“See? Everyone has a story. The couple holding the taxi, the angry man on the phone, the happy fashion girls. The guy…” I stared out the window with a glimpse of disgust as I looked at a guy by the stop sign. “The guy licking the stop sign. Emotion. All kinds. Not just the happy 'wedding day' kind. That's what I want to capture on film. Real life. It's not all cake and first dances.”

Kyle nodded. “Iris really f**ked you up.”

“Why can't I want to do something different?”

“Because different makes you the guy raping the stop sign. Listen, I get it. You and Iris were a duo team. Husband and wife. Iris, a top notch wedding planner. You, a top notch photographer. Your own show. So what?” Kyle picked up his phone and started scrolling through his emails, once again only half-paying attention.

“You’re not listening, Ky.”

He wasn’t.

Kyle kept staring at his cell phone and shook his head. He went to text someone. “It's my fuckin’ job to listen to you, Coop. And okay, you ended up in the funny farm for a few weeks. Big deal. What famous person hasn't taken a va-ca to the world of crazy? Look. The magazines are going mad. Neither you nor Iris is doing any interviews, and if you get out there first, POW! It will be spun in your favor. You know she's cooking up some nasty story. She always was a media whore.”

“Are you deaf?”

Kyle put down his phone and looked to me. His demeanor grew serious, something that didn’t happen often. “I know you’ve been through a lot this year. And I heard about the kid…”

“Don't.”

“Coop, I'm sorry. I know how long y’all had been trying, and for her to pull that kind of shit…”

I shifted my eyes to my plate and went about eating my food. I didn’t want to think about Iris or anything dealing with her.

Kyle’s phone went off as he received a text message. After he viewed it, he shifted from serious to extremely giddy. He turned back to me and I could tell by the smirk in his eyes that he was about to say something stupid. “Guess what you’re doing tonight?” I patiently waited to hear my crazy manager’s plans. Kyle moved around with excitement as if it was Christmas morning. “You’re going to a strip club!”My friend sat at the table, trying to force feed his ‘brilliant’ idea to me. It wasn’t working. “Don't you see? This is what you need. A good lap dance, and maybe a nice one-night stand if you’re lucky.”

I wasn’t as interested. “Of course, and some nice herpes on the side.”

Kyle sat back in his seat; he appeared f**king shocked by my statement. Really? Was it that shocking that I didn’t want herpes?

“You're so judgmental it’s sick. It really is, Cooper. Jasmine is a very pleasant girl.”

“So let me get this straight. You want me to have sex with a prostitute that you’ve slept with? No thanks.”

“Stop it, stop it.” Kyle was outraged. Growing extremely protective of this Jasmine chick, he snapped at me. “She's not a prostitute, jerk. She's a stripper, and I don't appreciate how you are talking about her. My God. When did you become so disrespectful? It’s disgusting. Besides, it’s her friend who you are meeting up with.”

“You're serious? I thought you wanted me to lay low?”My fingers ran across my eyebrows, trying to figure out if he were serious or not.

“Look, Coop. Think of this as a renewing of your life. I’ll get you through the back entrance. No one will ever know. Jasmine just texted me the girl’s number. You got your new phone? Type it in. I'll tell you what. If it works, you do one of the many magazine interviews that are coming in. You deal with your issues with Iris. You at least consider the other television offers I have been getting. And you do what you do best, and make us a shitload of money.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” I questioned.

Kyle lowered his eyebrows and rubbed his fingers across the bridge of his nose. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll look into your ‘indie photographer’ mumbo jumbo.”

“Really?” That sparked my interest enough.

“Really. Jesus would agree. Listen, just don’t get all…weird. Okay? Like, don’t tell anyone about this ‘I met Jesus and he changed my life in a psych ward’ type crap. Get a lap dance. Maybe have a little sex. Just try to act like the guy you were before you found out your wife…” Kyle’s sentence faded off and I was quick to chime in.

“Found out my wife was a cheating, pregnant whore?”

Kyle nodded as he picked up his bread roll and took a bite out of it. “Exactly.”

Chapter Five

PROMISES. PROMISES TO love one another. To pick up the milk on the way home. To not raise your children like your parents raised you. To follow each other’s dreams. Promises to fight at least once a month over some mediocre crap—and follow it up with some killer make-up sex. To be with one another forever and always. Til death do us part. Til death do us part…

Screw promises.

I just got a promotion.

It smelled like crap in this place—a miniature dressing room with too much hairspray, too many perfumes, and an overload of glitter. I stood in front of the full-length mirror that had a feathery boa lying across it and studied my body. I was wearing nothing more than a safari hat, a black trench coat, and five-inch-high stiletto heels. I hadn’t even noticed I was digging my fake nails into the palms of my hands until Ladasha came over and placed her hands on my shoulders.

“You don’t have to do this, Andrea,” she said. I guessed she could see the fear in my eyes. I shook my head. Our rent was falling behind and she had already stretched herself thin to make me comfortable in New York City. Plus, I was the one who ran off our other roommate with my issues. I wasn’t going to let Ladasha down again.

“Don’t worry, Shot Girl. I got you a good one tonight.” Jasmine grinned as she sat at her cramped makeup table. She was the best dancer in this whole place, and our boss, Roger, made sure to always give her the closing number on stage. Jasmine made more money in a week than some people working in Hollywood, but she also had a side job that helped up her profit. Her thick Brooklyn accent and hoarse voice filled the air as she applied more mascara onto her outrageously fake lashes. “If you’re lucky, you’ll get him to take you to his place afterwards. You’ll be eatin’ off that money for the whole month.”

