Page 16 of Stroked by (Stroked)
“No.” She sniffs and shakes her head.
Patiently, Paisley and I wait for Bellini to gather herself and sit back down in her chair. From a distance, I can see the waitstaff observing our table, wondering what’s going on. The wheels in their brains start to turn, coming up with some kind of asinine story as to why Bellini was upset.
One hundred dollars says she’s pregnant with child by tomorrow, according to the tabloids. What the hell did I get myself into? Right about now, I am picturing a good swift kick to Ashley’s clam.
Once Bellini is settled, and she dries her fake tears with her napkin, she clears her throat and looks up at me.
Taking a calm breath, I say, “Bellini, I’ve invited our assistant, Paisley, to join us for brunch this morning so we can go over our upcoming travel schedule. You’ve expressed interest in going to the Olympic Trials with me, and to Rio, once I’m on the team. She will be of great assistance to you during that time.”
Bellini clutches her chest in adoration. “Oh Reese, you were just thinking of me this whole time? I should have known. Of course, I will be a nervous wreck watching you swim. I will need all the help I can get. Mauve will be a welcomed hand when I’m in need.”
Just like that, she’s switched from psychotic babbling bitch to grateful shrew.
“Always thinking of you.” I swallow hard from the blatant lie.
“Isn’t he just the sweetest?” Bellini asks Paisley, hand on her chin, infatuated with me. “I’m so lucky that he chose me to be his girlfriend.”
“He’s very sweet,” Paisley compliments, avoiding all eye contact with me.
Clapping her hands together, with a new sense of vigor, Bellini picks up her menu and searches through it. “Forget the Tic Tacs, we’re going to celebrate. I think a bran muffin is in order.”
“I was thinking about the French toast, eggs sunny side up, and a side of bacon myself,” Paisley says. “What about you, Reese?”
Her pink lips glisten under the lights of the restaurant as she smiles over at me. Fuck, the woman eats, and it’s a huge turn on to me.
“Oh Mauve, aren’t you worried about calorie intake?”
“No.” Paisley shakes her head. “Had a big lift this morning at the gym, I’m starving.”
Bellini’s nose turns up at Paisley mentioning lifting weights. By no means is Paisley a ’roid-raging specimen, but she is toned, sculpted perfectly, an impeccable product of the gym. Her shoulders are chiseled, but still feminine; her face is round, but thin, and from what I can remember, her ass is a symmetrical masterpiece.
“The French toast is good, but the banana granola wheat pancakes are my favorite.”
Paisley opens her mouth to say something but Bellini cuts her off. “Ugh, all this carb talk is making me fat from just hearing it.” She snaps her finger in the air, calling over the waitress who appears out of thin air. “I’m going to have a quarter of a bran muffin, only a quarter, do not give me any more than that, with precisely a third of a cup of grape jelly on the side. I would also like one leaf of romaine lettuce with three strawberries cut into roses in the middle, pineapple, and blueberries decorating the side. As for my drink, I would appreciate it if you could run across the street and grab me a venti, seven-cubed, iced, skinny, sugar-free syrup, extra shot, no-whip hazelnut macchiato and two orange Tic Tacs. Also, a glass of distilled water, three tablespoons of orange juice, and a shot of wheat grass with a dash of pepper.” She sets her menu down and points at both Paisley and myself. “These two will be gorging themselves on glutinous products that I’m sure will give me hives.”
Without regret or remorse, Paisley orders her French toast, and I get my pancakes. We both order sunny side up eggs and decide to share a side of bacon.
While our orders are processed, I open up my phone to my calendar app to go over some of the most important upcoming dates of my career. Paisley pulls out a pad of paper, a black sparrow gracing the front. In the spiral, there is purple felt tip pen tucked inside. With her teeth, she uncaps it, her beautiful lips, barely caressing the cap. My mouth waters from the sight, and I wonder what it would feel like to have her mouth around me, those lips sucking me off, her grey eyes staring up at me, as if I were the only man in the world good enough for her.
Shaking the dirty thoughts from my mind, I start to discuss my schedule. “Trials are June 26thto July 4th.”
“Noooo,” Bellini whines. “How un-American. It interferes with this country’s birthday. What kind of treasonous nonsense is this? Who came up with those dates? Did Hitler rise from hell, become an event planner, and screw over all of us red, white, and blue-blooded Americans just for his own sadistic pleasure?”
“You don’t have to go,” I say between clenched teeth, inches from flicking a sugar packet at her forehead.
“Are you kidding me? Of course I’m going to go. I would never miss my boyfriend’s swim party.”
“Bellini, it’s not a swim party. It’s the Olympic Trials. You know what that means, right? If I place at the Trials, I go to the Games. The Olympic Trials are one of the single most important events of my career besides the actual games.”
She waves her hand in front of her face. “Oh sure, yup.” She doesn’t even look at me as she speaks; instead, she taps away on her phone. So instead of trying to gain her attention, I turn to Paisley who is jotting down notes.
“Are you going to need a flight?” she asks.
She looks up at me and that’s when I realize she put on a pair of glasses, black, thick-rimmed glasses. Framed by the onyx lining, her steel-colored eyes look that much more exotic.
Ignoring the urge to lean in and kiss her from how adorable she looks, I say, “I already have my travel accommodations, but I’m sure you and Bellini will need to book something. Production should be willing to cover the expenses; you should see who you can talk to about that. Bellini has an entourage I’m sure she will need there.”
“Pocket has to go and so does Melon. I refuse to be seen on camera if I am forced to do my own hair and makeup,” Bellini cuts in.
