Strip Me Bare Read Online Free PDF Page A

young and inexperienced when it came to guys and
relationships, but character is something I could always read, even
then. And read it well.
    My father says being able to read a liar
makes for the greatest of lawyers, and being able to lie makes you
untouchable. Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to the law. Not that I
take pride in being a good liar, but being able to read people has
proven beneficial, in academics and in life.
    “I swear to God, Alana, I didn’t know it was
him until I ripped off his mask, and then when I saw his face all I
could think about was you.”
    “Did he know who you were?”
    “He had no idea, the last time he saw me my
hair was bleach blonde and shorter than his. And you can barely see
anything under those lights. When he recognized me, he asked if I
wanted him to stop. I just told him to finish quick.”
    “He came after me,” I say astonished.
    “I saw. As soon as you ran out of that room,
he was right behind you. One of the other strippers, er, guys
grabbed him by the arm and shoved shoes and a towel in his hand.
Then I told Hugo that I wanted him as our private dancer the rest
of the night.”
    “You requested him?” I suddenly feel worlds
better.
    “Ah, yeah, there was no way I was letting
another woman touch him in front of you,” she says making this
kneading dough gesture with her hands.
    “You’re seriously the best, Em.” I hug
her.
    “Tell me something I don’t know. I’ve been
covering your ass forever.”
    “And I love you so much for-”
    “So what did he say?” she interrupts me, not
caring at all about the gratitude. “Did he pull the whole ‘it
wasn’t you it was me thing?’ Or ‘I didn’t think it was going to
work out so I thought it was best to just cut my losses’ asshole,
man, excuse thing?”
    “Ah no, actually, he told me,” I bubble with
laughter because it’s just so unbelievable. “He called me his girl,
and said now that he got me back he wasn’t letting go of me
again.”
    Emily’s mouth falls open, “No shit, well
where the hell has he been for the last five years?”
    “He wouldn’t tell me.”
    “That raises a red flag.”
    “No,” I clarify exhaling smoke, “he says he
wants to talk about it tomorrow. He wants to have coffee.”
    “Coffee?” Emily responds the same way I did.
“Well I wouldn’t hold my breath for that phone call,” she says
pessimistically.
    I laugh, “I told him the exact same
thing.”
    My purse suddenly rings. I take out my phone
and look at the screen. It’s flashing with an unknown number and a
text message:
     
    Dean & DeLuca Broadway and Prince. Noon.
Xx
     
    Holy shit. I look up at Emily stunned,
“I think it’s safe for me to hold my breath.” I turn the phone and
show her the message.
    She looks down at it with an unsure
expression, “So much for not dwelling on your past.”
    Fuck.
     
     
     

     
     
    I sit quietly at the
dining room table poking at my oatmeal. I have no appetite. I just
keep glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner, 9:23 AM. I
need to catch the 10:36 train if I want to make it into the city by
noon. I know the path’s schedule by heart.
    I’m sitting diagonally across from my father,
who’s quietly reading the newspaper like he does every Sunday
morning. We barely speak and when he does address me it’s formal,
like I’m a business acquaintance.
    The honorable Merrick J. Remington, that’s
how the public knows him, and that’s exactly how he wants it, like
he’s constantly sitting on the bench. A persona to uphold. And I am
a direct reflection of him; his beautiful, perfect, obedient
daughter. That’s who I am because that’s who he’s molded me to be;
on the outside.
    I glance at him in all his stateliness, his
thick salt and pepper hair combed back meticulously, his posture
perfect, his defined chin pointed down. I don’t look anything like
him. I’m tall and lean, with long, pale blonde hair just like my
mother’s. The only trait we share is the