Stripped E-Book

Nikki Chase

• Herausgeber: Nikki Chase
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

I broke my own rules for him. For one mind-blowing, toe-curling night. Now he’s back, and he wants all of me. He wants to know all my deep, dirty secrets. He won’t stop until he’s stripped me bare. I never thought I’d see him again, especially not in this sleepy little town. He’s not a SEAL anymore, but otherwise he’s just as tall, dark, and dominating as I remember. I can see the hunger in his eyes. It makes me want to surrender, to submit to his desires. I want his hard, sculpted body pinning me down, claiming me as his property. Then, he moves in next door. Perfect, right? Except I need to stay away from him. He's completely, non-negotiably off-limits, even if he says he wants to protect me, even if I crave his intoxicating touch. He’s not supposed to be here. There shouldn’t be any trace of my old life left.

Leseprobe

Stripped

A Bad Boy Next Door Romance

Nikki Chase

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Copyright © 2017 Nikki Chase

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book is for mature readers. It contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some.

All sexual activity in this work is consensual and all sexually active characters are 18 years of age or older.

Contents

Stripped

1. Jessica

2. Jacob

3. Jessica

4. Jacob

5. Jessica

6. Jacob

7. Jessica

8. Jacob

9. Jessica

10. Jacob

11. Jessica

12. Jacob

13. Jessica

14. Jacob

15. Jessica

16. Jacob

17. Jessica

18. Jacob

19. Jessica

20. Jacob

21. Jessica

22. Jacob

23. Jessica

24. Jacob

25. Jessica

26. Jacob

27. Jessica

28. Jessica

29. Jacob

30. Jessica

31. Jacob

32. Jessica

33. Jacob

34. Jacob

35. Jessica

36. Jacob

37. Jessica

38. Jacob

39. Jessica

40. Jacob

41. Jessica

Epilogue

Preview: His Virgin

1. Caine

2. Daisy

3. Caine

About the Author

Stripped

A Bad Boy Next Door Romance

1

Jessica

Three Years Ago

“Come on, it’s my birthday.” The guy grabs my wrist, hard. His lips form into the shape of a smile and the apples of his cheeks shift up, but something dangerous flashes in his cold eyes.

His friends around us cheer from their couches, their hungry gaze flicking between my half-naked body and the dancer who’s currently on stage.

“Happy birthday,” I shout over the music that’s blaring in the background, then give him my best customer-service smile and pull my wrist away. “But I don’t do anything beyond lap dances.”

He’s not letting go. At first glance, his arm looks like it’s draped lazily over the arm of the couch, but his big muscles are flexed.

“What time do you get off?,” he insists.

“Let me go,” I say through gritted teeth. “Or I’ll have to call security.”

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s have a little fun. I thought strippers were supposed to be fun.” That fake smile on his otherwise expressionless face is seriously creeping me out. What an asshole. I look around to see if any bouncer is looking my way.

“Don’t be a creep, man.” One of the asshole’s friends taps him on the shoulder with an annoyed scowl on his face. “Take a hint. She’s not into you.”

“Fuck you,” the asshole says with an annoyed, embarrassed chuckle. He finally lets go of my hand.

I take two steps back and shoot the friend a grateful look. He nods at me and mouths a silent sorry.

The friend—my savior—doesn't look friendly at all. His handsome, angular facial features are frozen in a perma-grump, but something in his intense dark eyes doesn't quite fit the gruff exterior.

Like the rest of his group, he’s a big guy with beefy muscles and hair shaved close to the scalp. I’d bet all my tips tonight that they’re military.

The guy who just saved me… Even standing here among other big, strong men, he towers over everyone else. Wide shoulders, broad chest, hard muscles all over. Through his white crewneck, I can almost make out the lines of his chest and abs underneath, even with the dim lighting inside the club.

Now, if he were the one to ask me for something more than a lap dance…

Well, it would still lead to nothing, actually. I’m serious about my policy to never see any of my customers outside the club.

