A/n: It was just time for this. I was slightly intoxicated on caffeine and sugar while writing this, so...yes. LMFAO. This is rated M for language mostly. So don't worry, there's not any intense sex scenes. You can read ahead safely :) Anyway, if you enjoy this, a review would be greatly appreciated :)

He always knew she was a bitch.

Jake Ryan was fuming. He was driving ninety down the highway with the windows down and 3OH!3 blasting so loudly he felt like his head was being sawed open. He wasn't really sure what he was running from precisely, he just hoped his speed enabled him to outrun the pain that was at his heels, threatening to latch onto him. But he wasn't running from it, because he didn't fear it. Jake Ryan didn't fear anything. Fear feared Jake Ryan. That bitch feared him. At least, she should.

She cheated on him.

He was the one who took her in. Her career was complete shit because no one cared about her boring ass. She was boring behind camera, boring on stage, and fucking boring in the bed. He was sick of her nagging, sick of her short legs, sick of her inability to connect on any level. He started dating her initially because he was feeling generous. She looked okay. She was a C cup at least. And she needed good press. Dating Jake Ryan was the surest way to get good, strong publicity. So he gave her what she needed, naively assuming she would do the same for him in return. He was wrong. He was an adventurous man in and out of the bed and needed a girl the same way. She refused to try anything new. She wouldn't even leave the lights on. And it made sex so boring for Jake that he almost dreaded having it with her.

Then she started talking marriage. And kids. And Jake knew he had to get the fuck out of that relationship. While he was planning how to let her down easy, she was fucking his director in the back of a limo.

So he confronted her. He was honest with her. He told her he hated how boring she was, how bland she was, how unadventurous she was. He hurt her as much as he could so she would know what it was like to be betrayed. They got into an explosive fight, and he was gone.

The anger felt like freedom. The hard wind felt like freedom. The trashy, neon lights of the Vegas streets felt like freedom. He was free from her, and almost completely free from the hurt that was trailing behind him.

He needed to fuck. He needed to fuck until his legs were aching and his head was blissfully empty, until the name Debbie didn't mean shit to him beyond Little Debbie cakes. There were plenty of girls dying to have his body all over theirs. There were probably twenty in a two-mile radius right now that would die to get the chance to feel his tongue on theirs. But, for once, he didn't want to be fawned over. He wanted a connection. He wanted an equal.

Resigning himself to the fact he wouldn't ever get that, he pulled into a strip joint that looked pretty packed. It looked promising. Might as well make some stripper's day a little better, he thought, as he parked and grabbed his wallet. He made sure his cologne was still discernable—not that he needed anything to make him any more irresistible—and exited his car.

People stared at him as he walked in, obviously unsure if it was really Jake Ryan or if the neon lights and the rum in their systems were playing tricks on them. No one was confident enough to make any move to contact him. Jake was relieved and realized that he didn't want special attention. The feeling was strange to him. He hadn't felt this desire to blend in with the crowd since he dated Miley Stewart so many years ago. He didn't realize how much he missed the feeling until it was back. He missed her too. He hadn't talked to her in years. Hannah Montana disappeared from the world about two years ago, and Jake had assumed that Miley had gotten married and began a family. They were twenty-five after all.

He simply gave the bouncer a look, and he was admitted into the building. It was throbbing with strobes lights and a strong smell of alcohol and cigarettes and sex burned his nostrils. Men filled the venue, packed at small tables, their eyes glued on the stage where a European woman was dancing erotically. Jake slipped into a seat at a table near the back. The walls were black and topless women walked around, asking various men if they wanted any drinks.

Jake stopped a blonde with huge, Hooter-worthy breasts and a naval ring. She smiled widely at him, her eyes glazed over and dreamy. Jake wasn't sure if she was drunk or just exhausted.

"What'dyalike?" She slurred. Drunk.

He pulled his wallet out and handed her a one-hundred dollar bill. She hiccup and grinned widely at him, showing off perfectly straight teeth.

"I'll take vodka," He winked.

She giggled and nodded, stumbling off toward the bar. Jake watched the European dancer but found her just as boring as Debbie. She had on way more clothes than she should have and she seemed to only know how to spin around the pole spastically. By the time the pierced blonde came back with his glass, the European's stage time was over. The lights dimmed and Jake prayed the next dancer would be edgier. He sipped his drink and enjoyed the warmth that spread throughout his body.

The music started before the lights even came on. It was fast paced and sexy, a lot better than the generic music the European girl was dancing to. The girl walked on stage and Jake leaned forward in his seat, trying to get a better view. He much preferred this girl. Her hair was long, wavy, and a medium shade of brown. She wore nothing but glitter and rhinestones placed strategically on her body, barely concealing her tits and ass. Much better. He sipped at his vodka and watched her grip the pole, spinning around it almost gracefully. She had long legs and her dark hair was much different from Debbie. Just what he needed.

