Page 18 of Stroked by (Stroked)
But there is a difference between the way he looks at me and the way he looks at her.
“Want to try some of my pancakes?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts and shifting his plate toward mine. “They lack in the sugar department since I try to avoid the substance as much as possible. I’ve found it much easier on my body to recover when I’m not loading it down with sugar. But they are still really good pancakes.”
“Sure,” I respond, shrugging my shoulders and sweating just slightly from the recent camaraderie between us.
With my fork, I cut a triangle of pancake off his plate, douse it in some sugar-free syrup, and place the bite in my mouth. Flavors of banana and syrup flood my mouth.
“These are so good,” I say, covering my mouth with my hand so he doesn’t see the half mutilated food rolling around.
“Told you.” He winks, right before reaching over to my plate and taking his own bite without permission.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”
Mid cut into my breakfast, his face rings shock. “What? I don’t get to try yours? That doesn’t seem fair.”
“You should ask before you go and reach over to grab a hungry girl’s food. I wasn’t kidding when I said I like to eat.”
“Apparently.” He laughs. His face turns sincere, and he relaxes his arm on the table, waiting for me to give him permission. “Paisley, may I please have a bite of your French toast? It will only be a little one.”
“Because you asked politely.” I gesture for him to take a bite.
What I think is going to be a little corner of my French toast, turns into a huge square, and before I can protest, the bite is quickly eaten by the man sitting next to me.
His smile is broad; he knows what he’s done.
“That was not a small bite,” I protest.
Talking with his mouth full, clearly not concerned about food flying out of his mouth, he says, “I will get you another plate if you’re still hungry after you finish that one.”
I point my fork at him. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“Believe me, if you want more food, I will order you more food.” There is a twinkle in his eye, a little spark I haven’t seen before.
I don’t reply. Instead, I stare down at my plate and will my breath to steady in its erratic behavior. I’ve never felt so nervous around a man before in my entire life. So, why now? Why does it have to be this man, one that I work for, one who is attached to a woman who could literally make or break the tiny thread that is my career?
Casual conversation, that’s what we need. Simple questions that will get me through the rest of this breakfast without shedding my clothes and begging Reese King to lick my nipples to hardened points.
Nope, I’m not having inappropriate thoughts at all. Not one bit. I don’t want to hump his arm one bit.
“Um, are you excited about the Olympics?” I ask, rather shyly, hating the long bout of silence between us and my idiotic question, but it seems pretty safe.
He chuckles and pats his mouth with his napkin. “Yeah. I have to get there first.”
I nod my head, mind blank of what else to say. “Do you have more practice after this?”
“I do. I have another session in the pool and then some dryland training. Pilates and weight lifting.”
“You do Pilates?” I ask, laughing from just thinking about him on a reformer.
“Have to.” He sets his napkin on the table, and I notice he’s finished his entire breakfast. Christ, he can eat. “A strong core is important when it comes to swimming.”
“Don’t you ever get tired? I get tired just after one workout.”
He shrugs and stares out at the ocean to the side of us. “It’s second nature now. I don’t even think about it. This morning was a little rough, the main set was strenuous, but I’m at the peak of my mesocycle right now. Taper week is coming up, that’s when I’ll be the happiest.”
“Taper week?” He looks at his phone, checking the time, and I realize maybe I should stop asking him questions, finish my meal, and let him get on with his day. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. You can go if you need to be somewhere.” I grab my pen and tear a piece of paper out of my notebook. “Here is my email address, and you have my phone number. Send me your schedule, and I’ll make sure to sync it up with mine and Bellini’s. I will work on those accommodations and travel arrangements. I only wonder about tickets, would we be able to get into the venue?”
“Take a breath, Paisley. You’re not prying. I have some time this morning before I have to be anywhere. We can talk swimming if you would like.”