Still, as I make my way across the floor toward the dressing room, I wonder if he's checking me out my ass.

Good thing I’ve got my stripper strut down pat. It's not hard, really. Just wear impossibly high heels. They push your butt out and force you to swing your hips.

It takes a lot of practice to stand and dance on these babies for hours every night, but my feet still hurt sometimes. Like now, when my shift is almost over.

Most of the men have their eyes on Desiree, who’s wrapping one long leg around the pole as she sways her hips seductively to the loud music. The men standing right by the edge of the stage are shouting at her like they’re her choreographers.

“Show me your ass, baby!”

“Oh yeah, shake those moneymakers!”

A few men sitting at the tables check me out as I walk past, their lusty gaze roaming all over my exposed cleavage, my uncovered midriff, my bare legs.

While the military guys from the group I entertained are fit young men, the average patron in a strip club is… Well, not in such a good shape.

I don’t know why my co-workers date these men. It’s not like they go on to have healthy relationships. From the stories of the girls I work with, dating a customer only leads to trouble.

No doubt the fact that the guy has, at some point in time, walked into the club and gotten a lap dance from his girlfriend affects the relationship dynamics profoundly.

According to the girls who have told their stories in the dressing room, boyfriends bury their resentment at first until it all blows up into ugly arguments and accusations.

“Here’s $20. Maybe that’ll get you in the mood,” said one such boyfriend.

“How was your fucking day? Been rubbing that pussy all over random guys’ dicks all night, as usual?”

“Why won’t you quit for me? Still holding out for a richer guy, huh? I’m too poor to be your sugar daddy?”

Yeah, no. I don’t want any of that in my life.

I enter the dressing room and close the door behind me, shutting out the loud music and the even louder crowd.

“Busy night,” I say to no one in particular as I step out of my shoes.

There’s no answer. Strange.

Someone is always in the dressing room, changing or doing make-up or exchanging the latest gossip. This silence is unusual.

There’s a row of mirrors in front of me, while some lockers line the wall beside me. On the other side of the room, a tall cabinet where we store our costumes and makeup items separates the changing room from the showers.

The smooth concrete floor feels cold on my bare feet as I step toward the cabinet. When I peek behind it, I realize why it’s so quiet.

Nancy stands in the corner, her shoulders hunched, as if she’s trying to make herself as small as possible. Stan, the owner of the club, towers over her, his stance aggressive.

When Nancy’s terrified gaze lands on me, Stan turns around with a glare.

“Everything okay, guys?” My voice comes out steady even though my heart is jumping against my rib cage. Stan is a big, scary guy, but I can’t just watch Nancy in distress and do nothing.

Stan grunts in reply and stomps past me to leave the room. Dance music pours inside when he opens the door, only to be muted again once it’s closed.

“Are you okay, Nance?” I close the gap between us and pull her body into a hug. She’s shaking. Poor thing.

Nobody quite knows the exact nature of the relationship between Stan and Nancy, but all the guys know enough to never even speak to Nancy and all the girls know enough to stay away when they’re together. All the girls except me, that is.

“Yeah.” With her body crumpling into my arms and her eyes avoiding mine, she doesn’t sound very convincing.

“Are you sure? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No. Really, I’m fine.” Nancy pulls away from me and gives me a weak smile. She looks so pretty when she smiles. Too bad she doesn’t do it often. “Done for the night?”

“Yeah. I should go home now. My mom’s probably fallen asleep in front of the TV again. With no blanket. She gets sick a lot these days. I don’t know why it’s so hard for her to just grab a blanket.” I get my clothes from the locker and change.

“I don’t know how you do it. Classes during the day, working during the night, and then you go home to take care of your mom.” Nancy leans against the cabinet, her arms folded across her chest like a shield.

I shrug. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

“You should spend some time on yourself or you’ll go crazy. You’re young. Have a little fun.”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually.” I smile as I put on my ballet flats. They feel like heaven after eight hours on my ridiculous heels. I look back at Nancy before walking out. “Take care, Nance.”

