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meant to hurt you. You have to
believe that what happened, it was out of my control.” He goes to
grab my hand again, but I pull away.
    Ryan looks down, “Alana, please.”
    “Please what?” I spit.
    “I love you,” the words roll right out of his
mouth, and I swear to God, it takes all the self control I have not
to slap him.
    “How can you say that after all this
time?”
    “Because it’s the truth, I never stopped
loving you, I don’t think I ever will.”
    “Then where the fuck have you been for the
last five years? And why all of a sudden now, after I find you
stripping at a night club, are you so forthcoming?”
    “Look,” he balls his hands into fists. “I
wanted to find you, to call you, I just couldn’t. But I swore if
fate ever gave us a second chance, I wasn’t going to blow it. So
I’m here, telling you I’m yours, if you still want me. I know we
have a ton of shit to work out, but I’ll do it, I’ll do anything.
Just please, consider it.”
    I’m totally floored. Not in a million years
could I have expected this. I’ve pictured this moment over and over
and never once did I fathom Ryan professing his undying love to me. Never.
    I look out the window, my mind reeling,
“Ryan, I don’t know. Even if I could get over the past, there’s
still the present. I’m not sure I can deal with what you do.”
    “It’s just a job,” he responds quickly.
    I glance back at him; his cobalt eyes shining
with provisional hope. Before I can say anything else, a strange
voice mutters something over our table. “You’re that dancer right?
Jack the Stripper?”
    Ryan and I both look up; standing there is a
brunette bombshell that screams slut. She has all the goods, tight
shirt, tight pants, high heels and way too much makeup for daytime.
I hate her instantly.
    “Ah, yeah,” Ryan answers uncomfortably.
    “I saw you a few weeks ago and you were
amazing.” She smacks her lips; flagrant desire oozing all over
her.
    “Thanks,” Ryan smiles, and it’s sort of a
half-flattered, half-mortified expression.
    Miss God Almighty Makeup pulls a card out of
her designer imposter purse. “Is this your girlfriend?” she
asks.
    “No,” I answer immediately.
    “Yes.” Ryan pins me with a hard look.
    My heart throbs.
    “Well,” the brunette clicks a pen all
sultry-like, “if she isn’t, I wouldn’t mind being.” She writes
something down, “At least for one night.” Then she slides the
business card across the table to Ryan, making sure to flash him
some skin.
    Skank.
    He doesn’t touch the card as she straightens
up and then ambles away.
    I glare. My whole body is on fire. Pissed
off, raging fire. A moment later, I uncontrollably grab the card
and rip it in two. Then I slam it down on the table. I had
absolutely no right to do that. But the thought of Ryan with her
sent me straight over the edge.
    “Just a job, huh?” I huff.
    This is bad.
    This is so, so bad.
    A satisfied smile spreads across Ryan’s
mouth. That freakin’ hot mouth that I want all over me.
    “Don’t get too excited,” I tell him flatly,
“I did that for your own good. She looked like a walking STD.”
    “So what does this mean?”
    “Nothing,” I lie.
    “Uh huh.” He’s not buying it.
    “You still have some more explaining to do,”
I remind him.
    Ryan frowns; telling me whatever he’s hiding
is bad. I can feel it.
    “Can we get out of here?” he asks.
    “And go where?”
    “Anywhere. Bryant Park maybe, someplace where
there isn’t a piece of metal between us,” he kicks the table.
    “Fine.”
    Bryant Park is about a ten-minute walk down
6th street. That’s a relatively short walk when you’re in the city.
And when it’s as nice as it is today, it feels like a two-minute
walk with all the street vendors vying for your attention. Ryan
holds my hand the whole way, even as we weave in and out of groups
of pedestrians and across busy streets. I know I shouldn’t love it,
but I do.
    We finally get to Bryant Park,