Page 121 of Stroked by (Stroked)
Her eyes water some more, causing me to roll mine. Enough with the dramatics already. Reluctantly, she hands me her phone and I go through it, sneering at the disgusting texts they’ve sent each other, deleting everything and blocking his number. My work here is done.
Handing her the phone back, I look her up and down and say, “Now beat it, you garbage can. I don’t want to see you again.”
With her head down, a slump in her shoulders, as if she’s an ape—gross—she walks away and out of my life. This day just got a whole hell of a lot better.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
**REESE**
“Open this fucking door, Reese.” Hollis’s voice echoes through the hallway of the athlete dorms, his fist pounding an incessant storm of rage. “I swear to God, if you don’t open up, I’m going to,” he pauses as if he’s trying to think about what he’s going to do, “I’m going to call the hall monitor person.”
Clever.
It’s been a good five minutes of Hollis pounding on my door, and you would think he would get the idea I don’t want to talk to him, but the little punk is insistent.
“Reese, if I break my hand and can’t compete, I’m blaming you. America will hate you. I will go around to every news station to let them know them what kind of pussy—”
He’s cut off before he can even finish as I whip the door open. We are about the same height, but the rage boiling inside me puts me at a greater advantage.
Seething, I spit out, “What the fuck do you want?”
Inviting himself in, not even bothering for me to step aside, he pushes past my strong build and sits on my bed, crossing his leg over his knee and striking a casual pose. “You plan on coming down to the pool this evening? You know, for your final race of your career?”
Shutting the door so no one can hear my business, I say, “What’s the fucking point? We all know how it’s going to end. I might as well just go stand on the second podium and hold my hand out for the silver.”
The past few days have been hell, not just because I’ve been living up to every announcer and media outlet’s expectations of securing the silver for my past two races, but because Paisley has disappeared off the face of this earth. Melony informed me that Paisley checked out of their room without a word. Of course I went straight to my phone to contact her, but for some reason I haven’t been able to get through. Melony has tried calling her, but no one can reach her.
Not only am I terrified something has happened to her, but I’m also terrified she’s cutting me out of her life, which of course has destroyed my mental game, pretty much crumbled it right on the spot. Leaving me with two silvers, one I was barely able to snag, literally by a fingernail’s length.
“I’m kind of over thiswoe is meshit,” Hollis says. “Dude, you have one race left in your career and all you can think about is Paisley.”
My phone rings, halting me from answering Hollis. Frantically, I take a look at my phone and see it’s Bellini, calling me for the twelfth time in the last half hour.
I rub my hand over my face, exhausted already from the conversation I’m about to have. Hitting the green button, I answer, “What do you need?”
“It’s about time you popped your head out of that muddled, disease-ridden vat of water to answer my call. Don’t you realize I’m important people and when I call, you expunge yourself from whatever nonsensical shit you’re doing and you speak to me?”
Exhaling, I reply, “Just get to the point.”
“I’m going to need your publicist to bring me a package of Fiji water. I’m out.”
Pausing my hand running over my face, I grit out, “You called me because you want my publicist to run some asinine errand for you? Isn’t that why you have an assistant?”
“That’s beside the point. I need the water.”
“Well, get it yourself. Ashley doesn’t run errands.”
Whining, she says, “Reese, I’m thirsty and Mauve isn’t . . .” She pauses and clears her throat, “I mean, I have no one to fetch my things.”
My hackles rise from Bellini’s misstep. Without even thinking, I ask, “Where’s Paisley?”
“Probably not brushing her hair somewhere.”
“Bellini,” I snap. “Where is she?”
“Why do you even care?”
“I’m not in the mood for your games, Bellini, just tell me where Paisley is.”
