Page 45 of Stroked by (Stroked)
“Your assistant is hot,” Hollis says next to me, snapping the waistband of his Speedo against his skin and staring blatantly at Paisley. If Bellini and the entire production crew weren’t here, I would slam him up against the wall and tell him to pick another woman to stare at. “Seriously, look at her ass, it’s like two volleyballs sitting in a pair of barely there denim shorts.
Didn’t I fucking know it? Today has been absolute torture, and not just because Bellini has been a nightmare since she got to the pool, but because Paisley chose to wear a pair of denim shorts cut so short that I swear, if I stared long enough, I would be able to see her butt cheek. Then, to go with the short shorts, she wore an equally revealing hot pink tank top that scooped low for the sleeve, showing off her black lace bra and bare side. Not the most professional outfit, but then again, it was hotter than fucking hell today, hence the early swim.
After the terror of Bellini in the pool swimming next to me, and hanging all over my arms praying to Pope Francis to save her, I don’t get to go home and relax. Instead, I get to pose with Hollis, my best friend, and Bodi, for a GQ article regarding the upcoming Olympics.
Hollis is a diver, the best in the world, and given our relationship, his success, and our popularity with the female population, they want to feature us. Bodi is an easy add-on, since the media loves to play up our rivalry. Well, that and the multiple Olympic gold medals under his belt.
King versus Banks, the Yankees and Red Sox of the pool. It’s always been a battle between us. He’s been to two Olympics and I’ve been to three so far. This is my send off. The media is having a field day with the rivalry and my last goodbye.
Even though on camera it seems like Bodi is my arch nemesis, in reality I have no beef with him. We’ve hung out a couple times, swam together during the past two Olympics, and I can’t say anything truly bad about the man, besides the fact that when it comes down to it, he keeps robbing me of my gold.
“What color are her eyes?” Hollis continues. “Are they, grey? Looks like it. Shit, that’s hot.”
“Will you shut the fuck up?” I mumble under my breath, trying not to let the set designers hear me.
“Whoa.” Hollis holds up his hands. “Did you change your tampon before you got in the pool? Don’t want you menstruating all over the place.”
Hollis is my boy, but right about now, I want to plow my fist through his face. I’m not in the mood. Paisley has been radio silent since we had our puppy play date, rejecting me once again. Bellini has been an absolute nightmare today, and all of my physical energy is directed toward not sporting a chub with Paisley walking around like some sinister goddess, wisps of black hair falling over her face and her tattoos perfectly placed on the curves of her body.
It hasn’t been easy. Hell, ever since I’ve met Paisley life hasn’t been easy. I haven’t been able to focus. My swimming has been pure shit, and all I can think about is how I’m grateful I’m in the middle of tapering because my coach would be on my ass about my mental game.
There is none right now.
The woman is driving me absolutely nuts, to the point that when my head is buried under water, staring down at the black tiled line at the bottom of the pool, all I can envision is her wavy dark hair, floating beneath me.
Everything about me is off.
“We decided on just taking individual shots and then Photoshopping them together,” the photographer says, breaking me out of my reverie. “Bodi is done. Hollis, let’s do you next so Reese can collect himself.”
“Not a problem. Make sure to get some back shots. I’ve been doing a lot of lunges, earning some lift on my ass, and I want it noted.”
“Oh sure,” the photographer acknowledges.
I walk past the poor man and say, “He’s being an dickhead. Just photograph his front and be done with it. The man has no ass, it will probably break your camera if you focus on it for too long.”
“Fuck you!” Hollis calls out to my retreating back. “I heard that and I do to have an ass; it’s just smaller than other asses. Don’t shame me in front of people.”
Ignoring him, I spot Paisley, and without hesitation, make my way toward her. Her hair is piled on top of her head and there is a light glisten to her skin from the heat. She’s focusing on typing something into her phone when I come up next to her.
“You’re doing a good job avoiding me,” I say quietly.
Startled, she fumbles her phone, dropping it into a bowl of yogurt fruit dip Bellini demands to be present everywhere we have to be, but never ever eats it.
“Nooooo.” She shoots a glare in my direction and then fishes out her yogurt-covered phone. “Great, thanks a lot.”
“Oh no, you can’t blame me for that. If you hadn’t ignored me for the past few days, or since you got here, then maybe I wouldn’t find the need to come to you.”
I’m not even sure if she’s listening to me. She’s too busy wiping her phone off with napkins from the snack table.
“Are you going to talk to me?” I ask, feeling a little desperate to hear her voice.
Side-eying me, she glances at my appearance and then quickly turns away. “Don’t you have a photo shoot you have to participate in?”
“They’re shooting individually. Don’t you have to pretend to be nice to me since I’m your boss?”
Sighing, she turns to face me, hand on hip, and nerves in her eyes. Call me a dick, but I like that I make her nervous. I like that she shows her true self around me, her unguarded and natural self. Someone who flicks humans in the forehead and then headbutts them a couple days later has to be as honest as they come.
With a less aggressive approach, she says, “What can I help you with, Reese?”