When she began grinding against the pole, he knew she was the escape he wanted to bury himself in. He downed the rest of his drink and stood up, weaving through creepy old men and drunken guys who were probably in fights with their girlfriends. He approached the owner who was standing in front of a stage door.

"Yes?" He asked.

Jake pulled money out of his wallet. "I want a private room." He demanded.

The man peered closely at him in the dark. "Are you—"

Jake interrupted him. "Yes, I'm Jake Ryan. Now, how much is a private room."

The man seemed thrilled. He grinned widely. "Nice to have you here, Mr. Ryan. It varies per dancer. Who would you like to service you tonight?"

Jake glanced at the stage. "Her."

The owner followed his gaze. He grinned. "Ha, Miley. She's a favorite."

Jake felt like he had more vodka that he really had. He swayed on his feet. He glanced at the girl on stage. Surely it wasn't her. But the closer he looked, the more she was sure that it was. He remembered those legs and those lips. Of course he would be attracted to her still. But what in the world was she doing here?

Jake glanced back at the owner.

"Where do I go?" He asked.

The owner pulled a whistle from his pocket, and Jake was shocked when he whistled at Miley, like she was some sort of animal. She stopped her exotic dancing and blew a kiss at the crowd. They cheered and screamed and she ran off stage toward the owner. Jake felt his mouth go dry and his palms begin to sweat. The closer she got, the more nervous he seemed to feel. He hadn't talked to her in years and they were about to go into a private room.

"Yes?" She asked breathlessly. She didn't even really pay attention to him.

The owner glanced at him. "Mr. Ryan would like a private dance."

She spun around, her hair flying out around her. The lights from the stage reflected on her glittered body and Jake stared.

He expected some sort of reaction from her. A hug, maybe. A "Oh my gosh! It's been so long!" perhaps. But he didn't get anything.

"I'm afraid there's not much more to take off." She said lowly, glancing down at her body. He kept staring, going hard so easily he was almost shocked. It took him forever to get this hard for Debbie. Probably because she didn't really turn him on that much.

Miley led him through the door and down a hallway. They said nothing. For a split second, he wondered if she remembered him. But of course she did! He was Jake fucking Ryan! No one forgot him. No one.

She opened a door and he followed her into a small room. There was a small stage, a chair, and a pallet. Candles were burning and so was Jake. The room seemed to be sweltering. He pulled at his shirt and coughed. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to ask.

She cautiously grabbed his forearm. His skin tingled and burned and his heart rate increased. Memories enveloped him like the deep, sensual smell of her perfume.

"Miley?" He asked.

A grin slowly covered her face. She grabbed his arms and pushed him back into the chair. He slammed into it hard and it rocked back for a moment. He gulped, suddenly unsure of what he'd gotten himself into. She grasped the back of the chair and leaned over him, rotating her hips slowly, her eyes locked on his, never looking away, not even for a moment. He tried to look away but she always followed his gaze. He glanced down and watched her body, shamelessly imagining it under his. He couldn't seem to remember how to breathe without thinking about it. All his blood was in his penis.

She slid her hands off the back of the chair and onto his shoulders. She rubbed his chest and began unbuttoning his shirt. She leaned in and caught his mouth with hers. She pushed her tongue in his mouth and pushed his shirt off him. Theoretically, that should have helped cool him down. But he only felt hotter. He was almost positive he was going to have a heat stroke. The heat on his skin seemed to be solid, like he was in a sauna.

He tried again. "Miley?"

She stayed silent. She pulled her hands off his shoulders and turned around. She sat on his lap and began gyrating her hips slowly. She reached back and set a hand on his face and suddenly he honestly couldn't breathe. It was a combination of things: how she was demeaned by the owner, how she was grinding her bare ass into his lap while also setting a hand lovingly on his face (something she did while they were dating), and the way she refused to make any kind of verbal recognition of him.

He grasped her arms tightly. She stopped moving.

"What the fuck, Miley? Why are you here?" He tried again, his breath hitched.

She looked back at him, her blue eyes surrounded in golden glitter and black eyeliner. She seemed impatient.

"What the fuck, Jake?" She mocked. "I'm trying to do my job and give you what you paid for, but you're making it a lot harder to do than it should be. You may be a hell of lot better looking than those thirty year old men, but at least they shut the fuck up and let me do my job."

