Strip Me Read online

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2017 Angelique Voisen

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-278-3

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Katelyn Uplinger

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To my readers, I hope you enjoy Ken and Dirk’s story. To Evernight, for giving this stray story a new home.

  STRIP ME

  Angelique Voisen

  Copyright © 2017

  Chapter One

  Dirk Thompson nervously whirled the gold band on his finger. According to the clock on his desk, lunch time would be in ten minutes. Lead filled his stomach. His computer monitor stared back him—the spreadsheet had been empty ever since he clocked in that morning.

  Files waited on his desk. Emails needed to be answered, calls had to be made, but Dirk couldn’t focus on anything else that day.

  He again twirled his wedding band. Dirk stared at framed photographs on his desk. In all of them, he smiled awkwardly back at the camera. His husband Warren, though, grinned at the photographer like he’d won the lottery. Ex-husband, Dirk corrected.

  Warren had signed the divorce papers three months ago. Dirk had reluctantly placed his signature this morning after receiving a threatening call from Harlan, Warren’s young and new boy toy. Any sensible normal guy with a lungful of pride would’ve destroyed these photos, not parade them on his desk like nothing had happened.

  Dirk rubbed his face. People started stretching, standing at their desks, and bitching to each other about how they hated Mondays, or asked if anyone did anything interesting during the weekend. Dirk had more important problems to worry about.

  Unlike Warren, Dirk had never been comfortable around a crowd, or people in general. When Warren’s friends asked how two different people from such different worlds came together, Warren would laugh it off and repeat the same story, even though he’d said it so many times—“A hot and sexy accountant walked into the car dealership, looking for a new ride, and that was the moment I fell fast and hard for Dirk.”

  Warren had fallen out of love the same way, but Dirk couldn’t blame him. The luxury cars Warren sold reflected his personality—loud, colorful, and wild. According to Harlan, Dirk had been boring, dull, and mediocre. Dirk’s only redeeming quality was the fact he had a head for numbers.

  Luther, his childhood friend, popped his head over Dirk’s cubicle. “Coming with us to the new French restaurant that opened three blocks away?”

  Sometimes Dirk wondered why Luther never gave up on roping him into group dates or outings. “Thanks, but I have something to do.”

  “You do?” Luther raised one eyebrow. Tall, dark, and handsome, the man never had relationship problems. Luther saw, conquered, and left wreckage in his wake. He’d never understand the shit Dirk went through. “You told me you’d put away those photos.”

  “That’s why I’m staying back. I’m shoving them into a garbage bag and I’m tossing this”—Dirk held out his finger to show Luther the ring—“right into the lake at the park.”

  Eyes wide, Luther entered the cubicle and clapped Dirk’s shoulder. “Fucking hell, you can’t believe how long I’ve waited for you to say those words, man. Well, throwing the ring into the lake is a bit dramatic. You could sell it or pawn it off, or you know, throw it at Warren’s arrogant face. Wait, we can drive up to the dealership and you can humiliate him in front of his colleagues.” Mischief lit Luther’s eyes. “Better yet, we can pull some kind of prank that will get him fired.”

  Just the mention of doing something so audacious and bold turned Dirk’s cheeks red. “I can never do that. Besides, Warren doesn’t deserve something like that.”

  “Dirk, he fucking cheated on you with five fucking men.” Luther’s voice heated with anger and coworkers’ heads snapped in their direction.

  Tugging his arm, Dirk hissed at him. “Lower your damn voice.”

  “Sorry. Might have gotten carried away. But Dirk, you’re like a brother to me. We can’t let this lying son of a bitch walk. If you’d only let me pay Warren’s new lover a visit at home—hell, with the two of us combined—”

  “No,” Dirk said firmly.

  Two of them meant trouble. Well, at least Luther did. Working out at the gym had been the only way to help Dirk relieve his heartbreak. He might look different from his old skinny self, but he’d never had a stomach for violence.

  Unlike Luther. Despite his model-like looks, Luther had sent plenty of bastards to the hospital. As a gay black man growing up in “redneck central,” Luther had to. During their childhood, Dirk had lived in the same apartment building, and he’d relied on Luther so much—to get through high school and its hell, Dirk had occasionally used Luther as his human shield against bullies.

  He owed Luther plenty. While Luther had insisted on teaching Dirk some self-defense, Dirk had never used his newfound skills. A more courageous man, however, would do what Luther now suggested. Dreams were nice, though.

  “Why don’t I come with you to the park?” Luther suggested, ignoring the two guys from their department who asked what was taking him so long.

  “No, thanks,” Dirk muttered.

  “Come on. We’ll have a hell of a time. You can tell me horrible stories of Warren and we can drive up to the crematorium.”

  “What?”

  “Burn those photos.” Luther grinned. “Awesome idea, right?”

  “I should do this on my own.” Dirk met Luther’s eyes. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, including letting me crash at your place those first two weeks after Warren left. I knew I was a wreck.”

  “And horrible company,” Luther added.

  Two huge guys cramped in a tiny studio wasn’t the most ideal situation, Dirk knew. But he couldn’t bear to live in and wake up to an empty apartment. Without realizing it, Dirk had gotten used to Warren’s scent.