“You too, Scarlett,” Nancy says.

Some girls don’t mind sharing their real names with one another, but I use my stage name exclusively. I’m not going to be a dancer forever after all. This is only temporary.

I make my way outside and toward the back door of the club, the beat of the bass from the speakers thumping into my skull.

Maybe Nancy’s right. Maybe I should take a break and have a little fun one of these days.

My mind brings back a recent memory, of the guy who saved me earlier. He seems like the kind of guy I can have some fun with. I can just imagine the weight of that big, hard body pinning me down, those muscles rippling beneath his skin as he moves…

God, it’s been way too long since the last time I got some action. I swear I don’t usually fantasize about random strangers, but there’s something about that guy.

Sure, a relationship with a customer is a bad, bad idea, especially when I already have so much on my plate.

One night of fun, though? Surely it couldn’t hurt.

I’d make an exception for a guy like that, if he’d only ask. Too bad it’s always the weird ones who do.

2

Jacob

Three Years Ago

I take a long drag from my cigarette, the long, slender stick delivering a dose of sweet, sweet poison into my body.

I lean my back against the wall in the dark alley and flick off the ash forming at the lit end of the cigarette, watching it disintegrate into thousands of little white bits mid-air.

The door opens just as I exhale the smoke out of my mouth. Before it has a chance to dissipate, a girl walks out the door and right into it.

“Jesus,” she says in the middle of her coughs. She waves her hand in front of her face and makes a face at me. “Dude.”

“Sorry.” I shoot her an apologetic look.

As I look more closely at her face through the thinning veil of cigarette smoke, I realize she’s the stripper Andy creeped on earlier tonight. This is my second apology to her, and we’ve only exchanged exactly three words so far.

“Oh, hey, it’s you,” she says, her face lighting up with recognition. “That’s fine. Thanks for rescuing me earlier, by the way.”

“No problem.”

“I had no idea military guys smoked. I thought you guys were the fit, healthy types,” she says, her lips curling up to form a dazzling smile. I guess both my apologies have been accepted.

“No. Plenty of us smoke. You’re confusing us with gym rats.”

She flashes me her straight rows of pearly whites, tiny little lines appearing on her nose and around her eyes. A small girlish giggle escapes her rosy lips.

There’s a lot of makeup on her face—probably something her job requires. She has beautiful natural features, though. Perfectly pouty lips, fiery red hair, and big green eyes. I bet she’d look amazing with a bare face.

Although she’s wearing a loose black T-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans now, I already know how tantalizing her body is underneath. Perky tits that defy gravity, full hips, and a slender waist.

So far, I’ve seen her body almost naked, but I haven’t seen her natural face yet. This seems a little backward and upside down as far as introductions go, but I’m not complaining.

“I actually did quit, though. Smoking, I mean,” I say quickly before she decides to walk away and disappear into the night.

“Oh?” She crosses her arms in front of her chest, inadvertently pushing her tempting tits up and out. It’s strange how she looks sexier like this than she did dancing with her top off. Maybe it’s the way our bodies gravitate naturally toward each other. With her right arm propped against the wall, she turns to face me. “And now you're picking it back up just so you can quit again later?”

I should be offended. There's nothing I hate more than self-righteous people.

But the way she says it, I don't feel like she's judging me for my admittedly poor decision-making skills. Instead, it feels like light teasing, like she's an old friend who's gently making fun of me—if that old friend were sexy as hell and looking at me with obvious want in her eyes.

“You must know a lot of smokers,” I say, chuckling.

“Uh, hello? You do know where I work, right?”

I have to laugh at that. Damn. She's hot and funny.

“Yeah, you have a point there.” I take another drag from the cigarette and blow the smoke out the side of my mouth, away from her. “I really don't smoke much anymore, though.”

“Life getting stressful?”

