SUMMARY- a post-finale set story with only very minor changes. Written for the TwoP Naked!Ryan challenge. There are hints of an unconventional pairing towards the end. Please R&R.
DISCLAIMER: Fox owns the characters – not me. Please don't sue!
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It just wouldn't add up. Ryan cursed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. No matter how he juggled their income, they were still short. Quite a few hundred short at the moment, especially with the doctor's bills and all the nursery stuff they would need. Five days a week on a construction site, with a few evenings of bussing tables to top it up was just not enough. Not least because tips in Chino restaurants weren't Crab Shack level – not by a mile. What Theresa brought home from the bakery, now she was on shorter shifts, didn't really add up to much. They were going to have to tighten their belts further.
That evening when Ryan turned up at the restaurant he was feeling pretty gloomy. It was tough enough getting there after a long day's work, with just a quick stop home to shower and change, but it was worse knowing that despite all the effort, they'd still have to beg, borrow or go short by the end of the month. No matter how tired he was, he had to find yet another job. Or something. Maybe if he could balance this month's budget somehow they could start the next on an even keel, keep their spending to a minimum and coast through.
He must have looked grimmer than usual as he walked in, because one of his colleagues came up to him in while he was getting ready in the staff room.
"Hey Ry, you're looking down tonight. What's wrong?" she asked. Patty was one of the nicest waitresses at the restaurant – not quite a friend but someone he could actually talk to. She was a single mom, a few years older than him, with a pierced nose and dreadlocks. She told him stories about her three-year-old boy, Tyler, whom she obviously worshipped. Ryan liked that.
"Nothing," he sighed. "Money, bills, you know, the usual."
"Yeah. How bad is it?"
He shrugged: "Pretty bad. Any good tippers around tonight?" He half-smiled at Patty in a 'don't-take-me-too-seriously' way. There were no good tippers in Chino. Not compared to Newport. But, to his surprise, Patty seemed to think about it. She kept looking at him. Hell, she was even giving him the once-over. What was that about?
"You know... I might be able to help you out."
"Oh yeah? How? You got rich suddenly?" Ryan seriously doubted she could come up with anything to get him out of his predicament.
"No, but I have a cousin who works at this bar in LA. A topless bar. And the tips there are out of this world."
He laughed: "I bet they are. Good for her."
"Him."
"Oh." Ryan frowned. "A gay bar?" He didn't like the way this conversation was going all of a sudden.
"No," smiled Patty, "the clients are women."
"And?" This sounded definitely dodgy.
"Listen, Ryan, if you need cash, I happen to know they're a guy short this weekend 'cause Jamie's trying to find someone to stand in for him. And at short notice and for the one night, they might be less thorough in checking... you know... I mean, if you have decent I.D.?..."
Yeah, he had decent fake I.D. – for a one-off at any rate. But topless bar- work? That was so not his scene. Even if...
"How much money do you say he makes in tips?"
Patty laughed. "Man, some of these ladies are serious spenders... Give them a little attention, and you could pull a couple of hundred easy. More if you're prepared to show some leg..." He looked alarmed at that. "But hey, you don't have to. Just so you know – some guys do a bit of stripping."
Ryan rubbed his face. God this sounded soooo wrong. And yet – the lure of the cash was undeniable.
"Hey, what makes you think I..." he gestured vaguely at himself. Okay, he was fit, and the construction work had bulked him up – but he was hardly a conventional pin-up boy. What with the broken nose and the short legs.
She looked him up and down with a smirk "Ryan, I wouldn't worry about that. You'll be a right hit with the ladies. Come on, don't tell me you don't know you're a hottie." She giggled. He could feel himself almost blushing. Not a good sign, he thought. If he couldn't handle this fully clothed... Hang on - was he even considering going for the job? That was insane. It was the wrong move. He wouldn't be able to live it down if anyone ever found out.
On the other hand... beggars can't be choosers.
"You tell anyone, I kill you," he growled, trying to ignore her smutty look. "So what's the deal?"
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Ryan didn't tell Theresa where he was going Saturday afternoon. It was easy enough: they gave each other plenty of space these days. They had an unspoken deal – they lived together but they weren't together. Theresa could do what she wanted providing she steered clear of Eddie; Ryan could do what and whom he wanted. And neither brought anyone home.