  Oh, he’d seen evidence of Warren’s infidelity—a man’s unfamiliar shirt or boxers left behind under their bed, or a pack of cigarettes on the living room coffee table when neither Warren nor he smoked. The signs had all been there, yet Dirk had chosen to ignore them.

  Now, Dirk shot Luther a glare and sighed. There was no use arguing with him. Sometimes Dirk knew he didn’t deserve such a loyal friend. “Don’t take this too badly, but I’ve relied on you my entire life. I need to do this myself, to prove to myself I can be strong, too.”

  Luther gave his arm a squeeze. “Don’t believe for a fucking second you aren’t. You’re the strongest, kindest, and most stubborn guy I know.”

  “Remind me again why we aren’t dating?” Dirk teased to lighten the mood.

  “Because I’m a man whore and you’re a slob? Jokes notwithstanding, I get it, I think.” Luther turned to leave, but paused. “If you’re ready to move on, I know a good-looking, down-on-his-luck, underwear model who’s recently broken up.”

  “I don’t think I can handle a new relationship right now,” Dirk confessed.

  Besides, he’d stopped agreeing to blind dates set up by Luther a long time ago, and not because the guys Luther picked were duds. Hell, they were perfect in their own way, all viable matches. No, the reason he’d stopped agreeing to blind dates of any kind is because he—awkward and shy Dirk—was the one who always ruined everything.

  “Wh
o said anything about relationships? Those take work.” Luther shook his head. “If you’re up for some wild and dirty sex—sex and nothing else—tell me and I’ll set it up.”

  With those parting words, Luther left Dirk alone to his thoughts and his self-inflicted misery.

  The office emptied out. With a heavy heart, Dirk pulled the black garbage bag from his drawer. Could he really dump those photos?

  “Should I?” he asked, feeling foolish talking to himself.

  His fingertip lingered on the nearest frame, a photo of his first date with Warren. Warren had taken him downtown, to a Mexican restaurant and then to a club. Even convinced him to dance, and it took all of Dirk’s courage to join Warren on the floor. Dirk ended up looking like a fish out of water, but Warren had only laughed, kissing him. Dirk remembered Warren had tasted like beer and something spicy, and something else … life. Warren had blown his mind, and every date after that, Dirk had wondered why Warren hung around.

  Dirk was the sort of guy who preferred quiet dates, watching movies at home, and snuggling. They never really belonged together—or had their differences made them click?

  Think about the last time you saw Warren. Not hard to conjure up the image of him walking in on Warren and Harlan in their marital bed, He remembered thinking how much they looked like animals in heat. Warren had never showed that much passion whenever Dirk rode him. But Warren and Harlan had never stopped fucking, didn’t even notice Dirk standing there, staring, until rage tinted his vision red and he snapped. Dirk tore Harlan and Warren apart. Power surged through him then, the promise of more violence. Dirk would have happily beaten Harlan to a pulp, until Warren’s sharp and hysterical voice froze him in place—“Stop! If you don’t, I’ll leave you.”

  Anger issues. His therapist said he’d always had them, but now, Dirk had the body strength to use all that anger against another person.

  Warren had left anyway, and Dirk felt like a monster for having lost control like that. For a pacifist who swore to never hurt anyone or to use his strength for his self-serving selfishness, Dirk easily turned sides without blinking.

  Now, when Dirk looked back at the frame in his hands, he realized he’d broken it. Tossing the memento into the garbage bag hurt like hell, like someone had shoved a knife into his heart and twisted it for good measure. Getting rid of the second photo went easier. The rest followed.

  Clutching the garbage bag, Dirk rose to his feet. Throwing away the bag in the workplace was no good. Dirk knew himself. He’d crawl through the damn garbage chute to retrieve the damn thing in the middle of the night. Heading out of the office instead, he glanced at the time. Still another thirty-minutes to waste. He could have done this anytime, after work maybe, but having a time limit helped.

  Entering the elevator and pushing the button for the ground floor, Dirk thought he was alone until he noticed the lean young man watching him from the corner. Surprised, Dirk nearly jumped.

  “What the fuck?” he growled.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you, handsome. I just noticed you seemed a little down.”

  Dirk blinked. No one had ever called him “handsome.” Studying the young man a little closer, Dirk swallowed and immediately regretted his earlier words. The guy didn’t look intimidated or scared. If anything, he appeared more interested and began eyeing Dirk up and down.

  Things like this didn’t happen to Dirk. Did throwing away the last reminders of his time with Warren manage to induce delusions? Worse, did someone pay this young man to play some kind of elaborate joke on him?

  Since the stranger seemed unembarrassed to ogle Dirk like he was some kind of steak, Dirk stared rudely, too.

  This stranger was damn gorgeous, and a little out of place in a corporate office. Lean, but taut with muscle, the stranger had a runner’s build and looked easy on the eyes. He wore tight skinny jeans, leather shoes, and a battered leather jacket and nothing else underneath. No shirt or anything. Bits of something metallic shone on his chest.

  Was that glitter?

