Only Me: A Surprisingly Safe Book Read online

  Only Me

  A Surprisingly Safe Book

  Brandy Ayers

  Copyright © 2019 by Brandy Ayers

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  To Male Virgins,

  Do your research men.

  We’re counting on you to know

  Where the clit is.

  Contents

  1. Zeke

  2. Casey

  3. Zeke

  4. Casey

  5. Zeke

  6. Casey

  7. Zeke

  8. Casey

  9. Zeke

  Epilogue One

  Epilogue Two

  Epilogue Three

  Also by Brandy Ayers

  About the Author

  1

  Zeke

  “I don't understand.”

  The man across the table sighs and runs his hand over his face, spreading the mustard sitting in the corner of his mouth across his chin. We went through a five-minute comedy routine earlier where I tried to tell him he had something there and he managed to wipe every inch of his face but the spot with mustard.

  “Your Uncle Murray has left you his half of the Pink Pony Gentlemen's Club. In addition to all financial assets, a two-million-dollar life insurance policy, and half of the home he shared with his husband. Since they died together, ownership of the club and house have been left to you and a Casey Hughes.” The lawyer flips through some papers. I hope he's looking for something that will magically make this whole scenario understandable. “The will stated yourself, and this Casey must agree on the outcome of the club. Either you run it together or sell it completely. I’ve not met Casey since Murray and Luther used different lawyers, but I understand Casey is currently living in the house.”

  “You sure you have the right guy? I don't have an Uncle Murray.” I had an Uncle Bob on my stepfather’s side, but he's an asshole and would never leave me anything. And also not gay as far as I know.

  “Positive.” Mr. Clemens pulls a large envelope from the stack of papers and slides it across the table. “Murray left this for you, I think it might answer some of your questions.” The lawyer hesitates, then stands from the chair. “Your uncle was a good man. Loved his husband. Helped a lot of people in this town.” He raps his knuckles on the table twice and heads out of the room.

  I’m confused. Three days ago, I got a letter delivered to me at work, which was odd in itself considering I’m a construction worker and was on site at the time. The letter explained that I needed to be at the law firm of Biddle and Clemens in Marshall Harbor, Florida today for the reading of a will. At first, I thought it was a scam, like those Nigerian prince emails everyone gets in their spam folder. But then a first-class plane ticket with my name on it slipped out of the envelope.

  You have to understand, I’d never been anywhere outside central Pennsylvania. Making the hour drive to the state capital was the most exciting place I’d ever been up until this morning. I saw that plane ticket and got stars in my eyes. Florida might not be exciting to some people, but it is to me. There are palm trees every five feet. The ocean. Alligators. And air so thick my lungs felt heavier just taking in a breath.

  The paper seems to whisper as I open the letter. Tight perfect cursive handwriting fills the page.

  Zeke, if you are reading this, it means I'm dead and never got to know the man you've become. That will be one of the greatest regrets of my life as I leave this world.

  I doubt you remember me since the last time we spoke you were five. You were always a sweet kid. Smart. Kind. Thought of others before yourself. You might not remember me, but I remember you. Every day.

  You may or may not know that your mama had you at a very young age. No fifteen-year-old girl should be given sole responsibility of a baby. Our mother kicked her out, and she came to live with me, her brother.

  The minute you were born I fell in love. Janice was overwhelmed and scared, and she ran. I don't blame her for that. Even at twenty, I was scared too.

  I raised you as my son until you turned four. Then Janice reappeared with a new husband and religion. Her gay brother was no longer the man that had cared for her, but an abomination. I fought for custody of you, but in a conservative farm country it was a lost cause, and after six months, sole custody was given to your mama.

  The sounds of you crying when I had to turn you over to her will never leave me.

  To make a long story short, I was all but forced to leave town by your stepdad. I moved to Florida where I fell in love with a man. He happened to own a strip club that his grandfather had passed onto him. It was a sleazy place back then, but we brought it to life. Made it one of the most exclusive clubs in all of Florida. Made a family of the women and men that work there.

  That is why I'm leaving it to you. You were the family I lost. I want you to be part of the family I found.

  If I'm lucky, I passed with the love of my life, Luther Hughes. He's left his half of the company to the only kin he had left as well. Casey is a good kid and will show you the ropes of running the club.

  Please know, I love you.

  Uncle Murray

  I put the letter down, searching my mind for any memory of Murray. There is something vague there, dance parties in the kitchen and family dinners on Sundays that never made sense with my family. I always assumed I’d made up those memories to get through the reality of my shitty family.

  Figures my stepdad ran this Murray guy out of town. Dad loved being the big man in our small town. President of the borough council, preacher, and perfectionist. Power was something he craved. He hated anything that made him seem weak, and I suppose he thought a gay family member would qualify.

  Pure bullshit if you ask me. It takes bravery to be different. Strength.

  I wish I could remember more of Murray. Could have known him as an adult. But I guess that will never happen now.