“Yeah, you can say that again.” I take a deep breath. “They're shipping me out in a couple of weeks. I just found out today.”

“Shit.” She shoots me a look of sympathy that somehow doesn't look like pity. How does she do that?

“Yeah. Shit.”

She goes silent, her gaze distant, like she’s thinking about something.

I take the moment to drink her in with my eyes, watching the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. It dawns on me that I can just grab her, pin her against the wall, and take her right here, right now. A dainty little thing like her, I can overpower her without even trying. And I have a feeling she wouldn’t mind either.

We seem to have hit a conversational dead end, where neither one of us knows how to get back on the easy track. I don't want her to leave yet, though. And she doesn't seem to be in a rush either.

“You hungry?” I break the silence.

“Depends.”

“Depends on?”

“Whether you’re asking me out.” Her deep green eyes look straight at me, her pupils dilated in the darkness. She has a cheeky smile on her face.

“What if I am?” I smirk and trap her gaze with mine.  

“Then I’d say yes. But that’s only if you were asking me out.” Her smile grows wider as she challenges me with her eyes.

“So, if I were asking you out and you were to say yes, where would you want to go?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “You’re the one who’s hypothetically asking me out on this hypothetical date.”

I square my shoulders and stub out the cigarette on the wall, a chuckle escaping my mouth.

Holy hell. I’ve been stressed out all day and not even a night out with my brothers could take my mind off the mission, but just a few minutes with this girl has turned this night around.

“You’re not going to believe this, but I’ve never done this before,” she says breathlessly underneath me while I slip one hand inside her shirt, feel the warmth of her skin on my fingers, and cup her breast.

“Mm-hmm.” My mouth is too busy tasting the salty sheen of sweat along the column of her neck to answer.

“I’m serious. I…” Her voice trails off and turns into a raspy moan when I bite down on her flesh. I roll her hardened nipple between my fingers.

She hasn’t even touched me yet and I’m already painfully hard. My cock strains against my jeans.

She gently pushes me with her small hands. Everything about her is so fucking delicate. It makes me want to protect her and crush her all at once.

“I’m serious. I never go out with guys I meet at the club.”

“Technically, we met outside the club.”

Before she can protest, I grab a fistful of her hair and yank her head to the side, exposing her long neck to my hungry mouth. My free hand travels south to unbutton her jeans and pull them down her thighs, along with her cotton panties.

“Take them off,” I say as my fingers explore her soaked folds and find her clit.

She gasps, her eyes glazing over. Her body is so damn sensitive, too. My cock pulses in my jeans and I press it against her bare thigh, showing her my impatience.

“I said… Take. Your. Jeans. Off.” I press her clit with every word I say, making her shudder deliciously against my chest. I let my thumb rest on her clit without moving. I can see this is driving her crazy by the way she lifts her hips up to gain more contact. I pin her down with my weight. “Be a good girl and take off your jeans. Your panties too. And then I’ll continue.”

She wiggles her legs to get out of her jeans and panties, her eyebrows taut with concentration. Every time it looks too easy for her to complete the task, I press lightly on her clit and make her gasp.

“Good girl,” I say when she’s finally done. None of the other men at the club gets to see this, or touch her at all. Yet here she is, practically offering herself on a silver platter just for me.

I lazily rub her clit with my fingers, while my other hand unbuttons and unzips my own jeans. I kick them off as I rub more insistently on her clit.

She starts to tremble and shake. I bite down on her throat, triggering a violent orgasm within her. She throws her head back and arches her back off the bed, her eyes squeezed shut. She moans and grabs onto my arms like her life depended on it.

Keeping my finger on her clit to extend her climax, I line up the head of my cock and push inside her.

Her eyes snap open. She looks right into my eyes as her muscles grab onto my cock. She looks so hot when she’s coming. It feels tight and wet inside her. She bathes my shaft with her juices, allowing me to slide in smoothly.