What it actually meant was that some weekends, he'd drive to Newport to see the Cohens and that Theresa often spent time at her mother's. The pregnancy and the two jobs didn't give either much free time – never mind the inclination – to fuck around. They got by, an easy friendship with the shadow of the unborn child between them. And the knowledge that in a few months, it would all change. Probably.
Anyhow, Ryan had snagged the car for the day, no questions asked.
When he arrived at the bar, he was relieved to see it looked completely anonymous from the outside. Just a plain sign: Carter's. No flashing neon sign, no naked bodies, nothing to give away the game. He wasn't sure what he'd expected – some male equivalent of Hooters, maybe? – but it looked just like a regular bar, with a bouncer on the door.
The owner was a stern-looking woman in her forties, he guessed, with long auburn hair and an unnerving stare. She was dressed conservatively in a grey tailored suit and white shirt. Not at all what he'd expected from the boss of a stripper bar. She told Ryan to call her Sam.
"So, you're a friend of Jamie's," she said flatly. "Ever done this before?"
"No." Ryan was doing his best to look relaxed but he could feel himself tensing up. This was awkward. And embarrassing. And he knew it would only get worse.
"Has he told you what it's like?" She didn't seem over-inquisitive – just making sure he knew what he was letting himself in for.
"A bit," he lied. He'd got the low-down from Patty after she'd talked to her cousin. Basically it boiled down to waiting tables, a bit of flirting with the customers and the occasional threat of groping. Shirtless, of course. There were further table dancing and stripping possibilities but he definitely didn't want to go down that route. He rubbed his chin, feeling his stubble – he hadn't shaved, figuring it would make him look older.
"Well let's see how you measure up. Take off your shirt."
Ryan bit his lip and started unbuttoning his short-sleeved shirt. It was one of the tops Kirsten had bought him, which he rarely wore these days. He folded it carefully on the back of a chair, then took off his wifebeater, willing himself to be still, and slowly placed it on top of the shirt. He told himself he might as well be on the building site on a hot day, stripping in the noonday glare, rather than in a chilly air-conditioned office with a woman his mother's age checking him out. It didn't make him feel any less self-conscious.
"You work out?"
He looked up straight at her, blue eyes cold: "No. I work." As long as he kept it short, she wouldn't hear his nervousness, he reasoned. Not that he was a man of many words anyhow.
She smiled: "Well, it beats the gym. You've got nice arms. Good muscle definition. And a pretty ripped six-pack. "She was definitely enjoying this. "So..."she looked at her notepad. "...Mark. You're on for tonight. These the jeans you're going to wear?"
He nodded.
"Then you might want to get rid of the boxers – they kind of spoil the view." He could swear she was snickering.
"And keep these pants riding low, honey. The customers here pay good money – give them a reason to."
Ryan shuddered inwardly as he left the room. So much for trying to keep his dignity intact. Now he was a topless waiter and he was going commando. This promised to be some evening. The money better be worth it.
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There was a small room at the back of the bar where the guys changed, or rather undressed. Ryan piled his clothes (including the offending boxers) into a small locker, together with his wallet and car keys. He looked at himself in the mirror over the small sink and tried a grin. It looked like a rictus. He sighed, splashed water on his face and tried again. This time he just looked nervous. Hell, if he could get a drink or two to relax, he might survive this, he told himself.
Or maybe not, he thought as he stepped into the bar and looked around. Although it was still early, there were already a few women around. And some of them were looking distinctly predatory.
Ryan caught the eye of the bartender, a tall Latino guy with a shaved head and tattooed pecs: "Any chance of a drink?"
"This your first day?" asked the barman.
Ryan nodded.
"I'm Diego, man. This one's on the house. Whiskey okay?"
"More than okay," said Ryan gratefully. "Thanks. I'm... Mark." He gulped down the shot. Diego smiled at him and gave him a refill: "It gets easier after a while, hombre."
"It better fucking do or else I'm in trouble," muttered Ryan. He took a deep breath, picked up an order pad and launched himself into the room.
He kept telling himself it really wasn't very different from working half- naked on scaffolding in summer, in full view of passing women, but the first half-hour was sheer hell. Waiting tables topless was nothing like doing it fully clothed, Ryan realised. He was also getting an inkling of the kind of shit waitresses, whatever they were wearing, had to put up with a lot of the time. He could see women leering at him from across the room, and it made him feel nervous, angry, cheap and embarrassed, in no particular order.