  Below the letter is a picture of the Pink Pony. I’ve never been to a strip club. They have some a couple towns over from where I grew up, but if I had been caught in one of the lectures from my parents would never stop. Dens of sin they would have called them.

  Hell, I’ve never even seen a woman naked. Not even porn. Mama homeschooled me through high school. I didn’t go to college. My stepdad said college only bred liars and sinners.

  I never regretted not furthering my education. Going from lessons in my kitchen every day with Mama and a couple of other kids from the congregation didn't exactly prepare me for higher learning. Just shy of twenty-five and I’ve never even kissed a girl. There had been talk of me marrying a girl when I turned twenty-one. Almost like an arranged marriage. She was the daughter of a prominent man in our town. But the few times we hung out, she refused to even talk to me shortly after I got the courage to leave.

  My stepdad called himself a preacher, but he was little more than the leader of a cult. People gave him everything in their lives and moved onto his compound to find their spirituality. Anyone that didn’t adhere to his strict view of the world were shunned and ridiculed.

  Now, after being sheltered for all my life, I find myself the part owner of a whole building full of naked boobs. Blood rushes to my cheeks at just the thought. The place looks well kept up from the exterior. Not at all seedy.

  Heck, if I’m being honest, it looks like freedom.

  * * *

  Three hours later, I’ve signed all the papers required, and I’m settled into a cheap mot
el across the street from the club. I’ve been sitting on the bed, staring out the window at The Pink Pony. There are a few cars in the lot, but I’m sure they’ll be more as it gets later.

  My heart has only ever pounded this hard once before. The very second the plane to Florida took off. An adrenaline rush like nothing I’ve experienced before floods my veins. Making me feel sick to my stomach. I need to go over there. Introduce myself to this Casey dude I’ll supposedly be part owner with.

  Apparently, he lived with my uncle and his husband since he was a young kid. And even though I now own half their home on paper, it didn’t feel right just showing up declaring I’d be staying there for the foreseeable future.

  I sure hope the guy is open to selling the whole place because every time I picture myself in a business where women get naked on stage, I damn near start laughing so hard I snort.

  But I have to check the place out. At least make an appearance.

  Plus, I might be a little curious.

  Even after leaving my parents’ house, I never tried to cozy up to any women. I wouldn’t even know where to start. Hell, I still can’t get past the bullshit my parents’ fed me that the lord is watching my every move and if I give in to the sins of my flesh he’ll know, and I’ll go to hell.

  I tried Googling porn once after I bought my first laptop. The first site I clicked on and a bunch of pop up ads came out of nowhere flashing I’d won something and I owed the IRS and asking if I wanted to watch barely legal teens live on webcam. I unplugged my computer and took the battery out just in case. Haven’t turned the thing on since.

  But I’m a twenty-five-year-old man. It’s about time I started living my life. That life might not end up being as the owner of a strip club, almost definitely not, but maybe if this Casey guy is willing to sell the club, I can use that money and the money I inherited to start over somewhere else. Get my electrician's certification or something. Make a real life for myself and forget about the backward little town outside Lancaster I come from.

  Steeling my spine and squaring my shoulders, I get up off the bed and head across the street. Possibly I should have changed out of the same ill-fitting suit I’ve had since I bought it a discount store for my first and only job interview four years ago, but I didn’t know coming out here I would end up a millionaire and business owner in the course of a day.

  With every step closer to the Pink Pony the beating of my heart increases intensity. One would think I’d be excited to walk into a strip club for the first time. That my dick would be stirring in my pants, but the opposite is true. The dude down below is pulling a turtle act at just the thought of a bunch of men sitting around and staring at women, so desperate for money they’re willing to take their clothes off on stage.

  The doorknob nearly slips from my sweaty palm as I try to pull it open. It’s a goddamn heavy wooden thing, which I wasn’t expecting. Inside the door is a short hallway covered in black velvet, to the left is a coat check, but no one is standing behind the counter. What kind of strip club has a coat check?

  My labored breaths fill the cool air around me as I take the five steps to reach the inner door, another heavy carved wooden thing. This time I take a moment to admire the craftsmanship. I’ve worked in home construction for a while now, and I know these aren’t some cheap off the shelf doors. These are custom. Which is an odd thing to pay attention to at a place like this.

  That fact should prepare me for what I see when I finally pull the door open, but it doesn’t. I expected something seedy. Dirty. Run down. The Pink Pony is anything but. It’s glamorous. I suddenly feel underdressed and every inch the country boy I am. A chrome bar lines the back wall. Tall leather chairs set around wood and metal tables. Chandeliers hang over each table and a bigger one in the center of the stage. Just as my eyes swing toward the corner of the room where a wave of laughter rises, a man almost as big as me steps into my line of vision.

  “We’re closed. Don’t open until eight.” He crosses his arms over his wide chest and, yeah, I admit I’m a little intimidated.