He stared at her in shock. Her voice sounded the same as it had when they were younger, but now she was using words she absolutely hated before. She used to smack his arm every time he said any kind of cuss word, and here she was, cussing him out while giving him a lap dance while she's naked. What in the world happened to her?

She took his silence as an apology and permission to keep going. She climbed off him and stood in the gap between his legs. She undulated her hips in steady circles and he couldn't help himself—he automatically reached out and grasped her by the hips. He felt comfortable with her because, once upon a time, she had meant so much to him.

She stopped immediately. Her eyes narrowed.

"Don't touch me." She threatened lowly. "I touch you. You sit still and keep your hands to yourself."

Her anger was even sexier, but at the moment, he cared more about answers than sex. He always assumed the only thing in relationships he cared about was the sex, but he was starting to feel weird. He actually cared about her wellbeing. He had an urge to ask her if she was happy. Jake Ryan didn't connect emotionally. Jake Ryan fucked. But this day was full of surprises for Jake. First his girlfriend cheated on him, and now he was restraining a stripper from giving him a lap dance.

He knew how to get his answers then. Once she was done admonishing him, she turned and bent low, her breasts at perfect eyelevel. So naturally he looked. Her fingers grasped his belt and she undid it with a surprising expertise (surprising until he remembered what her job was now). She unbuttoned his jeans and began sliding them off his body. And he felt disgusting all the sudden, like he was the one degrading her. He grabbed her shoulders. She flinched back from his touch again, a glaring crossing her face. She slapped his arm in a way so familiar even her countenance broke for a moment.

"Don't fucking touch me." She hissed. He kept his hands on her shoulders. He traced his hands down and kept his eyes on hers.

"Why are you here?" He tried.

She tried to pull out of his grip, a disgusted grimace on her face. He tightened his fingers on her upper arms.

Her anger was giving way to a new emotion. She shook ever so slightly. "I'll tell Bill." She threatened. "I'll have you kicked out. I'll call the cops and turn you in for sexual harassment."

He laughed. "You were grinding your bare ass into my dick and I grab your arm and I'm the one who is sexually harassing you? You're still as ridiculous as ever."

She pulled against his grip again, trying to break free from his touch. He refused to let go. Her eyes almost looked watery.

"Yes, because you are paying for me to give you a lap dance and a fucking blowjob. You aren't paying me so you can touch me. Don't make this any harder than it already is. Let go of me and let me do my job. And try not to talk while I am, okay? That'd be a great help." She snapped. She yanked at his grip again.

He slid his hands down. He gripped her waist and rubbed circles in her bare skin with his thumbs. He leaned forward to kiss her. Her eyes fluttered shut against her own will. He gently pressed his lips full against hers, and his body began tingling. She seemed to lose herself for a moment, but then she pulled back. She slapped him across the face.

She seemed to hurt after that. Her mouth parted and her eyes appeared even more watery than before. He didn't move. I should have just gone into a room with the European, he thought.

He actually listened to the fast pace song throbbing through the stereo system now. I might like you better if we slept together, some girl sang. Maybe he really should just let her do her job. But he was just as stubborn as her. No one refused Jake Ryan of anything. And she was refusing to give him answers.

"Miley." He said softly. She refused to look at him. "What happened to you?"

She breathed deeply, her bare chest heaving. She glanced back at him. She kneeled down slowly, clenching her jaw and narrowing her eyes in a very familiar, stubborn way. She grabbed the top of his boxers and glared at him while pulling them down.

He covered her hands with his. He stared at her. She finally sighed.

"I'm a fucking slut, Jake. That's what happened." She snapped.

He pulled on her hands and she grudgingly stood up.

"Come on, I'm paying you for answers now. Sit with me." He said. She glowered at the floor. He stood up from the chair and pulled his pants back on. He walked over to the pallet on the floor and sat down. He stared at her until she sighed and walked over, sitting beside him.

"I have nothing to say to you." She growled. "I'd much rather be sucking your dick right now."

Me too, he thought.

"Well, too bad. A lot of girls want to suck my dick. It's a tough world."

She sighed. He sighed.

"So how did you end up a stripper?" He asked.

She turned to look at him. "I know you think something tragic happened. I could tell you that it did. I could tell you I gave all my money to Cancer research. I could tell you I gambled it all away. But the honest truth is that I like to strip. I like being a slut."

He stared at her, a dubious expression on his face. "No you don't. No girl likes being whistled at and doing sexual things to nasty old men."

"You aren't a nasty old man. But I didn't even get to do anything sexual to you because you'd rather "talk". Are you homosexual now?" She grumbled. Her attitude had gotten worse over the time they hadn't talked.

He glared. "Shut your mouth. And stop lying to me."

She leaned forward. "Why don't you make me?"

