Page 37 of Stroked by (Stroked)
He’s flawless—seamless—so freaking fluid with his movements that it’s impossible to look away.Erotic.Water drips off him onto the pool deck that’s starting to heat up from the rising sun, his dominant shoulders flex with each press, and the dimples above his tight ass draw my attention to his lower half.
Just when I’m starting to get comfortable with the view, his coach calls out fifteen and then tells Reese to take his mark. Springing up from position, Reese does just that and then dives back into the pool when his coach sounds off a beep through the megaphone. I’m able to catch the flex of his calves right before he sails into the pool and a slow pulse starts in the pit of my stomach. Reese isn’t just attractive; he’s sexy. Never did I think swimming would turn me on, but hell, watching Reese glide over the water—his powerful arms pushing him forward—is one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.
For the next half hour, I watch Reese work his way down the pyramid, swimming fifties—look at me learning swim terms—and doing fifteen pushups on each end as his coach calls out each rep by counting them off. I’m fascinated in his endurance, in his ability to keep up with his coach’s relentless pace, and his determination to never show weakness. Every single time Reese pops out of the pool on my end, he blatantly makes an attempt to wink, smirk, or even blow a kiss at me. Yes, he blew a freaking kiss. I wore a mask of indifference but inside, every vein in my body turned into Jell-O with the slight pucker of his lips pointed in my direction.
Yup, I’m that girl right now.
During his workout, Bellini and Jasper never show up.Did I miss something?I check my calendar for anything but don’t see where I went wrong. I have the time and place right so I chalk it up to them being incredibly late.
As Reese does some sort of cool down, I take in the relationship between his coach and him. They are close, there is no denying that. His coach talks about their workout, what they accomplished and then starts asking Reese questions that involve his mental game. Reese answers them without skipping a beat, telling his coach he feels strong and confident going into trials and that he’s looking forward to his taper week—whatever that means.
The day starts to heat up, and I’m thankful for the tank top I’m wearing under my light zip-up hoodie. Taking off my sweatshirt, I let the sun’s rays warm my exposed arms. Having to wake up so early left me with no fashion sense as I put on workout Capri spandex, a purple tank top, my all-black Nikes, and because I wasn’t interested in doing much with my hair, I quickly styled it into two loose French braids. My white-rimmed sunglasses protect my eyes from the sun reflecting off the pool and hide my burning gaze of Reese.
Finally, Reese hops out of the pool, shakes hands with his coach, grabs a towel, and starts walking in my direction. There is swagger in every single step he takes; there is purpose in his approach, and there is fire in his eyes as he connects with me, never breaking contact.
“You came,” he says, taking a quick sip of his water bottle. Despite his towel draped over his shoulder, he makes no attempt to dry off, and I wonder if it’s because he can tell I have zero self-respect when it comes to watching water drip off his body.
Clearing my throat and trying to show a shred of professionalism, I stand and say, “Of course. Where’s Jasper and Bellini? I thought we had a meeting.”
“I canceled with them.” He smirks.
Raising an eyebrow, I ask, “What do you mean, you canceled with them?”
“It’s just a practice, didn’t think they wanted to watch.”
“Soooo . . . there is no meeting?” I’m so confused.
“No, I sent them an email last night about what I wanted to discuss for Bellini’s pool training. I guess I forgot to copy you on that.”
“I guess you did,” I reply skeptically.
He shrugs. “Sorry about that.” Even though the apology comes out of his mouth, I don’t believe him for one second. “Enjoy the practice?”
I cross my arms over my chest and lean one hip to the side. “Yeah, but kind of wish I got to sleep in. A girl needs her beauty sleep, you know.”
“Looks like you got enough sleep to me.” He bites his bottom lip and gives me a once-over. I swear, my stomach does an entire somersault and my nerves jump in excitement.
Taking the towel in his hand, he rubs the top of his head, drying off his curly black locks, and then asks, “Want to get breakfast? I’m starving.”
“Umm . . .”Your answer should be no, Paisley, tell him no.I berate myself in my head, but for the life of me, I can’t seem to form the words to reject him.
“It’s on me.” He winks. “You know . . . for forgetting to copy you on the email and making you get up so early. Give me a few minutes to wash off. I’ll be right back.”
Before I can tell him I’m too busy, he takes off toward the locker room, his backside flexing with every stride.
Real smooth, Paisley, way to hold strong.
***
“I’ve never been to Flake,” I say to Reese as we walk along the sidewalk of Venice Beach. Of course, Reese insists on driving together, so I get to ride in his black Rubicon and pretty much suffocated in lust from the fresh soap smell rolling off Reese. At one point, I rolled down the window but all that did was waft his heavenly scent in my direction. Stupid sexy-smelling soap.
“Really? They have the best breakfast in the area. I come here at least once a week, although not when I’m craving my banana granola pancakes.”
“As you could tell, I’m not much of a morning person, so I don’t go out to breakfast very often. I usually go to CrossFit and then shove a protein bar down my throat on the way to work.”
“Well, this place won’t let you down.”
We turn the corner to the entrance of Flake, a grey stucco building with orange doors and a surfboard with a bacon sign hanging off it. It’s laid-back and cute, just the kind of place I like. Placing his hand on my lower back, he opens the door for me and ushers me inside, the heat of his palm branding me the entire time.