Fuck. I wanted to stretch this out as long as possible, but I’m not going to last long like this. Her pussy is milking me for all I’m worth.

I try to maintain a slow, steady pace as I slide in and out of her, but she wouldn’t have it. Her fingernails drag down my back and dig into my flesh as she desperately pulls me closer. She rocks her hips off the bed, pumping up to meet my thrusts, urging me on.

I could pin her down and do it slow, but I don’t want that either. Ah, fuck it.

I get up onto my knees and pull her up. With her dainty feet on my shoulders and my hands on her tiny waist, I plunge into her with everything I’ve got. Harder. Deeper. Faster.

She explodes beneath me as I slam into her again and again. My balls feel heavy when they slap against her, like they’re about to boil over. She shudders and quivers, her muscles massaging my cock. I unleash and fuck her with reckless abandon, until I finally come deep inside her.

I collapse onto her, both of us still wearing our shirts, now soaked with sweat. We lay there for a minute or two, catching our breaths as we gently come down from the high.

“I know you said you’ve never done that before,” I whisper into her ear. “But how about we do it again soon, before I ship out?”

“Yeah. I’d like that,” she says.

A smile spreads across my face, blissfully unaware that she’s lying to me, even while my cock remains buried inside her.

3

Jessica

Present Time

The drive to Ashbourne High School is short. I probably spent more time waiting for the engine to warm up than I did on the road.

I could've walked from home—I actually do that sometimes—but I have a bunch of stuff to bring with me this morning. With my bag on my shoulder and a thick stack of paper on both my hands, I struggle out of my old beat-up Toyota and step into the school hallway, passing the rows of red lockers.

“Morning, Miss Lake,” a student says as she walks past.

“Morning.” I nod and smile back at her.

I read somewhere that smiling even if you don’t feel like it can make you feel better, and I find that to be true this morning. By the time I reach my classroom, my anxiety has simmered down a little.

I drop the stack of papers onto my big wooden desk with a loud thump and breathe a sigh of relief. It’s pretty heavy and my arms were getting tired.

I take a seat and cast a quick glance around the classroom.

On my first day here, I came to work and saw a dreary, uninspiring space. Grey linoleum floor, yellowish cinderblock walls, and off-white drop ceiling tiles. It looked depressing, which wasn’t too different from the way I was feeling then.

It was funny. Not in a ha-ha way, but in an ironic way. I’d always wanted to be a teacher. Every night when I was taking my clothes off on stage, I’d dreamed about having my own class of young minds to inspire.

Then on the first day my dream came true, I was at the lowest point of my life—which is saying a lot, considering all the the messed up things I’ve gone through in my twenty-five years of existence.

It was pretty underwhelming. So my life-long dream of being a teacher came true… Yay, I guess?

I had to put up some colorful boards and posters to make the classroom look more lively. It looks a lot better now, which makes me feel better in the mornings. But then, I also feel a lot better these days, in general. I don’t constantly look over my shoulder to check if anybody’s following me, for starters.

Ever since I moved to Ashbourne, I never talk much about me. My big mouth has gotten me into a lot of trouble in the past, and I’m here to start anew.

It’s probably stupid or downright suicidal of me to choose Ashbourne as the the place to build a new life for myself, but it wasn’t even a choice. The decision was made for me that night I walked into the dressing room and saw Stan’s hands wrapped around Nancy’s neck.

“Hey! What are you doing?” I screamed.

Sure, Stan was my boss and I could’ve lost my job. But I couldn’t watch a friend being strangled without saying anything, just because I’d lose a shitty stripping job. There were a bunch of other strip joints in town, and stripping was supposed to be a temporary job in the first place.

Stan snapped his head around to see me. Anger flared in his eyes. He let go of Nancy and she crumpled onto the floor like a piece of paper trash. Turning his attention to me, Stan marched toward the door, where I stood with one hand on the doorknob.

“Bitch.” Stan grabbed my shoulders and pushed me against the wall.

