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.
Ever since I'd given an unbelievably beautiful—and soaking wet—woman my black button-up, I'd felt... off. Last night, I'd gone to sleep blaming the weird feeling on being overly tired, but I knew that wasn't it.
There was something about this girl that had me twisted.
The next day, after my buddies sent me a reel of our viral pool rescue on social media, Dawson had been the one to ask if her nipples tasted as good as they looked.
I messaged him back wouldn't know before leaving the rest of my DM's unread.
Instead, I laid in bed, watching the never-ending number of reels tagged #AllWashedUp and feeling so bad for my mystery girl. The things people were saying about her were crazy.
No one had tagged my professional account yet, so I was still the mystery man, but her account had been tagged in the post. Interested, I clicked on her profile, which listed her as Maren Mitchell of MM Talent.
When I saw her name beside her face, I nearly rolled off my bed. Holy shit.
I'd rescued Maren Mitchell from a pool and hadn't even realized it? Her agency had been one of my top choices. It wasn't a big agency, but I didn't care about that. I loved that she wanted to create a customized experience for her clients to help them make the most of their careers. It seemed like a perfect match.
But, after six months and no word, I figured she'd passed on my application like everyone else had.
I'd thought about asking for her name last night, but I'd been too worried about spooking her after she fell into the pool. She'd looked so upset, and her white dress left very little to my imagination. I didn't want to be a creep.
Cursing my luck, I went to work—thinking it would be just another Friday night—when against all odds, Maren Mitchell shows up at The Oiled Olive and asks for me by name.
Correction: by my real name.
When I saw her again, sitting in the front row and looking unbelievably gorgeous, I lost the will to care about my audition. All I wanted to do was make Maren smile after all she'd gone through yesterday.
What I didn't anticipate was that dancing with Maren would be different. Easy. Fun. Hot. Especially after she moaned my real name and ran her fingers through my hair. It was just the right mix of possessive and sexy.
A spark I rarely felt with anyone flared during our dance. When those deep blue eyes looked into mine, they were begging me to show her the real me.
But, it turned out I was wrong.
She'd made this face when I asked her out for drinks that made me sick to my stomach. I'd forgotten there was a line between who I was and who she was. She wanted Broadway, and all she saw when she looked at me was a dancer.
