Someone Like You (Someone To Love Series) (2 page)

“Yeah, well”—her lips twitch like she might cry—“you’re lucky you still get to have her in your life. Tell her Auntie Tess can’t wait to see her on her birthday.”

Kit twirls her way backstage out of breath. Her bright pink tassels rotate over her nipples with glee and, in all honesty, it’s embarrassing to watch. Kit is gorgeous and wealthy, both of which are usually prerequisites if you plan on attending Garrison University. Of course, I’m far from gorgeous, more like the vanilla girl next door—and for damn sure I’m not wealthy, nor is “stripping” on my bucket list. The only reason Kit’s doing this is because she’s an adrenaline junkie. Unlike Kit, I prefer my adrenaline to mimic my bank account and run on empty. Oddly, she somehow sees stripping as a move that will advance her social status. I’m sure it will have the reverse effect on me if anyone finds out, resulting in complete and brutal social rejection at the hands of my peers.

“That was fantastic!” Kit’s dark hair is slicked into a neat bun. Her sharp features look like they belong in a magazine. “It’s just like the time I zip-lined across the Serengeti!”

“And”—I hold back the urge to mock her—“much like the wildlife at Serengeti, the animals native to this watering hole have prehensile tongues and are unable to repress the urge to mate at random.”

“Oh, Ally”—she rolls her eyes—“you’re gonna love it.” A wad of bills fringes her jewel-encrusted bikini. “I’ll see you on the floor.” She rushes back out to a mosh pit of dollar-wielding patrons.

A single dollar bill remains in her wake, and I glare at it for a moment.

I take a breath, bracing myself at the sight. That’s exactly why I’m doing this—money. It’s just for a few weeks. I’ll get a place, pay off my credit cards, and have enough to buy Ruby something nice for her fourth birthday.

“Go on.” Tess pushes me gently until I reach the lip of the stage.

My heart picks up pace. My skin breaks out in a cold sweat, and my breathing grows erratic.

“Shit,” I pant.

The speakers crackle overhead as a deep voice booms, “Let’s give it up for our next Pretty Girl, Midnight Angel!”

The bright lights blind me momentarily, and I shield my eyes as I try to get my bearings. The crowd ignites in a choir of catcalls as I try to focus all my energy on the long, metal post at the other end of the stage. The faces, the hungry hands clawing out for my attention, all turn into a dizzying blur.

“I’m going to kill Tess,” I whisper. “I’m going to
kill
Tess.” I chant my newfound mantra while I muster the courage to glance out at the crowd melting in a cigarette haze.

The full effects of my guzzling efforts come into play as I take a few uneasy steps onto the glass-bottom stage. The lights beneath my feet go off in a dizzying pattern of purples and blues as I attempt to inch my way to the pole. One twirl. That’s all Tess said it takes to get the “clientele” to open their wallets. Then I can collect cash like candy at Halloween and run like hell all the way back to Garrison.

The music switches up to one of my favorite songs, or as it will be referred to from this moment forward,
that stupid song!
Way to bookmark this catastrophe in the making. I’m sure I’ll recall every loathsome moment whenever I have the misfortune of hearing it again.

“Here I go,” I whisper.

I make a mad dash to the pole as if the room were on fire, and my foot slips out from underneath me, sending my limbs flailing in all sorts of unflattering gyrations.

The crowd breaks out in a fit of laughter, followed by whoops and howls, as if I’ve accidentally managed to do something right. It’s not until I grab onto the glorified metal staff that I note my left boob has made an Alcatraz-worthy escape from my studded brassiere.

“Crap,” I whimper, quick to correct the clothing malfunction. “Bastards,” I hiss as the laughter and sneers pick up some serious steam. I manage a quick twirl, which apparently is mandatory per management, and the room spins out of control. “Oh God, oh God, oh God…” The words gurgle out of me as I attempt to stagger my way back to Tess so I can carry out the felony I’ve been destined to commit right from the beginning and wrap my hands around her irresponsible throat.

“Let’s see it, baby!” A voice bellows from the rear as I continue to stomp my way toward the red velvet curtains with my arms spread wide, and suddenly I feel like Godzilla ready to trample an unsuspecting Tokyo.

