked me to marry him, I thought he’d commit.”

“YOU WERE ENGAGED TO THIS SON OF A BITCH?”

“For almost a year before my accident.”

“That’s not right. Not at all, Em. It’s not even in the same fucking universe as right!”

She tilts her head in my direction. “You know, you’re starting to sound a bit… jealous.”

“Well, maybe I am, Em. Maybe I am. Jealous and angry. He used you and hurt you. What I’d like to do is break his jaw.”

“Then you’ll love this next part. After the bones in my foot broke and tore through my flesh on stage midseason, during recovery, when the doctors and physical therapists gave the verdict that I’d never be able to dance en pointe for any real length of time again… it was two days later when I caught him getting a blow job from Clarissa, the dancer taking my place as principal. When we fought about it, he broke up with me. I didn’t even get the satisfaction of ending it.”

“Or cutting
it
off,” I finish for her. “No wonder your friend gives him bloody profile photos.” I shake my head. “Em, you have to stop taking his calls.”

She nods. “I know.”

Then I ask a question I’m not so sure I really want the answer to. “Do you still love him?”

“It wasn’t one of my long term life goals to be some guy’s doormat. I was so young and naïve when it started, and I’d never had a boyfriend before—I was always too busy. At first I was flattered by all his attention and thought I was in love with him. But then I got scared to end things—because I realized he held my future in his hands.” She shrugs and smiles a little. “Live and learn.”

“We’re almost there, Sunshine.” I have a plan. “Take this next exit and pull into the servo. We need petrol.”

I’m happy to see her cheeky smile as she says, “The servo? And don’t you mean
gas
? It’s not like you got to America yesterday. You know what we call it here.”

“Hey, just because you Americans don’t know the difference between petrol and gas doesn’t mean I have to join you in your ignorance.”

She just laughs at that and pulls into the car park at the servo.

When she hops out of the Jeep, I cut her off at the front, and sweep her up into my arms.

Like a koala, she locks her legs around my waist and her arms around my shoulders and laughs in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“This.” With my left hand I pull her gorgeous face to mine and kiss her with the sole intention of melting her whole being and making her panties dripping wet. With my right, I snap our photo with her mobile.

She doesn’t even hear the selfie being taken. I seriously consider hitting send and being done with it.

When she pulls back for air she whispers, “Wow.”

“Definitely.” I completely agree. “I took a photo of us with your mobile and want to send it to mine.”

“Just now? When we were kissing?”

“Hmm, mmm.” Lifting the mobile so only I can see the photo, I admire the lovely soft porn—her legs all bare and wrapped up around me, the tiny flowy skirt shoved out of the way—only my denim protecting her from the behemoth. “Oh, it’s nice.”

She reaches for the device, but I hold it away from her.

“Hey! Let me see it!” she says playfully and innocently.

Now I’m in a rough spot. I feel the bite of possessiveness. I want to send it to ED. I want to hurt the wanker. I want him to know she’s no longer available. He deserves it.

But she doesn’t. She deserves better. She deserves choice.

For her, I release my pride. “What do you think?” I ask, showing her the screen.

She goes all boneless in my arms while scarlet blossoms over her cheekbones. “I really like it.”

“Me too.” I send it to my mobile, give her a squeeze, and set her feet back on earth. “You know, if you wanted to…” I set the phone in her palm. “You could message it to ED. Let him know you’re over him.”

She glimpses the photo, working the idea through her mind. Her small mouth creases.

I walk away, leaving her to her thoughts, and pump some petrol into the tank.

Em is still standing there looking at her mobile when I come back around five minutes later.

“I’m going inside to wash up, can I get you something to drink?”

“Yes, please, anything.”

When I come back out with clean hands and a couple of green teas, she’s sitting in the passenger side wearing a thoughtful expression.

Fuck.
I shouldn’t have answered her mobile. And although I definitely should’ve snapped that photo for myself, I shouldn’t have told her she should send it to him.
Jealous prick.
I was totally out of line.

“Hey,” I try.

“Hey.” She matches my inflection.

“Tea?”

“Thanks.” I pass the tall can over.

“You okay?”

A huge grin tugs at the corners of her mouth then spreads wide across her whole face.

“It was a brilliant idea. I sent the picture to him with a text that read: We are never ever getting back together. I have a new life and you’re not part of it. I won’t be taking your calls anymore. As you can see, my mouth and body are entirely too busy with much—caps—MUCH bigger and better things. The end.”

She’s laughing almost giddily and I’m awestruck.

