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
***
Today might be the worst day of my life. I just lost my biggest c...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Despite my mostly sleepless night, I was at the fitness club by seven in the morning, ready for chest and back day. The importance of discipline and routine had been beaten into my head from an early age, and even though I'd left the Navy nearly a year ago, I still relied on it to function.
My exercise routine—which had been crafted by my Navy SEAL brother—was unforgiving. As a former naval officer, I was used to staying in peak physical condition, but I'd never attempted to attain the level my older brother did.
Until now.
With each push-up, I tried to shove my impossible dream of starring on Broadway out of my brain. I wanted it to go away so I could enjoy my life. I made good money, I had friends, and things were going well.
It took years to work up the courage to come to New York, even though I had wanted to star on Broadway since I was a kid. But, like most things in my life, I just couldn't make it happen. I made one wrong decision after another. Even when a talent agent fell into my lap, I stupidly put my face between her legs instead of taking the opportunity for what it was.
Embarrassment sat in my gut, refusing to leave.
What was done was done. There was no rewinding time to fix your mistakes and make a different choice. I learned that lesson a long time ago. I had to move on from dreaming and start living.
The funny thing about dreams is that they aren't just ideas floating around in your head. They are living, breathing parts of your soul that refuse to be silenced.
Once I was done punishing myself at the gym, I stopped at the pharmacy to pick up Denny's prescriptions. Then I headed to a bodega to grab a copy of The New York Times and a coffee and breakfast sandwich before heading back home.
Denny was an elderly veteran who lived on the same floor as Lucas and me. He rarely left his apartment—except for appointments. Getting up nine floors without an elevator was tough, especially since he was battling cancer.
He was as salty as they came—a crusty old Marine who'd flown Choctaws during the Vietnam War. Even though he was a cranky fuck, for whatever reason, I really looked up to him. Bringing him breakfast and the paper had become part of my comfortable routine.
I banged on his door and called his name. "Denny! It's rotor head. I've got chow!"
Rotor head was the endearing nickname he'd given me. I wasn't sure he even knew my first name. I'd never heard him use it.
I waited for him to hobble to the door like he did every morning. I had a key for his apartment and could theoretically let myself in, but Denny didn't like being surprised.
When I didn't hear any noise, I banged on the door again. "Denny! Open up!"
No answer.
My heart started beating a too-fast rhythm. Denny was never late to open the door. He had a dedicated routine that rivaled my own. It was Saturday, so I knew he wasn't at an appointment. Something was wrong. I stuck the paper under my arm and fished out his keys, unlocking his door and spilling hot coffee on my arm in the process.