“Come to Papa!” A greasy-looking character with long straggly hair tries to climb onto the stage, and Dell, the owner-slash-bouncer, plucks him back. Oh wait, that’s Dell. The fact I’m seeing double is not a good fucking sign.

The lights in the platform go off in a spasm, right along with the music, and it feels as though the floor just opened up and swallowed me whole. I take a few unsteady steps to my left and the crowd gives a collective gasp. I try to catch my bearings in my five-inch killer heels but end up running to my right—so dizzy, so damn tired.

My ankle turns as I do a rather inglorious swan dive right off the stage.

Oh God, don’t let this hurt.

I fall like a stone right into a pair of strong, heavily inked arms. I look up very much expecting to see Dell, or some I’m-Going-to-Hack-You-to-Pieces-Later-With-a-Butcher-Knife sleaze, but I don’t. Instead, it’s Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome with his unholy grin and alarmingly deep dimples.

“Whoa, you okay?”

“Mostly not.” Unless you count the fact I’ve reduced our metric distance within my first five minutes as a Pretty Girl. Then I’m totally okay.

“How about you and me take this party someplace else?” He broadens his sexier-than-hell smile and my stomach pinches tight. Why do I get the feeling I’ve just stepped into some frat boy’s triple-X fantasy? Although judging by those bulging biceps, and the carefully choreographed tattoos that swirl up his arms, this is no ordinary frat boy.

I bounce out of his grasp. Clearly I’ve sent him the wrong message.

“I’ll pass. The last thing I’m doing tonight is aiding in my own abduction.” The truth is, I’m just about willing to help him tie me up. The thought of what a boy like that could do to me has me halfway to that ever-elusive orgasm I’ve yet to master. I peer up at him from under my lashes. I bet his fingers know how to work more than a little magic, his gorgeous full lips too. God knows my fingers are useless. I jolt out of my sexual stupor and shake the thought away.

I dust myself off for no apparent reason and oddly my skin feels numb, most likely from the lethal levels of alcohol I’ve ingested under my sister’s twisted supervision.

“I’m not an abductor, so it’s not a problem.” His grin widens and my insides squeeze tight. I take in his lean, mean body while the tat on his left arm explodes to life as a fire-breathing dragon. “In fact, I’ll let
you
take
me
someplace. Hell, I’ll even let you bring a weapon.” He smiles widely and his dimple winks at me.

“A weapons-grade date, huh?” I lean in, amused, only the leaning doesn’t stop until my face ingloriously smacks into his granite-like chest.

“My eyes are up here,” his voice rumbles through my skull, deep and baritone. There’s a boyish quality about him, and I’m finding it alarmingly attractive. “And if you’re interested, I’ve got a baseball bat in the car I can give you.”

I straighten at the thought.

Gah!
He’s a freak!

“What the hell kind of pervert keeps a baseball bat in the trunk of his car? I bet it’s sitting right there next to the duct tape and garbage bags.” Crap. Did I just say that out loud?

He picks up his beer, and I proceed to swipe it from him and take a nice long swig.

Tess strides up and snatches the bottle from my hand.

“
Ally
,” she snipes. “Do not take beverages away from customers. And for God’s sake, try not to get ripped on your very first night.” Tess gives a little bow as she returns the bottle to Mr. Tall, Dark, and I’ve-Got-a-Baseball-Fetish.

I wave her off and snatch the bottle back. Since when did Tess become a roadblock for liberal inebriation? The occasions might be few and far between for me, but tonight the portal to my sanity is definitely ethanol based.

She lets out an incredulous breath before scuttling over to her moronic boyfriend. She’s convinced Dell is going to make an honest woman out of her even though she’s clearly aware that he shares the same relationship status with at least six other girls at the club. Dell is the biggest douche she’s ever dated and the scariest as well. He has a reputation for making people disappear: piss him off and your soul becomes eligible for the dimensional relocation program. But those are just rumors, and Tess doesn’t believe a single one of them.

