Page 81 of Stroked by (Stroked)
You knew this was going to happen. You were going to have to watch them together, knowing fully well that it’s fake.
But why did it seem so real?
Images of Reese hovering over me, stroking my hair sweetly float through my mind. He was so genuine, so sweet, so . . . loving. He can’t possibly be playing me, right?
Shit. I play with the ends of my hair and stare at the ground, wondering if this is right to pursue. I would have to put up with a full season of this—and who knows, maybe two seasons—of watching Reese and Bellini act like a couple, be all cutesy together, as if they were actually in love. The mere thought of it makes me sick to my stomach.
My mind wanders to all different scenarios just as someone grabs my upper arm and starts escorting me down the hall. Shocked, I glance up to see Reese guiding me past everyone and into a private room in which he shuts and presses me up against the door.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, hoping no one saw him take me in here.
He presses his hands against the door, bracketing my head and bringing his lips inches from mine. “I’m showing you who I belong to.” Before I can react, his lips are on mine, searing me with his heat, prying my mouth open with his tongue.
Instinctively my hands fall to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer, getting lost in his kisses and the way his tongue tangles with mine; the distinct cologne he wears envelops me every time I’m around him.
His hips move against mine, pressing me farther into the door, his strong arms wrap around me and pull me closer. Every inch of his body is tangled with mine. I feel safe, adored, and I can’t help but sigh against him, loving the way it feels to be pressed against his hard, defined body.
I run my hands into the curls of his hair and pull on them slightly, loving the way I can make him groan so easily.
Stepping away, he presses his forehead against mine and speaks softly. “Please don’t ever think I want her over you or that I even want her near me for that matter.”
“I didn’t—” He cuts me off with a kiss.
“Paisley, I saw the way your face fell flat when she was sitting on my lap. I’m not an idiot. I know this is hard for you, but you just have to hang in there. These spotlights are few and far between. It’s rare I spend time with her. Can you understand that?”
Being in the business, I know how it works, so of course Icanunderstand it, but that doesn’t mean I like it.
“Yeah, I can.”
“Good.” He kisses my nose and pulls away. “Now, I have a race to win. You’re going to be watching me, right?
“Wouldn’t miss it.” I smile up at him, stroking his beard one last time. “I guess you have to go shave.”
“It will be back, baby. I promise. I will be scratching up your inner thighs soon enough.” I blush from his admission. He then lifts my arm and pushes the folded up sleeve of my T-shirt down, exposing myRockytattoo. He runs his thumb across the phrase and then kisses it gently.
I look him in the eyes and smile. “You got this, Reese.”
“I know I do. Catch you after, baby.”
One more quick kiss and then he’s gone, out the door before I can wish him good luck. I take my time, counting to fifty before I leave just in case anyone followed us. It is time to get up to the stands to watch my man.
***
The lights are dim, the stadium is buzzing, and the scoreboard ahead is playing a swimming montage of highlights from last Olympics. Every time Reese’s face and body flashes over the screen, my stomach dances with butterflies and thousands of women scream. I don’t blame them. All I want to do is jump up and down and clap.
I love a sports montage. Flashes of sweaty people, unforgettable and very inspirational music all cinematically put together and tied harmoniously with a voiceover that gives you chills. Gets me every time.
This time being no exception, especially since I know the man who is striving for his last go of it.
Swimmer after swimmer appears on the screen, saying what the Olympics mean to them, what it would feel like to return to the big show, to compete for their country. Chills sprinkle across my skin, my stomach flips with nerves, and just when I feel like I’m going to burst in anticipation, Reese comes on screen, slowly lifting his head, showing off that beard of his. The crowd erupts and then his voice takes over the stadium reciting his favorite quote fromRocky.
“Every champion was once a contender that refused to give up.” The cheers surrounding me are so loud, I almost can’t hear what he says next. “I refuse to give up until I hold a gold in my hand.”
Energy and excited electricity bounces over the stadium as the montage fades out, laser beams start to race around the room, music builds up and the first race is about to begin. The announcers take over, working the crowd, pumping everyone up even more. I’ve never in my life been a part of something so intense, so energetic, and I can’t help but get caught up in everyone’s excitement.
“This is so cool,” Melony says, clapping her hands with everyone else.
I have to agree with her. I turn to Bellini to see her excitement, only to find the priss sitting in her seat, holding Pope Francis who is wearing earmuffs, blocking out the loud sounds of the speaker. She has a bored look on her face and it almost seems like we’re torturing her by being here.
