Page 10 of Stroked by (Stroked)
“True.” I take another bite and quickly chew before saying, “Sorry if it sounds like I’m ungrateful. I guess I’m still trying to accept that I have to work my way back up to the top again. All that hard work in college was for nothing.”
He puts his hand on my thigh and says, “At least your grandfather got his Pez dispenser.”
“Heaven forbid.” I roll my eyes, just as I get a text from a weird number.
Hey Paisley, it’s Reese King. I wanted to make sure you have my number.
I smile to myself, set my burrito carefully down on the coach, wipe my fingers, and text him back. My stomach flutters into somersaults.
Paisley: Hey Reese, thank you. I will be sure to save it.
I pause, not knowing what else to say, so I just click send. Not the most riveting conversation ever, but what is a girl supposed to say to the Sexiest Man Alive?
Thank you, please come over and impregnate me so I can be attached to you forever, stroke you whenever I want, and lick your nipples just because I feel like it?
Might be a little aggressive.
“You have to admit, she is pretty.”
“What?” I ask Jonathan, confused, having totally tuned him out before.
“Bellini, you have to admit she’s pretty.”
I scrunch my nose at him in disgust. “You have to be kidding me. You think she’s pretty? Uh, did you not notice the antagonistic venom oozing from every orifice of her body?”
He scrunches his shoulders. “She has a good rack.”
“That’s all it takes for you? A decent pair of boobs and you’re sold? Despite the utter drollery of her over-the-top actions?”
“I’m a man, I’m easy.”
My burrito finds its way back to my mouth as I chew over that idea. Is that what Reese sees in Bellini? A good pair of boobs? Or is she actually a decent human to him? Maybe she is excellent in bed.
Nope, scratch that. She is an advocate for abstinence. There is no way in hell you would find her sweater set and pearls dangling from a bed post, engaging in any kind of sexual act, especially with her saint of a dog watching over her.
My phone beeps again, just as Jonathan turns on the TV and tunes intoSports Center. I glance over at him quickly to make sure he is immersed in highlights before I answer the phone.
“The Dodgers suck,” he mumbles to himself before taking another bite of his burrito.
Using that moment to push myself against the other side of the couch, I put distance between Jonathan and me to gain an ounce of privacy and read the text message.
Reese: Good. If you’re still in for tomorrow, we are going to Sand Dunes at nine in the morning. Think you can make it?
Of course they’re going to Sand Dunes, one of the most premier brunch locations in Malibu. There is no doubt in my mind Bellini chose the restaurant. I just hope they plan on paying.
Paisley: Sounds good. I will be there.
His response is instantaneous.
Reese: See you tomorrow, Paisley.
I smile to myself just as Jonathan clears his throat. Tearing my gaze away from my phone, I glance up at his knowing eyes.
“Who are you texting over there?”
“No one,” I lie. Setting my phone down in the crack of the couch. “Just saw something funny on Facebook, one of those cat videos, you know?”
Can’t go wrong with a cat video.
