Page 39 of Stroked by (Stroked)
Caught off guard, I lean forward and ask, “Why would you need to wear one? You’re a swimmer.”
The corner of his mouth lifts up in a smirk. “Not for swimming. I need it for around you. Seems like every time we have a meal together, I get hurt. You’ve flicked me and headbutted me, so I’m just waiting to be crushed in the balls by your knee now.”
I can feel my face heat up and my ears turn red from embarrassment. I hate to admit it but he’s right. Breakfast was a flick and almost lunch was a headbutt, so I pretty much try to damage this man around any type of food.
I shake my head. “I’m so sorry.”
He chuckles. “You know I’m kidding.” He pauses and then says, “But seriously, do you plan on kneeing me in the junk? A little warning would be appreciated.”
“No.” I laugh. “I don’t have kneeing you in the junk in my schedule.”
“All right.” He nods. “You’ll let me know if it ever shows up, right? I mean it’s the least you can do after the last two attacks.”
“I promise.”
Our order is called and Reese tells me to stay seated while he stands to grab our breakfasts. Before he left the pool, he changed into a pair of athletic shorts, a plain black shirt, and a black backwards hat. He’s very casual, yet with the way his shirtsleeves cling to his biceps, or how his shorts encase his butt—showing off how perfectly round it is—he is sexy as hell. His tattoo extends from this shirtsleeve down his arm showing that even though he might dress like a teenage boy with a backwards hat, he’s still very much a man.
Two trays are placed at our table. One has my cereal concoction with a bottle of water and the other has a breakfast burrito, two fruit kabobs, yogurt with granola, and a bottle of water. Reese wasn’t kidding when he said he ate a lot of food.
“Got enough food over there?” I ask, pouring my milk onto my cereal, my mouth watering over the not-so healthy breakfast I’m about to partake in.
“Hopefully.” He smirks then takes a look at my tray. “How’s your bowl of sugar?”
I’m mid spoon to my mouth when I pause. With a questioning look on my face, I ask, “Are you judging my breakfast?”
“No, not at all.” He holds up his hands. “Don’t knee me in the junk.”
“Ha, ha,” I deadpan just before I put my first scoop of sugary goodness in my mouth. “Mmm . . .” I moan, then realize I’m in public, sitting in front of a very attractive man.
His mouth is slightly agape, his eyes heady, and his shoulders tense. “I’ve never been more jealous of a bowl of cereal in my life.”
“Reese . . .” I warn.
“What?” He smirks at me through his eyelashes while he gathers his burrito in his hand. “You’re fucking sexy, especially when you moan like that. We should try it out in bed some time.”
“Reese!” I hiss, leaning forward and scanning the place to see if anyone can hear our conversation. “I’m your assistant.”
He shrugs. “Technicality.” Taking a big bite of his burrito, he just smiles at me as I start to sweat. I should have known he’d be persistent. Maybe I should have knocked him harder in the forehead yesterday.
“So, you like looking at my body, huh?” he asks nonchalantly, as if we’re just talking about the weather.
I choke on some milk and take a sip of my water, trying to steady the cough that is taking over. “What?”
“You like looking at my body. Nothing to be ashamed of. I noticed you ogling me at the pool deck.”
“I wasn’t . . . ogling you,” I whisper, not wanting anyone to hear our conversation, apparently Reese couldn’t care less.
“Please,” he takes another bite of his burrito and talks with his mouth full, “I saw the way you perused my body. You were blowing kisses the whole time at me.”
I straighten up from the blatant lie. “No, I wasn’t. You were the one blowing kisses at me.” My voice rises and catches the attention of George.
“Is there a problem over here?” he asks, mirth in his voice.
Mortified, I sink down in my booth seat. Reese just laughs as he continues to shovel his breakfast in his mouth, barely taking a moment to breathe.
“I hate you,” I say timidly as I scoop some more cereal into my spoon.
“No, you don’t.” He winks and then offers me a piece of his fruit kabob. “Kabob?”
