Page 122 of Stroked by (Stroked)
“Why? Because you want to screw her in another broom closet?” she asks, a mixture of menace and sadness in her voice.
Shit.
Sighing, I sit down on my bed next to Hollis and cradle my forehead in my hand. “Bellini—”
“Yeah, I know, Reese. I know you’re been sticking your dick in that dumpster of a vagina. Not only is it completely and utterly revolting for me to think of you stooping so low as to have sex with the hired help, who frankly looks like they just crawled off the body of one of those tattoo freaks fromSons of Anarchy,but it’s despicable you would even consider having sex before marriage. Have you no respect for yourself?”
“You know what, Bellini? I could really give zero fucks about your opinion, so you can either tell me where the hell Paisley is, or I can take this sham of a relationship to the media and out us. I have no problem handling the repercussions. At this point, I have nothing to lose.”
“You wouldn’t.” A high-pitched squeal breaks through the phone, causing me to temporarily pull the phone away from my ear. I turn to Hollis who mouths, “Holy fuck.” A small laugh comes out of me from the terrified look on his face. He hasn’t had much interaction with Bellini, so this temper tantrum is startling to him. To me, it’s an everyday occurrence.
“Bellini, there is nothing I wouldn’t do right about now, so don’t fucking test me. What happened to Paisley?”
Screeching some more and pounding on something on the other end of the phone, she finally says, “You’re infuriating.”
“Answer the goddamn question, Bellini.”
Huffing she says, “I gave her an ultimatum, both resulting in her disappearance. You should know you brainwashed her sufficiently that she chose the one that helped you out, the one that didn’t make you look like a fool. But, that meant I blocked your number in her phone. Genius on my end, really.”
“We’re done,” I snap, enraged. “We are so fucking done, Bellini. You’ve gone too far.”
“I’ve gone too far? You’re the one poking people with your penis behind my back. I was just saving the sanctity of our relationship.”
“There is no relationship,” I yell. “We have nothing, Bellini. I can barely stand to look at you, let alone be in the same room. I’m not kidding when I say we’re done. Better prepare for a shitstorm, because by the time I’m done with you, you’re going to be begging you picked someone else to fuck around with.”
Without even waiting for a response, I hang up the phone and toss it, only to grab the ends of my hair and pull.
“That seemed like a fun conversation,” Hollis says after a bout of silence.
“Fuck!” I yell, pulling hard on my hair. “I need to go find her.”
“Find who?” Hollis asks as I get up from the bed and start packing a bag.
“Paisley.”
Immediately, my arms are halted and I’m pushed away from the bag. “Are you fucking insane?” Hollis asks. “Reese, you have a race tonight.”
“I know that, dipshit, but do you really think I’ll be able to concentrate on it with Paisley on my mind? I mean . . . shit, what the hell is going through her mind right now? Is she in her apartment by herself, without a job?” The mere thought makes me sick to my stomach.
“Probably,” Hollis says, not sugarcoating it for me. “She’s most definitely at home, by herself, most likely crying, and jobless, but that doesn’t change anything. You still have a race tonight, and you would be one fucking selfish bastard if you didn’t compete.”
“Selfish? How the hell would I be selfish?”
Hollis comes up to me, toe to toe, and gets in my face, not letting up on his speech. “You’re not the only one invested in your career, Reese. Coach Fern has been with you from the very beginning. It would be a slap in the face to not let him watch you swim one last race. It would be a slap in the face to your family, your fans, the people who’ve stuck by you through thick and thin.” Hollis swallows hard. “It would fucking kill me not to watch you compete one last time. There is nothing you can do about Paisley right now. You’d probably wait at the airport until a flight became available. You owe it to yourself, to your competition, to everyone in the fucking arena, to show up and do one last swim. It’s one hundred meters, Reese. One last time, prove to everyone that you are the Olympic gold-medal swimmer you were trained to be. Don’t cop out now because you’re scared of the end result.”
“I’m not copping out,” I answer, not even believing myself.
“You are.” Hollis grips my shoulder, squeezing it tight. “You’re scared of being disappointed one last time, and yes, you’re worried about Paisley, but you are using her as an excuse. Don’t do that. You’ve worked so fucking hard to get to where you are now. Go out there, cover your eyes with your goggles, and swim the fuck out of your freestyle one last time. You’re meant to be a gold medalist, Reese, and this is it.”
My stomach is tied in knots as I think through what Hollis is saying. Do I have one more race left in me?
Hollis must notice the indecision on my face, because he says, “This is it, old man. You have nothing to lose. Go out there, balls to the wall, and swim like the motherfucking gold medalist I know you are.”
Fuck, I hate that he’s right.
“Afterward, I will help get you back to the States to figure out the Paisley thing, but right now, do this for me, for your fans, for your coach, for your family, but most importantly for yourself. You deserve this, Reese, now go collect your medal.”
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