The impact hit my back, hard. I winced from the pain. Despite my initial display of bravery, I was shaking. Stan was so much bigger and stronger than I was, and nobody could hear anything that happened here, not when the loud music was drowning every other sound.

“Mind your own fucking business,” he barked, his spit landing on my face. He snarled as he watched the fear in my eyes. Satisfied, he took his hands off me. He opened the door to leave, but not before giving me one final warning. “If you say one word to anybody, you’re going to be in a world of pain.”

The door slammed and I jumped from the noise. I breathed a sigh of relief from having narrowly escaped Stan’s wrath. My heart was pounding in my chest, my breathing shallow and irregular.

Nancy was still sitting on the floor with a dazed look on her face. I rushed to her side. I felt so bad for Nance. This was a one-off terrifying occurrence for me, but she probably lived with this fear every day.

“Are you okay?” This wasn’t the first time I asked her this question, having walked into their arguments too many times before. But this was by far the worst one I’d seen.

Nancy nodded weakly, her head still lowered with her gaze stuck on the floor.

“Are you sure? Are you hurt anywhere? Do you want to go see a doctor?”

She quickly turned her head toward me. Our eyes met. “No. No doctor. I’m fine. Please. No doctor,” she pleaded.

My chest tightened. I could see she needed help, but what could I do? I had a host of problems myself.

I loved Nancy, but I knew there was nothing I could do if she didn’t want my help. I could tell the authorities about what he was doing to her, but if she were to deny my story then it would be my safety on the line.

“Okay, Nance,” I said in a soft voice. I pulled her into a hug and rubbed her back.

“No doctor, Scarlett. I’m fine.” Her voice was shaking.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. I promise you. No doctor.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated.

“I know.” I paused while I thought of a good way to say what was on my mind. I say, “If you’re ever not fine, you can call me any time, okay? Day or night.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah. You’re fine now. I know. But just in case something ever happens, something bad, and you’re not fine, I’m here.”

“Yeah,” she said.

“I have a nice little apartment. It’s not fancy or anything, but it’s all mine. It’s close to the bus stops and train stations. I can go anywhere I want, it’s so convenient. There’s a sofa bed in the living room. My mom used to lie down there and watch the TV. It’s a nice big-screen TV and nobody ever watches it anymore. It’s all sad and lonely now, that poor TV,” I said, making a lame joke.

It was stupid, but I felt like I had to fill the silence or else terror was going to expand and fill the room, permeate every corner and seep into us both. So I just said whatever came first to my mind.

“My mom,” Nancy said after a long pause. She never mentioned any of her family members before, and I never asked. It was an unspoken rule in the club. No personal questions asked.

“What’s with your mom?” I speak in a soft, soothing voice.

“Stan knows where she lives.”

A chill ran down my spine. “Has Stan ever said anything about your mom, Nance?”

She stayed silent, like she regretted opening her mouth.

“I’m not going to tell anyone. You can talk to me,” I said.

“I know, but…” Her voice trailed off, the incomplete sentence hanging in the air, preventing me from going on about something stupid like my high-definition TV.

“Hey, you can’t start saying something and not finish it. You can tell me anything. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“He’s going to hurt you if he knows that you know,” she said.

“Don’t worry about me.” I hugged Nancy tighter and stroked her hair. I couldn’t believe she was concerned about me when she was in way more danger than I was. “I’m not scared of Stan,” I lied. “I’m already planning to quit anyway. I’m going to leave and be a teacher. I don’t need him.”

“He said… He said if I left, he was going to go after my mom.”

Damn it. I’d guessed right. I put my hands on Nancy’s shoulders and pulled away just far enough to look straight into her eyes. “Nance, you need to stop worrying about other people and start looking after yourself.” I took a deep breath. “Look. If you ever decide to leave, I’ll help you make sure your mom is safe. Okay?”

“Okay.” She nodded.

