Stripped

A/N: I really appreciate you guys who have reviewed this story already and expressed an interest in it. I was kinda worried about deviating from my usual formula (i.e. Trish and Randy, Dave, or John - my Trifecta of Sexy). But I'm glad to find that you're enjoying it. This chapter is for Rachel, because it was coming anyway, but I know it'll make you happy. I don't own either of the Superstars mentioned in this chapter, just like I have never owned any of the Superstars mentioned in any chapter of any of my stories. Enjoy!

By the time John returned to his hotel room, he had three great excuses ready for Stacy. Not that he wanted to lie to her, but he couldn't tell her the truth. She would smell it on him anyway, and she would figure it out. But he would not blatantly admit that he had defied her wishes, yet again. He didn't want to see the heart break on her face, the disappointment in her eyes, when she realized he was far weaker than she expected him to be.

Opening the door as quietly as possible, he checked his diamond encrusted watch. It was almost 5 am. With any luck, she would be sound asleep. In the eight months they had been dating, he had discovered that his Stacy was an incredibly sound sleeper, allowing him to sneak in at all hours of the night and slip into her bed without waking her. By morning, he could always convince her that he had been there since right after she had drifted into dream land.

But she wasn't sound asleep this morning. She was perched on the edge of the bed, dressed in a pink sweat suit, complete with running shoes and jewelry. At her feet, her suitcase was packed, and her purse was lying on the bed beside her. When he closed the door, she turned to face him, her eyes red and swollen.

"Hey," he stated, trying to figure out what was wrong. "What's goin' on here?"

She cleared her throat, wiped her hands over her face, and shook her head. "I can't do this anymore, John."

The pain in her face, mixed with the alcohol he had consumed and the exhaustion threatening to take over his body, confused the hell out of him. "Huh?"

Stacy stood to her full six feet and tightened her ponytail. "Us. I can't do it anymore. I'm out," she nodded to her suitcase.

The words hit his ears, but their meaning was bouncing around in his head, refusing to settle into his brain. "What?" he laughed, as though this were some cruel, early morning joke.

But the tears that pooled in her eyes said it was anything but funny. "I love you," she said sadly, reaching for her purse and her car keys. "But it's not enough anymore. And I just can't keep doing it."

The whole situation was surreal and absurd, as far as he was concerned. He had forgotten to call her before, plenty of times, and she had always yelled at him about respecting her and then forgave him with hot, sweaty make-up sex. He was sure that he, and his tongue, could convince her to give him another chance as he stepped forward and reached for her tiny waist.

But Stacy stepped back, holding out a hand to stop him from advancing. "No." It was as if she was reading his mind, and she wasn't falling for it again. "Not this time. You can't just fuck this one away, John."

Falling onto the bed, he took a moment to let it all sink in. She was leaving him. Just like that – without warning. Or had there been warnings? Had he missed the signs? Had she tried to tell him that she was unhappy? He honestly couldn't remember. He thought they were good together. "Why?" was all he could manage.

With her arms folded across her chest, Stacy steeled her resolve. "Because you don't even know it's not right anymore," she said simply. Her voice was sure and steady, but raspy through the filter of a throat strained from crying. "Because you have to ask me why."

He was tired, and irritated, but he didn't want to yell. Obviously, she was upset by this. And given awhile to process it, he probably would be, too. "Can we just cut the bull shit and you tell me what it is I'm supposed to know? Tell me why you're really leaving." He narrowed his eyes and waited.

He was a good boyfriend – any girl who dated him would agree. He paid careful attention to their interests and desires. He always had a firm handle on what made them tick, what they liked and didn't like. But, at the heart of the matter, he was still a man. He didn't always know what he had done to piss his woman off, and he didn't like it when they assumed he did.

Shaking her head, Stacy huffed. "Let me ask you something first. And don't bother lying to me, because it's not gonna help anything at this point." He nodded. "Did you got to a strip club tonight?"

Looking away sheepishly, John nodded. She hated them, and he knew it. She saw them as degrading to women, and insulting. She had asked him, more than once, to stay away from them, and he had never listened. But strip clubs couldn't be the reason she was pissed enough to walk away from eight months of hard work and happiness.

"With Randy and Adam?" Again, he nodded. "So, you went to the one place I have asked you not to go, and you went with the two men I have asked you not to hang out with?" When he looked at her with vulnerable eyes, she let out a bitter laugh and shook her head. "And you wonder why I'm sick of this bull shit, John? Seriously?"

Her tone pissed him off. Sure, she had told him how she felt about strip clubs and his friends. But he was an adult, dammit. "So you're breaking up with me because you can't control me. Is that it? Am I getting that right? Because I won't go where you want me to go and hang out with who you want me to hang out with, you're just gonna leave?" Standing, he put his hands on his hips. "That's mature, Stacy."

She knew what he was trying to do. If he could get her angry, make her yell at him, then he wouldn't have to feel guilty about the heartbreaking expression in her eyes. But she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of feeling justified. Not when she knew it wasn't her fault. Not all of it.

"I'm not leaving because of them," she corrected softly, trying to control the anger bubbling inside of her. "Relationships are about compromise, John. They're about respect. When we have a day off, do I drag you into dress stores? Do I make you sit around and wait for me to try on thirty pairs of shoes? No, because I know how much you hate it," she pointed out.

The argument was thin, at best. "That's maybe the most asinine thing I have ever heard," he spat. "Just because I hate shopping, it doesn't mean I ask you to stop doing it. And I know how much you hate strip clubs, so I don't ask you to go with me."

"You're not morally opposed to shopping, though," she stomped her foot. It was an issue she felt strongly about, the fact that his watching other naked women was, at least in part, no better than cheating on her. And the fact that he couldn't see it the same way, hurt. It hurt her more than she was willing to overlook.

John rolled his eyes. "Look, baby, I understand that it's a big deal to you. I really do. But you wanna talk about compromise like it means me doin' whatever you say. You wanna talk about respect like it means me going along with whatever you believe in." Reaching his hand out to her again, he shook his head. "We are adults, Stacy. Sometimes adults just agree to disagree."

She stepped into his touch this time, and let it linger on her elbow. With a sigh of resignation, she shook her head and pressed a kiss to his forehead. When she finally stepped back, she stooped to pick up her suitcase and gave him a small smile. "I can agree to disagree with my friends, John. But I need my boyfriend to have my back." She turned for the door, leaving him to process the last fifteen minutes alone.

When she stepped into the hallway, he called out, "Is this really about strip clubs, Stacy?"

She looked over her shoulder and shook her head. "It's about everything."

For a long time after she left, he laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling. She was right – at least he thought she was. If he understood her correctly, their relationship hadn't ended because of other naked women, or because of his sometimes obnoxious friends. It had ended because, quite simply, they were way too different to co-exist. He couldn't change who she was anymore than she could change who he was. And that realization helped him to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.