My stomach bubbled up as I shot a dirty look her way. “I don’t sleep with guys.” The thought alone made me think of Derrick, and instant guilt hit me.

Jasmine stood up from her seat and chuckled as she walked to me with her jet black hair falling down to her waist. “Wasn’t it just yesterday you didn’t even strip, Shot Girl? What you waiting for? You waiting for God to pay your bills? I don’t know about you but I’m gonna get mine right now, and I suggest you do the same.”

With that, she left me standing there, filled with an overwhelming feeling of vomit trying to escape from my gut. Ladasha rolled her eyes and told me not to listen to Jasmine, but how could I not? She was right— just yesterday I wasn’t a stripper.

I looked at myself and watched my bottom lip quiver. Ladasha tried to convince me there was another way to get the money for rent and I shouldn’t worry about such things. But I wasn’t ready to back down. I could do it. I just needed her to give me a few of her comforting words to ease the freak out that was about to be released into the world.

Ladasha could tell how seriously I was in need of a pep talk so she delivered her best one. “Pretty Woman,” she said.

“What?”

“Pretty Woman. Name the rules. Before she was stupid and went and fell in love and got rich and shit.” She was serious. Most of Ladasha’s best pep talks were based off movies. She was addicted to all movies, and it would be a shock if she didn’t know what was playing in the nearest theater.

I nodded as I thought over the rules of Pretty Woman. “No personal information. No kissing on the lips. No second meet up.”

“Unless it’s Richard Gere,” Ladasha tossed in.

“It’s not Richard Gere.”

“Listen. Just go in there and be your super sexy self. Shake your booty. Collect the cash. If it’s a freak, have Frank handle him. And leave. Easy!”

Right. Easy. Pretty Woman rules. I thanked my friend and left the dressing room. Walking through the strip club, I ignored the howls from the hungry perverts coming my way. I felt like a piece of meat about to be tossed into the ring with a pack of lions. As I approached the VIP rooms that had Frank, the security guard, standing in front of the door, I let out a halfway smile.

“You doing a VIP room, Andrea?” he questioned. I informed him it was a test drive; he nodded and opened the door. “You got fifteen minutes. After that, I grab you out.” I closed my eyes and did a quick prayer to God that it wasn’t a creep. Please, God. Don’t send me a motherfreakin’ creep.

I stepped into the room in my shiny heels and Frank closed the door behind me. When I opened my eyes and stared at the man sitting across from me, I gasped. He was beautiful. He wore a button-down black long-sleeved shirt with charcoal slacks. Even with the clothing, I realized how perfectly made his body was. He quickly rose to his feet and started speaking.

“Hi,” he said as he reached his hand out to me for a handshake. I stood there, confused. Did strippers normally shake hands with their ‘client’? How did I know? I was only a stripper-in-training after all.

“Right.” He pulled his arm back and placed both hands in his slacks. Involuntarily, my eyes watched his h*ps start to rock back and forth. “So, yeah. I don’t normally do this, but…yeah.” He murmured to himself and cussed under his breath. “My manager thought it would be a good idea. A new start, a fresh take…”

Did he not recognize me? He looked so different from the last time I saw him in person. Sure, I was only thirteen, but his dimples hadn’t changed. His crooked smile still remained the same.

Cooper Davidson had been sculpted by the gods. His tan, smooth skin, his low-buzzed blond hair, and his green intense eyes were like the ones of fairy tales. His lips were able to create a grin that made every woman melt and every straight man jealous. And to top it off, the gods had given him a voice box with a southern drawl that made all of the girls of my hometown crazy when he would come visit his cousin during the summers.

“You don’t remember me?” I whispered as I stepped closer to him. Sure, my hair was going through a strange gothic-black, short-cut phase, which was much different than my usual blond, long waves. But still. I was still me. What was I thinking? Of course he wouldn’t remember me…

Cooper stared at me and raised an eyebrow, his mind tracking through his past. My eyes followed his mouth, watching him bite his bottom lip and step closer. He stared into my blue eyes with such curiosity floating around in his greens. I saw it happen—the moment he remembered who I was. And then I remembered who I was. I was officially a stripper in training. A wave of embarrassment washed over my face. My eyes shifted to the ground. I didn’t feel worthy to look his way. I was so ashamed of the path I had traveled in the past months.

Cooper took a finger, lifted my chin up, and grinned widely. “Andie Evans.”

I cringed a bit, but I smiled. “Andrea. I go by Andrea now.”

He nodded. “Of course. Holy shit. How the hell are you?!” He pulled me into a tight hug and held me close. It felt good to be held. It had been so long since…

I pulled away and released a sad grin. A short gasp fell from my lips at the touch of his soft fingers brushing away tears that started falling from my eyes. My heart landed in my throat, filled with nerves and worry. The idea of my mom and dad finding out about my job was terrifying, yet Cooper quickly eased my fears. “I’ll never say a word. I promise. Holy crap. Andrea Evans as I live and breathe. It’s been, what? Ten years?” We were both in a state of shock. He took a seat and I sat across from him, removing my stupid safari hat.