Page 100 of Stroked by (Stroked)
They are toe to toe now, their noses practically touching as venom shoots out of their mouths.
“I’m not fucking around with her. Paisley means something to me,” Reese answers. A tingle of excitement runs up my spine from his honesty.
“Until you get bored and move on to someone else.”
“Fuck you,” Reese growls. “You know nothing about me, so don’t make any half-ass snap judgments.”
“I know that you’re supposed to be in a relationship with Bellini but instead you’re fucking Paisley on the side.”
“Jonathan,” I scold. “Stop it.”
“What did you say?” Reese asks, his fists clenching.
Not wanting them to get into an altercation, I put my arms between them and try to separate the small space between them. I’m barely able to squeeze my arms in the crevice that separates the two testosterone-filled men.
“You heard me. You’re just fucking Paisley on the side.”
“That’s what I thought you said,” Reese seethes just as he cocks his fist back and plows Jonathan across the jaw, shooting him backward into the couch.
Like the girl I am, I scream and cover my mouth in shock.
Momentarily stunned, Jonathan grips his jaw and studies Reese before shooting off the couch and ramming into him like a bull out of a gate. Both men crash into the closed front door, causing the walls to shake.
“Stop,” I yell. Not knowing what to do or how to stop two very large and muscular men from fighting without getting hurt, I scream, “Jonathan, get off him.”
Wrestling upright, they both fight for the upper hand. Grunts escape them as they slam into each other, taking cheap shots, and pulling on each other’s clothing. Fabric rips, fists connect, and straight-up terror courses through me as I wonder how the hell this is going to stop.
Knowing Reese can’t get injured weeks from the Olympics, I step in, praying that a random elbow doesn’t blast through my eye socket.
“Stop, please stop,” I cry, pulling on Jonathan from behind, using all my weight to fall backward so his balance is thrown off.
I’m not ready for him to give in to my tug so when he falls back with me, we both slam into the ground, the two-hundred-pound-plus man of muscles falling directly on top of me.
The wind is knocked out of me before Jonathan is lifted up by the shirt and pushed to the other side of the living room by a very angry Reese King.
From below, I stare at his ripped hoodie, exposing his tan skin, and the veins popping out of his neck. Pure violence is radiating through him. His hair is wild and his five o’clock shadow that is growing in makes him look menacing. Glaring at Jonathan, he says, “Stay the fuck off her.”
Turning to me, Reese squats down and pushes a lock of hair out of my face and that’s when I notice his cheek is bruised and his chin is bleeding. I reach up and run my thumb across his face. He winces in pain, making me want to punch Jonathan myself.
I allow Reese to help me stand so I can face Jonathan who has a bloody lip and nose as well as a swelling eye. His shirt is torn and he looks haggard, and maybe a little regretful.
“Are you happy now?” I ask him. “Is this what you wanted?”
“He’s the one who fucking punched me,” Jonathan says, pointing to Reese who is standing behind me.
“Because you practically called her a whore,” Reese shoots back.
I hold my arms to stop them both. “It doesn’t matter who started what. This is idiotic. You’re both grown-ass men and don’t need to be punching each other in the face.”
“I refuse to stand here and let him insult you like that,” Reese says, wrapping his arms around my waist and conveying his words through his eyes.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jonathan spits. “Paisley, have you seriously lost your mind? The dickhead is just playing you.”
The hold Reese has on me tightens. Knowing I need to stand up to my best friend, I turn in Reese’s arms and say, “That’s where you’re wrong, Jonathan. This is more than just some pleasure fuck. Why can’t you see that?”
“Maybe because you’ve never had a serious relationship in your life. Maybe because the guy holding you is supposed to be connected to another person. Maybe because this scenario is so far-fucking-fetched that it’s impossible to believe. Earth to Paisley: you’re screwing yourself over, your career. This is bound to catch up to you.”
“Why can’t you just be supportive?”
