Page 12 of Stroked by (Stroked)
I pick at my cuticles, not looking him in the eye. “Uh, because maybe I’m their assistant, and they need to talk to me about what the next month or so is going to look like.”
“But you were smiling,” he points out.
“I told you, funny cat versus cucumber video.” I cover up my right nipple so he can’t detect my apparent lying.
He sighs and sets my phone on the coffee table. “Paisley, I’m going to say this one more time. You can’t mess up this job.”
“I know,” I say, exasperated from his constant lecturing.
“Do you?” He pauses for a second, shifting his body so he’s looking at me directly. “You’re not just working for Bellini Chambers and Reese King; you’re working for Wally Rose, one of the most influential men in the business. One screw up, and he will hear about it, believe me, especially from Bellini. She complains to him about everything. If you get on his bad side, you might want to think about choosing a different career. You already have a black mark on your résumé—”
“I know!” I wave my hands in the air out of pure frustration. “I get it. This job is important, it’s my one shot to get back into what I want to be doing.”
“Yes, if you excel at this job, then you will be able to move up in the company. You want that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then that means whatever you’re smiling about because Reese sent you a text message needs to stop . . . now. He’s your boss, you have to maintain a professional relationship.”
“I’m not an imbecile, Jonathan. This isn’t my first job. I know what it means to be professional.”
He gives me a pointed look.
“Fine, was I giddy because Reese King sent me a text message? Yup,” I respond with gusto. “But I feel like any girl would have reacted the same way. It’s hard not to when the SEXIEST MAN ALIVE sends you a text message.”
Jonathan rolls his eyes. “Pfft. Ladies just love him because of his tattoo and his smoldering look.”
“Smoldering?” I lift a quizzical eyebrow in his direction.
“What? I’m comfortable enough in my manhood to notice an attractive man when I see one. Doesn’t mean I want to rip his pants off and let him whack me in the face with his dick.”
“Why is that something you would say?”
He shrugs his shoulder. “It’s called embellishing to make a point.”
“Weird point you’re making.” I look away and pick a piece of lint off the couch.
“Back to the topic at hand. You know Reese is with Bellini, right? And that your giddy little school crush will have to be tucked away when you’re working with both of them.”
My upper lip rubs against the bottom of my nose as I try to tamp down my temper, not wanting to shoot off at Jonathan. He did just get me a job and has been supporting me for a while. “How about this?” I suggest, not wanting to fight about this anymore. “You trust in the fact that I take this job seriously, that I want a better life for myself, and that I want to further my career. Trust I won’t screw this up, and you don’t talk about it ever again. Because I love you, Jonathan, but I’m two seconds away from strapping you down to this couch and sticking a needle up your dick hole.”
He cringes and covers his crotch. “Damn, Paisley.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “You do realize that would mean you would actually have to look at my dick.”
Since college, I have seen the man’s dick probably more than all his girlfriends combined. Almost every morning, he walks around naked. I still squeal and cover my eyes, avoiding any eye contact with his penis. Not that I hate penises. I don’t at all, but Jonathan is like a brother to me, and I don’t want to see his junk. Simple as that.
And for all the men out there, yes, you have a penis, congratulations. But please note: it’s not God’s gift to all women, it’s not the most amazing thing to look at. It’s a rod of skin hanging between your legs. Unless it’s erect, supercharged, and ready to burst, cover that shit up because a flaccid penis is just a soggy meatball sub, balls sagging behind, and hopefully devoid of parmesan cheese.
“Like I have a choice in the matter. I’m surprised your penis hasn’t been present for this entire conversation.”
“Do you want it to be present?” His hands fall to the button and fly of his pants, threatening me.
“No,” I yell. “Leave it inside your jeans. For fuck’s sake.”
He laughs and wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me to his side. I rest my head on his shoulder and bask in the cool smell of his cologne. Jonathan and I have been friends for years now, nothing else. We never even thought about turning our friendship into anything romantic, just didn’t seem right. We are each other’s soul mates, but in a “blood buddy” kind of way, not in a “my vagina likes your penis” kind of way.
He kisses the top of my head and says, “For the record, if I were a lady and Reese King sent me a text message, I would get giddy too.”
“You’re so annoying.” I twist his nipple, causing him to scream.
