When a struggling Broadway talent agent reluctantly agrees to represent a male stripper, she finds out there's more to her new client than oiled abs.
Season 1 of Strip in the City
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Today might be the worst day of my life. I just lost my biggest c...
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In the wake of the freak pepper spray accident, West and I sat and talked for hours. He stayed so long that I started to get hungry and ordered takeout from my favorite pizza place. We ate greasy slices on my couch, laughing like we'd known each other for years.
West was nothing like I thought he would be. Perhaps Tan was right, and I'd initially been too judgmental of him. Veteran and male stripper put two very bold stereotypes in my head, and I'd been confident that when I got to know West, he would turn out to be a cocky meathead who only talked about football and himself.
But that wasn't the case.
We talked about theater, music and food. It felt good to talk to a man about the things I liked. Even better because we had so much in common.
We'd said goodbye on the steps of my apartment building as the energy in the city shifted from day to night. West went for a hug, I went for a handshake, and we ended up doing this half-hug-half-handshake thing that made both of us giggle.
"Thanks for taking a chance on me," he said once our awkward hug was over. The nearest street light acting like his own personal spotlight. "And I swear all I need is a week to find a new job. Then I'm done stripping. I won't let you down. I promise."
I dipped my chin and bit my lip, trying to think of a witty comeback but falling short. "And I promise to find you an audition after we fluff your resume." I put fluff in air quotes for some reason. "I'll see you tomorrow at noon."
West stuck his hands in his pockets and offered me another one of his show-stopping grins. Even after being pepper sprayed, he still managed to look good.
"It's a date."
I walked back inside my building, feeling a million different feelings at once. I realized my attraction to West was developing into a full-blown crush.
The word date had me smiling and skipping.
When I returned to my apartment, I looked at one of my framed pictures of my favorite K-Pop singer and whispered a heartfelt apology.
I didn't know crushing on a person in real life could be this exciting, but my short-lived giddiness came crashing down when I glanced over our contract.
I collapsed on the couch. "What the fuck is wrong with me?" I asked Gatsby as he settled in my lap. "This man is so off limits I should wrap him in police tape."
Gatsby tilted his head to the side as if to say why.
"First of all," I told my cat, "West is officially my client. And secondly, even if he wasn't, and I was willing to overlook the whole, used to be a stripper thing, West wasn't giving off I want to bone you vibes. No staring at my tits or making suggestive comments. No touching my arm. No leaning in close."
Gatsby meowed, then set his head on my lap and fell asleep. God, I'd trade anything for five minutes of my cat's blissful freedom.
As I reread our contract, I couldn't help but replay the whole day back in my mind and analyzing everything that was said.
