Page 87 of Stroked by (Stroked)
“What are you doing?” Melony laughs, trying to take a peek at his screen.
“Searching to see if an Amazon drone will deliver a St. Bernard and a six-pack of Guinness to me right now.”
“Pretty sure those drones don’t carry dogs, man.”
“But what if they did?” There is hope in his eyes. The man can be beyond ridiculous at times.
“I’m going to start getting dinner ready, why don’t you two go enjoy the sunset outside?”
Taking another sip of beer, I slip into the kitchen and listen as Hollis and Melony walk out to the pool area, talking about Hollis’s dog, Taco, and why he found it necessary to name him after a Mexican delight.
I purchased four steaks, some zucchini and summer squash to cook on the grill with hopes that Paisley would be lounging on one of my chairs, keeping me company. But by the looks of it, I’ll have to listen to Hollis try to score a date with Melony, a task he’s been working on for six months now.There is something about Melony that screams “no relationships.” I don’t know much of her background, but what I do know is she wants nothing to do with Hollis despite his endless attempts.
And it’s not like he’s a bad-looking guy. He’s done a few modeling jobs as well, always wearing his hair longer on top and flexing to get attention. It works for him. If I tried such a thing I would look like a giant dickhead.
After I wash the squash and zucchini in the sink, I dry them off with a towel and take them over to my cutting board. Memories of Paisley using my cutting board flood my mind, reminding me of how close I got to her that day I found her on the beach. It was the first time I actually got to wrap my arms around her.
“Need help with that?”
That voice stops my hands from chopping the vegetables in front of me. I set the knife down and look up to see Paisley leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest, wearing a red sundress. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and her cleavage is on display.
Fuck. Me.
“Hey, handsome.” She smiles, walking toward me.
My stomach sinks to the floor from the mere sight of her. My addiction, standing right in front of me, waiting to feed the need I have for her to be in my arms.
“Where’ve you been?” I ask, leaning against the counter and playing it cool even though I want to maul her right about now.
“Developing carpal tunnel,” she answers, standing in front of me and running her hands up the front of my chest and then wrapping them around my neck.
I grip her hips, settling her between my slightly spread legs. “It better be from writing and not something else.”
Her eyebrow rise in question. “And what might that other thing be?”
“The thing you did for me on FaceTime the other night.”
“I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”
She wants to play with fire, fine by me. I lower my head to her ear and say, “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You better not have finger-fucked yourself without me around.”
“And what if I did?” she shoots back, her body moving in close to mine.
“Then there is no need for my services.”
“You’re right, there isn’t.” She taps my cheek and pushes away but not before I can rein her back in.
“I missed you,” I state, dropping the act. “You don’t return text messages now?”
“You becoming an obsessive boyfriend now?”
Fucking sassy woman and her comebacks.
“Is that what I am, your boyfriend?” I ask in a teasing way but not before her face falls flat in question.
“Um, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“And how did you mean it?”