“So it’s your first night, huh?” The dark-haired god raises his brows as if this new information took the sheen off my metallic panties.

“Everyone has a first day.” I glance down at my right ankle, and wonder when I wrapped a red bandana around it, only to snap out of my drunken stupor long enough to realize I’ve already managed to rack up a work-related injury. “God, it’s swollen.”

“Are you okay?” He leans in, and his warm spiced cologne intoxicates me twice as much as the champagne.

“Actually, I’m Ally,” I say, glancing down at my foot. “It’s just tweaked—I’ll live.”

“Let me see.” He gets down on one knee like some sort of baseball-bat-wielding Prince Charming and gingerly plucks off my high heel. I’m just one foot rub away from adding “feet” to his growing list of fetishes. Something in me sizzles at his touch, and I’m pretty resigned to the fact I’m about to let him have his way with more than just my foot. “You should probably ice it,” he says, carefully caressing the back of my calf, and a fire rips through me all the way up to my belly. Every inch of my body begs to have his hand ride up a little higher.

“Ally!” Kit runs over with her curls escaping her bun like little black snakes. She gives me a discreet smile at the quasi-medical attention I’m receiving at the hands of the man with the dragon tattoo. Although judging by those tats, that bad-boy smile, something tells me the medicine he practices is anything but traditional. “Okay. I see you’re in good hands.” She licks her lips after she says it. “Dell said you can take Amy’s spot in ten but if you’re hurt I’ll totally do it.”

“It’s all you,” I say, plucking off my other heel. “I’ll be sitting out the rest of the night.” And most likely every other night that follows, but I leave that part out.

She squeezes my hand with excitement before hopping her way back toward the entry. I’m pretty sure Kit just added a heavily inked wannabe med student to her You Only Live Once wish list.

“Wait,” I shout after her as she dances farther away. “Bring my purse. The doctor says I need to get home and ice this!”

Her mouth opens wide as she takes in the dark-haired suitor who manned up and caught me like a pop fly. She gives an approving wink before disappearing in a sea of bodies.

“Ice, right?” I glance up at the good doctor. “Among the other alternative treatments I’m sure you have in mind.”

“Alternative treatments?” He smolders into me, and my panties try to slide down my thighs on their own volition.

“Let me guess, you’ve got a thermometer in your Levi’s and you’d really like to take my temperature.”

His chest vibrates with a silent laugh. “Everyone knows an internal temp is the only way to go.” His voice rumbles, deep and secretive. “The name is Morgan. And I’m no doctor. But tonight I can be anything you want.”

My insides explode with a rush of pleasure at the blatant innuendo Morgan just employed.

“Consider it an honorary title I’m bestowing upon you.” I glance around for signs of Tess. I’m pretty sure she’s going to drag me away from Dr. Dragon at any moment. But do I really
want
her to?

“Bestowing upon me?” His brows rise, amused.

I’m guessing the word isn’t in his lexicon. But his dimples deepen as he bursts into another heart-stopping grin, and at the moment I don’t really care if he understands a damn thing about the King’s English.

Crap.

I try to hobble the hell away from him and his medical equipment in the event my alternate champagne-guzzling personality decides to pull him under a table for that one-night stand Tess prescribed. She’s no doctor either, but since I’m playing fast and loose with medical degrees there’s no telling where things might lead.

The ground sways as I struggle to gain my bearings.

I glance back and catch a brassy blonde wrapping her arms around him while assaulting his neck with her overblown lips. He tilts his head as if he wants it, and his eyes close for a moment, getting lost in the nirvana before he gently peels her off.

“I’m good,” he says sweetly but curtly, and she cuts me a death look as if I’m personally responsible for the rejection.

Kit reappears with my bag, and I’m quick to thank her.

“You can have my spot for the rest of the week.” My voice reverberates in my head like a tuning fork. “I’m taking off.”

I glance down at my barely there accoutrements: my ridiculously high heels that are better classified as stilts, the glorified nipple shields, the G-string I might be moved to fashion into a noose. I’m not exactly sure where it is I’m taking off to. Tess pulled a disappearing act with my street clothes hours ago.