  I’m probably two inches taller at a ridiculous six-foot-five, but this guy has me on pure muscle mass. He obviously spends a ton of time in the gym. My muscles have all been carved through manual labor, and while I’m in shape, I’ve got nowhere near the definition as this guy. His veins even look like they have their own muscles.

  Plus, I’ve never once been in a fight. Unless you count the occasional whooping I took from my stepdad. I doubt this guy can say the same.

  “Um. Yeah, sorry, my name is--”

  “I don’t give a damn what your name is, you need to get out before I show you out.” He pounds one fist into his open palm and rubs them together.

  Standing a little taller, I try to put some conviction behind my voice. “I’m the new part owner. Murray was my uncle.”

  “Motherfucking cocksucker!” A smoky voice yells from across the room. And for some reason, my dick picks this moment to come to life behind my zipper. The same voice mumbles something else under her breath, but I’m too far away to hear.

  But then the bouncer calls her over, and the heavy weight of my cock fills the front of my pants. Because the curvy woman with unruly red, curly hair stalking toward us is the woman meant for me.

  2

  Casey

  Uncle Luther and Uncle Murray have been gone over a month now, and yet I expect them to walk through the door at any minute. They loved this place and its weird cast of misfits. People wouldn’t expect a strip club to be where you make your family, but that is what we are.

  And that is why I decided to reinstitute Thursday poker night. It used to be how we started each week. Yes, in a strip club the week starts on Thursday. Or at least this one does. We’re closed Monday through Wednesday, open Thursday through Sunday from eight in the evening to three in the morning. And Thursday at five the uncles would make everyone dinner, and after we all shoved way too much food down our throats, especially considering most of us would be required to take our clothes off at some point, we’d try to take each other’s money with a lively game of poker.

  After the car accident that took Luther and Murray from us, we stopped the tradition. It hurt to look around and not see their smiling faces cuddled up to one another. But we needed a reminder that we are all still family.

  “Damn, girl, you take ownership of one little strip club, and your luck goes right in the toilet.” Roxy lays down two pair, queens and nines.

  I’ve got her beat — a full house aces over kings. But I slam my cards face down as she rakes in the money I let her win. My uncles never took any of the money, and always managed to let the girls that needed it the most win the big pots. Roxy has tuition due next week.

  “Motherfucking cocksucker! How do I keep losing?” I gather the cards, making sure no one sees the prime hand I just gave up. The uncles never cussed, but I gotta be me, too.

  “Uh uh, no sucky sucky happenin’ in these walls, you know that.” Zsa Zsa Grabmore, our resident mother hen, drag queen, and emcee clucks her tongue across the table from me. Her eyes, covered in tons of sparkling eyeshadow and insane false lashes, glance over my shoulder, I assume to her husband. “Ohhhhh, but I wouldn’t mind getting on my knees for that tall drink of water.”

  We all turn to see who she could possibly be talking about, her giant of a husband is the one and only in her world, so the newcomer must be something worth writing home about.

  And boy is he, in a weird Clark Kent sort of way. Complete with black, thick-rimmed glasses.

  He’s taller than Butch by about an inch or two, but not as muscular. Which is a good thing in my book, Butch needs to put down the dumbbells every once in a while before his veins burst out of his skin.

  Clark Kent is also wearing the most awful suit known to man. His arms are trying to break free from the cheap material suffocating them, but the brown fabric gapes around his obviously trim waist. And his thighs, oh lord, those thighs are about to hulk out at any minute and shred
those tight pants. Not to mention the dark outline of what I think is a growing cock shoved down the leg. Surprisingly, given where I work, I’ve never seen a dick before. But by the looks of it Clark Kent is packing some heat.

  “Umm, Casey, you might want to come over here.” Butch turns to me with wide eyes, and I stand from my seat.

  As I walk over, the visitor takes me in from head to toe. I’ve got three-inch nude heels on my feet, bare legs up to my short pencil skirt, and a tight tank top with the Pink Pony’s logo blazing over my breasts. My skin tingles at his perusal. Which is weird, I work in probably one of the sexiest industries on the planet, and yet I’ve never experienced arousal like this.

  When his dark green eyes meet mine, I almost gasp because I realize at the same time that my panties are absolutely soaked. I’m going to need to change them before we open. The man’s chest is heaving up and down as if he just finished running laps around the outside of the building.

  Quick on the heels of the most intense arousal of my life is crushing disappointment that this guy is just here to get a glimpse at tits and ass like every other man to step through the door. “Listen, dude, I’m sure Butch here told you, we don’t open until eight. You’ll have to come back with the rest of the pervs.”

  His eyes harden, and Clark Kent takes a step toward me, but Butch stops his progress. “I’m not here to see anything but the owner of this place. Casey Hughes.”

  “Well you’re in luck, I am Casey.” I prop my hands on my hips, thrust one leg out like I’m Angelina fucking Jolie at the Oscars, and try as best as I can to puff up to my full height. All five foot five of it in heels.