I had no idea what I was going to do, or if there was anything I could do at all. But even without ever talking to Nancy’s mom, I knew she’d want Nancy to be safe and happy, above all else. And that was all that mattered in that moment: making Nancy feel safe enough to do what she had to do.

Only I had no idea what it was going to cost for Nancy to leave her abuser.

The school bell rings, dragging me back to the present. As freshmen start to file into the classroom and take their seats, I force myself to forget about the past and put on my teaching hat.

The circumstances are less than ideal, but I’m going to appreciate the hell out of my dream job. After all, I don’t know when it will be snatched away from me.

4

Jacob

Present Time

“Excuse me, Sir. Is there a problem here?” I pasted a smile on my face while my eyes shot daggers at the diner whose hand is still resting on Claire’s behind.

“I don’t remember calling you over, waiter,” he said, spitting out the last word like an insult he obviously meant it to be. He squeezed Claire’s ass while he was staring me down.

Fuck this guy.

That’s what I wanted to say. Fuck off, asshole. But it was my workplace and I had to stay professional. Which apparently meant just grinning and bearing it, no matter what kind of shit customers threw at you.

Claire stepped away from the table. She stood behind me and whispered, “It’s okay, Jacob. I’m fine. Let it go.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises, Sir. Claire here has repeatedly asked you to stop touching her and you obviously haven’t been listening.” I balled my fists and dropped them on the table to show him I meant business.

“What are you talking about? You don’t have a problem with me, do you, sweetheart?” He raised his eyebrows at Claire, who was still standing behind me, using me as some sort of a human shield.

“She’s too polite to say it, but we want you to leave, please,” I repeated. I leaned closer and looked straight into his beady eyes, making it clear that there was going to be trouble if he didn’t comply.

He drew back, fear overtaking his features for a few seconds before his face grew red with anger—and perhaps embarrassment, as other diners were starting to cast curious glances toward us.

He knew better than to pick a fight with me. Most people do. I’m bigger and meaner than most people.

He grabbed his coat and gathered his belongings. “Your manager is going to hear about this,” he said in a low voice to avoid attracting even more attention.

I often saw him come in with his family, so it was incredibly stupid of him to try to pull something like this here, if he didn’t want his wife to find out about his wandering hands. There were hundreds of other restaurants in town.

As he made his way toward the door, he looked back over his shoulder and shot me an impotent glare. The door slammed loudly when he left. He didn’t pay, of course. Cheap, dirty fucking bastard.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Claire said as she stacked the plates of half-eaten food on the table. “Now you’re in trouble.”

“He was asking for it,” I said, shrugging.

“I’m used to it, Jacob,” she said. “Dealing with difficult customers is just part of the job.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“Well, like it or not, it is. And now you’ve just made things worse. Malcolm isn’t going to be happy to hear from the guy. And you know what kind of a manager he is. He’ll fire you.”

Claire was right, of course.

The very next day, Malcolm, the manager of the diner, approached me with a sour face. Standing behind a tall counter to keep a safe distance between us, he told me to collect my stuff and leave. “The customer is always right,” he said with finality when I tried to explain why I had to do what I did.

Well, good riddance. There’s nothing I hate more than dealing with entitled people who think they can make me do whatever they want, like I’m a fucking puppet on strings.

With that kind of attitude, I don’t know why I ever thought it was a good idea for me to join the Navy. Live and learn, I guess.

To be fair, I don’t regret it. I’m glad I served as a Petty Officer in the Navy SEAL, but I’m also glad that I got out. It’s just that finding my place in civilian society isn’t easy.

At first, I tried working in a garage because I’m pretty good with my hands. The owner told me to stop coming to work because I’d told a particularly entitled customer to leave when he’d started screaming at one of the young part-timers.

After that, there was the hardware store. I got fired for pretty much the same reason.

I thought working in a less testosterone-charged place, like a diner, would mean fewer infuriating incidents, but nope.

No matter where I worked, there were always assholes who’d come in and think they were royalty and I was just some peasant they could kick around.