If he was honest, though, now and then, when the woman was good-looking, it also made him feel sexy. So he hung on to that emotion and tried to get rid of the others. He also made the most of Diego's generous ways with the whiskey.
After a while he could bring himself to flirt with the patrons. As always, he was sparing with the words, but worked his sideways glance, or raised an eyebrow at his customers with the odd half-smile, and it seemed to work. The tips were coming in. So was the occasional wandering hand, but he figured he could survive that.
"Hey, blondie, where's my cocktail," slurred a middle-aged brunette as he walked past one of the rowdier tables. She'd already tried to pinch his butt a couple of times and Ryan fully expected another attempt. A successful one, as it turned out – she wasn't quite as drunk as he thought and still had good reflexes. Ouch. He bit his lip and made a note to give her a wider berth when he returned with her screwdriver.
It got easier. As the bar got busier, Ryan had less time to angst about himself as he rushed around. When a couple of waiters stripped down to thongs for a bachelorette party staked out in the middle of the bar, he welcomed the distraction. There'd been a few gropers in that bunch.
On the plus side – and that was the whole point of this - he was getting an awful lot of dollar bills stuffed into the (low) waistband of his jeans. At 10pm, he went to the bathroom and counted his cash. Patty was right – he'd already made more in tips than he had in a fortnight at the Chino restaurant. The money was definitely worth it.
As he came out of the bathroom Sam motioned him over to the bar. Ryan immediately felt nervous. What had he done wrong? Had he spent too long in the bathroom? Did she think he was doing drugs? Had she figured out he was underage? Hell, was he getting paranoid?
"How're you getting along then?" she asked. She looked friendly enough and he let himself relax.
"Okay I guess," he shrugged. "It's cool."
She narrowed her eyes at him. Uh-oh – something was coming up. "Listen, how do you fancy making a couple hundred bucks in the next ten minutes?"
Fuck, thought Ryan, here goes. The offer too good to refuse. Bet I have to take my pants off.
"I have this regular customer – she comes in every couple of weeks... She likes to check out the new talent. One on one, private booth," Sam continued. She looked at Ryan, noting his discomfort. "She doesn't expect anything exotic, or complicated. She just likes to look at pretty boys. Naked. You don't actually have to perform or anything, just undress... I know you said you weren't interested in stripping – but this is kind of a one- off. What do you say?"
What could he say? This was exactly what he'd been afraid of. "And, man, she is very hot indeed," added Diego from the other side of the bar. "I mean, this is a woman you want to take your pants off for, if you see what I mean." He winked at Ryan. "Another shot?"
Ryan felt rooted to the spot, like a ton of lead had landed on his shoulders. He already thought he'd reached rock bottom – but no, a new universe of humiliating yet lucrative possibilities was opening at his feet. At this rate, by the end of the night I'll be turning tricks in the bathroom, he thought bitterly. Fuck yes, he wanted another shot. And make it a large.
Diego poured him one and he knocked it back. He let the booze make its way to his brain.
On the other hand, another couple of hundred dollars and he could forget about cash flow problems for a month at least, if not more. This could be the easiest money he'd ever make. So he'd have to show some rich bitch his ass. Some rich hot bitch. Big deal. Plus, he was buzzed enough on the whiskey not to give a shit.
"So what do I have to do?"
Sam smiled at him, leant over the bar and popped open the top button of his jeans. Ryan just watched her do it, paralysed. He swallowed, hard. "She... er... she doesn't get to feel me up, does she?"
"Not unless you want to," Diego answered, smirking.
Okay. He could do this. He could. It was just about looking – no groping, no touching. Certainly no sex. And if she was hot, hell, he might even enjoy it. (Really? said a little voice at the back of his mind. But Ryan was in no mood to listen.) He marched over to the private booths at the back with as much purpose as he could muster.
Ryan stopped in front of the red curtain, took a deep breath in and gritted his teeth. He could feel a muscle twitching in his jaw. He was light-headed – blessedly, the last drink had just taken him over the edge and into reckless mode. Yeah, of course he could do this. Sure, he felt like a damn whore. But he didn't care. He pushed past the curtain.
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"Hey there," he mumbled, willing his voice not to tremble. He could feel himself beginning to blush and was furiously fighting it. He looked up at the woman, a sleek redhead in her mid-thirties. Who was staring at him slack-jawed in shock.
"You? What the hell are you doing here?" she stammered.
Ryan blinked. This was worse than anything he could've expected. "I don't fucking believe it," he muttered. "Julie fucking Cooper?"