  The guy kept his dark-hair short, making it hard to glance away from the most amazing pair of brown eyes—amber, nearly gold in the elevator’s light.

  The stranger winked at Dirk. Brave little guy.

  Wait. He winked at me?

  “Bad day?” he asked.

  “The fucking worst.” How Dirk managed to keep a straight face, let alone answer, he didn’t know. He was usually uncomfortable with guys he was attracted to. Better yet, he applauded himself on not scaring off the stranger with awkward words.

  “Tell me about it. My day went from bad to horrible, too.” When Dirk raised one eyebrow, the stranger shrugged. “I forget corporate types don’t tip well.”

  “Tip well? What are you, a waiter?”

  The guy seemed delighted by the question. Shit. Dirk didn’t want this conversation to end, but the elevator finally reached the ground floor.

  “Even better—” The guy didn’t finish explaining because someone called to him.

  “Hey! You!”

  “I hope we’ll meet again, handsome,” the guy said to Dirk. With another wink, he broke into a sprint.

  Dirk got out of the elevator to see the building’s forty-something security guard chase after the stranger, panting. The urge to chase after the stranger rose in Dirk also. Being in tip-top shape, catching up would be no problem. Telling off that silly security guard wouldn’t be a problem either.

  Wait. Why get so protective over some handsome stranger he’d just met?

  Dirk breathed in and out, leashing his anger. Once the notion died and he calmed down, Dirk stared at the bag in his hand a couple of seconds, uncomprehending, forgetting what he had set out to do in the first place.

  “Disposal. Right,” he muttered.

  Dirk walked through the lobby, still abuzz with the chase. Judging by the dejected look of the security guard returning to his post, the dark-haired stranger had obviously escaped.

  So why did Dirk care about some stranger who didn’t wear a shirt? Was a shirt out of fashion with kids these days? Well, the guy was certainly an adult, but nineteen or early twenties still felt too young to Dirk, himself pushing thirty and still a mess. No wonder Warren had left him.

  I’ve got to stop thinking negative thoughts.

  At least the gossiping crowd in the lobby was proof Dirk hadn’t imagined the whole thing in his head. Going back to his therapist after she’d signed him off—after his latest anger debacle at nearly strangling Harlan to death—was a huge no-no.

  “Let’s get on with this,” he muttered, exiting the office building and heading for the park. If he hurried, he might be able to buy a sandwich on his way back.

  Chapter Two

  Seeing the park across the road, relief filled Dirk. Once he threw away the frames, the ring would be next. That would be major brownie points for him. Dirk could go home, celebrate with a beer or several, and move on with his life—in theory, at least. Lost in thought, he nearly got ran over by a speeding Mercedes, until an old woman tugged at his shirt, pulling him back.

  “Youngsters these days,” she mumbled.

  Embarrassed, Dirk watched for the traffic light to change to green. He should have better intuition than this. His brush with the young man in the elevator had aggravated him, but then, his nerves had been shot the moment his day started. When the light changed, Dirk sprinted across the street, a cyclist nearly bumping into him.

  “Watch it!” the cyclist yelled.

  “Bastards on bikes should roll their damn bikes while crossing,” Dirk retorted.

  The man turned his head, but obviously thought better of it once he saw Dirk’s menacing size and the expression on his face. A sharp pinch on his forearm made him glower at the same old woman who’d prevented him from being turned into roadkill.

  “Don’t be a bully, son. I get you’re having a bad day, but don’t take it out on others.”

  Thoroughly chastised, Dirk muttered an apology. The woman held out her arm a
nd he helped her cross the rest of the way. Safely on the other side, she gave his garbage a curious look.

  “I’m taking out old trash.”

  She nodded, as if understanding he hadn’t been talking about physical trash. “Good for you. I hope you feel better, son.”

  Watching her ambling away, Dirk wondered why today happened to be a series of strange events.

  “Must be a sign,” he said.

  The park came alive during lunchtime. Kids streaked by, laughing. Mothers pushed their strollers past him, along with joggers and pencil-pushers like him in suits who wanted to spend their hour in a peaceful setting.

  “Peaceful, my ass,” he grumbled.

  That retort earned Dirk a glare from a dumpy mother holding onto two toddlers. Dick had no idea why the universe chose to pick on him today. Deciding to keep his comments to himself, he ambled to the path leading to the bridge overlooking the river.

  Thankfully, it was quieter here. Only an old man occupied the bridge, sitting on a foldable stool and sketching the landscape.

  With a gleeful shriek, Dirk swung the bag and tossed it over the bridge like an expert shot put. Leaning against the rail, he panted, watching it sink to the bottom of the murky river. Someone snorted. The old man gave him a shake of the head, started packing his things, and walked away without a word.

  Dirk did an embarrassing fist pump in the air, glad no one could see him.

  “Oh, right. It’s not over yet.”

  The ring came next. Dirk wove the gold band off of his finger, like ripping the bandage off a wound. No, it didn’t feel any easier, like shoving the frames into a bag. He wanted to make a dramatic statement, needed it, and his therapist had once suggested it. Dirk rested the band on the palm of his hand. All the courage and bravado he’d summoned earlier left him. Memories, both good and painful, raced through his head.