Not that I ever fit in very well in the Navy either. I got along great with the guys I served with—they were practically my brothers—but my superiors were arrogant, self-righteous dicks.

It was just a matter of time until they kicked me out, so I did a pre-emptive strike and quit as soon as I could. Honorable discharge, they call it.

After my string of failures at shitty, minimum-wage jobs, I met another ex-Navy SEAL guy for a beer. After hearing my story, he taught me some skills I could use to work on my own.

I’m lucky my parents had insisted on me finishing college before enlisting. I’m also pretty comfortable with risks, having spent a few years in the Navy SEAL. Both college and the Navy make me good at what I do now, so I have no regrets.

I quickly realized I could work from anywhere as long as I had a computer and Internet connection. The first thing I did, as soon as I could afford it, was to buy a Harley Davidson Fat Boy to ride across the country, make my childhood dream come true.

Now, with a lot of things, often the reality doesn’t even compare to the dream. But owning this bike totally kicks ass. I love the promising vibrations when it’s at rest, the roar of the powerful engine between my legs when I take it to the road, the wind hitting my skin through my jeans, the utter freedom of being able to go anywhere I want.

I even love it when something goes wrong with the bike and I have to get down and dirty to fix it. It gives me great satisfaction to bring it back to life every single time it breaks down.

I don’t remember every little town I’ve visited, and I have no idea where I’m going either. I’m looking for something, I suppose. I don’t know what it is, but I’ll know it when I find it.

I don’t have much company, which is both the best and the worst part of this lifestyle. I like having the freedom to do whatever I want whenever I feel like it, but it can get lonely on the road.

Every once in a while, a woman takes a liking to me and we spend a passionate, orgasmic night together. Sometimes, I see her for more than one night, but the itch to move on never goes away.

Even though I always make it clear that I’m on the move and I won’t stick around, some of them get it into their heads that they’re different and I’m going to stay this time. Then they kick up a fuss when I inevitably leave. It’s not my fault you don’t listen, honey.

According to my map, the next town in my path is called Ashbourne. I’ll grab breakfast there and check out the town, maybe spend a few days there if I can find a good place to stay.

I never make long-term plans these days. Hell, I don’t have what most people would call short-term plans. For now, all I know is where I’m eating my next meal. If there’s nothing interesting in Ashbourne, I’ll move on to the next town.

I’m way off the highway now, with thick woods on either side of the country road. Nobody but locals would normally traverse these roads. It’s a nice morning, with the sun just sleepily getting up, the first rays of light hitting the ground in blotches, filtered by the trees.

I squint my eyes to see through the smoky shield of my helmet. There’s a car stopped by the side of the road. A white sedan. As I get closer, I notice a woman standing in front of it, waving at me. The boot is popped up, the universal sign of car trouble.

I slow down and prepare to pull over. It always feels warmer when my bike comes to a stop because the wind doesn’t pummel into me anymore. But as soon as I can make out the shape of that body, the features of that face, it gets veritably hot.

Could that be her?

She looks different now. No heavy makeup, for one. And her hair is different, too. I remember the way her long, fiery red waves lit up the night, all those years ago, and now she has short, honey brown hair instead.

But it’s her. I’d bet my life on it. She gave me the best night of my life, and I’d recognize her anywhere.

5

Jessica

I pace around by my car as the robotic female voice on the phone says, “You’ve reached…,” followed by a male human voice that says, “Eddie’s Garage.” Then the automated voice takes over to finish the voicemail message. “Please leave your message after the beep.”

Damn this small town. I hang up and resist the urge to fling my phone at one of the big tree trunks in the woods that’s divided by this road. I don’t want to be stranded in the middle of nowhere and have nothing I can use to contact anyone.

I know it’s a Sunday, but this is ridiculous. Everything is closed, including the only garage in town. Everyone is either at church or hungover in bed. Some poor bastards are even hungover at church.