"Actually," she shot back, "Julie fucking Nichol, if you care to remember."
Funny – Ryan didn't think she'd want to draw attention to her new husband at this point. Go figure.
He ran his hand through his hair. This had officially become the most embarrassing moment of his life. Thank god he was drunk. And that he didn't give a shit about Julie Cooper's opinion anyhow, which was just as well, since she already thought he was scum. Mind you, it's not like she had the moral upper hand here. If anything, at least Ryan had a legitimate reason to be here. He tried to regroup his thoughts and focus – it seemed like Seth had taken over his brain and was blabbing a mile a minute.
Abruptly, he realised Julie was staring at his pecs. He felt woozy. The situation was ridiculous. And twisted. Worse, somewhere in the drunken haze of his mind, he was finding this just a bit sexy. Shit, I'm turning into Luke now, he thought.
"So is that your idea of fun, Ryan? I'm sure Marissa would be impressed," sneered Julie. But she sounded rattled.
"Yeah, like you're one to talk," he retorted. "I bet Caleb would approve." He was surprised at his own composure. But then Ryan had never been intimidated by Julie Cooper – or Nichol, whatever. He didn't see her as an authority figure, or a parent, and didn't treat her like one. Maybe it was her Riverside past, or her totally ruthless gold-digging streak, or her appalling mother-daughter relationship with Marissa, but he'd gone head-to- head with her before, and she didn't scare him. She was just a chick from the wrong side of the tracks fighting to hold her own in Newport. He knew all about that.
"Oh spare me Ryan," she snapped. "Neither one of us is coming out of this smelling of roses."
He raised an eyebrow at her: "What are you saying?"
"I think we can agree this is an encounter best kept to ourselves," she said.
"Actually Julie, I don't think anyone would believe either of us if we told." It was just too surreal.
"So let's not risk it."
"Okay," shrugged Ryan. "This conversation never happened." He turned to leave. It almost seemed too easy.
"Hang on." Julie's voice sounded different all of a sudden. Huskier. Oh, that couldn't be good. Ryan felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
"Now the damage's done... I still want my end of the deal. And I will make it worth your while." She was definitely purring.
"You've got to be shitting me." Even through the clouds of alcohol the suggestion was ... preposterous. Monstrous. Perverse. He looked back at her. Julie looked straight back and smiled at him, a smile that sent shivers down his spine. She dug her hand into her purse and pulled out her wallet. Without counting them, she threw a thick wad of bills across the table. At least five hundred dollars, Ryan estimated. Maybe a grand.
"You're that desperate to see my ass?" he croaked. This made no sense. Unless.... Jesus, was that why she'd been so hard on him and Marissa all that time? She fancied him? Ryan could feel himself blushing for real this time, his ears burning. And the woman had a proven track record in underage relationships.
"Let's say I've always wondered what my daughter saw in you." She was smirking.
Ryan weighed up his options. It was undoubtedly completely and utterly wrong. But then none of this mattered anymore. Marissa was history. So was his life in Newport. And he wouldn't be running into Julie Nichol in Chino.
"Whatever," he snorted. "Like I give a shit anyhow." He leant over and grabbed the glass from her hand. Vodka. On the rocks. So that's where Marissa got the taste. He drained it, feeling the ice cubes click against his teeth, and slammed it back on the table. Then he unbuttoned his jeans and let them slide down his legs, staring her down. His jaw was clenched and jutting out, and every muscle in his body felt tense. He was completely out of it, and at the same time stone cold sober. And slightly aroused. Which kind of disgusted him. He closed his eyes but he could feel her looking at him, her gaze moving slowly down his body. It lasted maybe tow or three few minutes. It felt like an eternity.
"So that's what kept Marissa coming back," she murmured.
He shook himself out of his trance: "Actually, Julie, she never went that far. Hard to believe she's your daughter, huh?"
Julie pulled a mock-hurt face and pouted. She licked her lips. Ryan winced. Time to make a fast exit.
"I gotta jet." And with that, he pulled up his pants and walked out without looking back at her. He had at least a month's wages in his pocket. He was done.
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Never again, he thought. But yeah, it had been worth it.
And that Julie Nichol. What a slut. But he couldn't keep her out of his mind and his dreams that night as he tossed and turned in the back seat of the car in the bar's parking lot, too drunk to drive home.
Definitely hot.