He shoved her down on the pallet. He set a hand on her stomach and kissed her just like he used to. She immediately began squirming, trying to get free.

He pulled back.

"Why aren't I allowed to touch you?" He demanded.

She stared up at him. Her glitter was rubbing off and she was almost completely visible. She sat up slowly, her hair tangled now and her makeup smeared. She looked beaten.

"Because. It's my job to touch you. I do my job. You touching me makes it more than that." She mumbled. She studiously avoided his eyes.

"And it makes you remember when we dated. Before you were a stripper." He tried.

She nodded at the floor.

He sighed. He leaned back.

"And you're sticking with your 'I like being a slut' story?" He asked.

She stared at him defiantly. She held her chin high.

"Yes." She said. "What's so weird about that? I'm a dirty little whore. Y'all think only people in misfortunate life situations do this? I do this for fun." She grinned.

He pitied her if that was true. He honestly did. And he didn't believe it for a moment.

"Come home with me." He said suddenly. He studied her face and touched her hand. She didn't pull it back.

"You don't get home visits. Take what you want here." She argued.

He leaned toward her. She leaned away from him.

"I don't want a home visit. I want you to come stay with me. I want you to get out of this job and be the girl you used to be." He clarified.

She stood up. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and fixed the position of a purple rhinestone. She looked at him.

"That girl grew up, Jake. People change. Maybe something did happen to me. Maybe it didn't. You are never going to know. I want my money." She held her palm out.

He felt terrible all the sudden, as if the pain had finally caught up to him. It latched onto him and his heart felt so heavy. Anguish infiltrated his entire body. He pulled his wallet out and grabbed a stack of money, blindly handing it to her. He just wanted to get away from the pain. She clenched her hand around the money and nodded. She swallowed.

"Thank you." She whispered.

He nodded.

She shifted to another foot. She seemed to be fighting emotions similar to his.

"Goodbye," she whispered. She edged toward the door.

He stood up.

"Will I ever see you again?" He asked.

She smiled. "I work every week day from six until eleven. Come for another private visit."

But he didn't want that. He didn't want a private visit. He didn't want her all over him like a cheap whore. He wanted to be able to touch her, too. He wanted it to mean something. He wanted her back.

And suddenly, that's all that mattered. Because when Jake Ryan wanted something, he got it. End of fucking story. He got what he wanted.

"Don't leave again." He begged suddenly.

She set her hand on the doorknob. She turned around. She smiled at him.

"Maybe I'll see you again, Jake. Have a nice life."

She opened the door and walked out of the room. Jake was in shock. He stood there.

"But…." He whispered. "I'm Jake Ryan?"

He collapsed onto the floor, shock filling his entire body. He just got turned down? He got turned down by his ex-girlfriend on the same day he was cheated on by his now ex? He got turned down by one of the most wholesome girls he knew who was now a stripper? What was going on? Nothing made sense anymore. It was like he was ugly now! But that definitely wasn't true. Oh my God! What if it was?

And suddenly many people were rushing in the room. At first he felt like it must be Nazis, and that he was definitely about to be shot or stuffed in a gas chamber, but then he recognized his best friends' and his director's and his agent's faces.

He was confused.

"Guys?" He asked.

They were howling with laughter. Jake couldn't breathe when that little punk Ashton Kutcher came skipping the room. He tossed an arm around Jake and a camera was shoved in his face.

"Jake Ryan, you just got Punk'd!" He screamed. "I'm so glad my show was moved to the adult channel! This opens me to so many new possibilities!"

Jake was embarrassed.

So Jake did what every egomaniac would do when someone made a fool out of them.

He punched Ashton Kutcher in his fucking face.

People screamed and some laughed. Jake was about to hit him again when Miley walked in. This time she was wearing a t-shirt and blue jeans and her hair was brushed and her makeup washed off. She smiled at him. He smiled back, his heart increasing in speed. He tried to be mad at her—she played the lead role in this!—but he couldn't bring himself to.

She walked up to him.

"Hi, Jake. It's been a long time." She smiled. "It's about time I got you back for that marriage-prank you pulled with Traci."

Jake let go of Ashton's neck. Ashton fell to the floor.

"I can't believe you got naked for the camera just to prank me!" He said.

She casually fiddled with a bracelet she was wearing.

"Well, I've always had a habit of getting naked for you, haven't I?"

The heat returned. He stammered something.

She leaned forward, a smile on her face. She pressed his money back into his hands and started to turn around. She stopped. She looked back at him.

"Oh, and Jake?" She asked.

His mouth was dry, so he just nodded his head. She grinned even wider.

"You can touch me whenever you want." She whispered. She winked.