“IT’S FUCKING LIBERATING!” she shouts happily with her mouth raised to the roof.

I can’t help but reiterate, “Bigger and better, huh?”

“So much bigger and better!” She’s all pumped with newfound power.

I’m so fucking proud of her. “I’m going to make you forget all about him, Em.”

“Oh yeah?” she challenges.

“Yeah.” Challenge accepted.

We park close to the Long Beach Pike Ferris wheel and pier. After sliding my credit card through the meter, I sling my heavy backpack over my shoulders.

“What have you got in that thing?” she jokes. “A dead body?”

I contemplate that. It’s fun to think that it’s actually ED and I’m going to throw him off the pier for the sharks to find.

I answer her with a peck on the cheek then admire the way she blushes. I’m obviously developing an obsessive occupation with everything Emelie—including the way her cream-colored skin reacts to everything I say or do.

As we walk down the boardwalk to the Pike I take hold of her hand. “Why do you dance, Em?”

“You mean, why
did
I dance?” she corrects. “It was like air to me. I needed it to survive. To express who I was and what I was feeling. Since I got hurt and everything blew up in my face”—she shrugs tensely—“it seems as if I’ve been holding my breath.”

She pauses thoughtfully then adds, “When it happened, it was as if time just stopped and I’ve been left looking out of a dirty windshield ever since—you see the world going by and you can watch it, but it moves on without you; like you’re not a part of it.” She pinches her eyebrows together. “That’s more than you asked for.”

I confess, “I like to know what you’re feeling and what makes you tick. You can tell me anything you want to.”

Em peers up at me from under her lashes. Her eyes shine. “Why do you dance?”

“Because when I do, I feel completely alive—it’s a high I get no other way,” I explain. “Of course sex with you is another high I could definitely get addicted to.”

If I haven’t already.
Emilie is an easy drug to take—one hit, you’re hooked.

“About that, I know we were—are—having fun, and earlier in the car…”

“Earlier this morning and late last night too…” I add.

“Yeah, you and your magic… wonder-bod, but to seriously work I think maybe we should really keep it—”

“Shhh…” I place a finger over her luscious lips. “Don’t break the spell.”

“Spell?”

“The current of energy we generate together. It’s fucking powerful, Em. Every time you’re close to me it crackles and sizzles in the air all around us, through us. You feel it, I know you do.”

My head is drunk with a sensation that makes me feel like I’ve consumed a fifth of euphoria. If that were a real thing.

“Can’t fight it, beautiful. It’s like a lit fuse on a stick of dynamite.”

The sun is blazing overhead in a cloudless sky, the blue ocean waves are crashing to shore, surfers are catching the best swells, and the boardwalk is filled with activity that emits a carnival-like atmosphere and electricity all its own. Add that to the fuel Emilie and I are producing between us, and it’s a fucking high voltage superconductor.

Vendors are selling colorful rainbows of helium balloons; skateboarders in tees or singlets, boardies, and Chucks or thongs skim by; runners jog around us; beach bunnies in bikinis and blokes powerlifting are all soaking it up. A few netball games are going on for fun, and Frisbee players are catching some air. There are sun and sand junkies, tourists, and lovers—yeah, perfect conduit.

I breathe it into my lungs, take it through my nose, and let it oxygenate and infuse my muscles and organs—it pumps through my heart and surges through my veins.

Em gives me the same sensation. With her here, I’m juiced up a thousand times stronger, higher, and electrified like I’m holding onto a livewire.

“There is nothing better than an unsuspecting audience,” I say on an exhale.

“A what?”

I throw a cheeky grin in her direction, set my pack down, kneel next to it and pull out an old school boom box and a large disposable coffee cup.

“Oh my God!” I hear Em gasp next to me.

I adjust the controls, stand back up and say, “Would you be a doll and press this button when I give you the cue?”

Her pretty jaw unhinges with surprise, but she manages a nod.

“That’s my girl.”

I’m buzzing with confidence and the incredible feeling that the entire world is fucking mine—it’s the perfect day: the weather is glorious, there are probably a few hundred people around, and I have the sexiest MC ever. I turn my head back and nod.

She sets her delicate finger against the play button and the intro to 50 Cent’s “Candy Shop” comes detonating through the speakers.

I warm myself up as I perform with some arm work—pop, locks, and robotics—and then bring it into my feet—easy moonwalk, classic foot grooves. Soon, my body begins to flow with the rhythm. I touch the side of my face and create a wave that moves up and down through me. A crowd is beginning to form around us.