STROKED (The Stroked Series Book 1)

  Chapter Ten

  **PAISLEY**

  “I’m so tired I think I’m about to pass out,” I say into my phone, while trying to navigate the streets of Los Angeles in the early morning dew.

  “But I made you coffee . . . with love. You should be alive and ready for the day.”

  “With love? What is with love?”

  “You know, stirring in your cream while naked,” Jonathan says with laughter.

  I roll my eyes and turn on my blinker, scoping out the parking lot I’m about to turn into. Please let there be a close spot, please let there be a close spot.

  “Please tell me you used a spoon to stir.”

  “As opposed to what?” From the jovial way he asks the question, I’m quite sure he knows what I’m talking about.

  “I swear to you, Jonathan, if your naked dick went anywhere near my coffee I’m going to make sure you’re never able to get it up again.”

  Chuckling, he answers, “You think so low of me, Paisley. It truly hurts me.”

  “You’re fine,” I tell him. Pulling into the parking lot, I start searching, hoping and praying for something close. I can barely turn the steering wheel, let alone drag my carcass across the early morning asphalt.

  After I left Reese’s house in a state of panic, I spent the entire evening replaying our time together over and over in my head. From the moment he saw me at the beach, his blatant perusal of my body, to the way his bare chest burned against my back while he was helping me cut those damn peppers. I couldn’t erase the images out of my head, causing me to toss and turn endlessly until the wee hours of the morning. When I finally fell asleep, my alarm started ringing, letting me know I had half an hour to get ready before I needed to meet Bellini, Reese, and Jasper at the pool to go over some logistics.

  “Want to get dinner tonight?” Jonathan asks. “I’m feeling like some pizza.”

  “How can you even think about dinner? It’s not even seven in the morning.” I find a parking spot that’s not as close as I was hoping, but I settle since I have about two minutes to meet everyone at the pool. Surprisingly, this was the place to be in the morning. I have no clue why. Venice Beach is a few blocks down, so if people want to swim, they should just go to the ocean.

  Gathering my coffee, keys, and purse, I work my way out of my car as Jonathan continues to speak. “Just trying to schedule some time with my favorite girl. You’ve been working a lot. I miss you.”

  “Are you trying to get me to pay?”

  “Maybe.” He laughs. “Come on, you owe me some pizza. It’s the least you can do for me getting you that job.”

  “Ah, yes, I can’t thank you enough for helping me land the opportunity of a lifetime. Every time Bellini points at her mouth and shouts for a Tic Tac, I praise to the heavens above for the blessed chance you’ve given me here.” My sarcasm is heavy.

  “You’re more than welcome, sweetheart.” I know there is a smirk on his face.

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  “Wait,” he says quickly. “What about dinner?”

  “You know I’ll have dinner with you. Now I have to go. I’m almost at the pool.”

  “Okay, make good decisions today.”

  If only he knew.

  We say our goodbyes, and I hang up just as I turn into the pool area where the water in the pool is being sprayed around by flailing arms and kicking legs. There are a few athletes on the pool deck, conducting some dryland training while everyone else is in the lap pool and coaches are calling out instructions.

  There are eight lanes in the pool and at the very far end, three lanes are still, with only one athlete hanging on the edge of the pool, listening to a coach instruct him while pointing at the clipboard. Reese. Instant recognition. Not hard due to the unforgettable tattoo cascading from his shoulder blade.

  Scanning the perimeter, I don’t see Jasper or Bellini and wonder if I have the time wrong or if they decided to sleep in a little longer. Moving past the swimming club gathered at one end of the pool, I watch Reese intently as his coach kneels down to talk to him. From his schedule, I know Reese has been out here for at least an hour already and is going on hour number two.

  Even though I berated myself last night for letting things get out of hand yesterday with Reese, I can’t help but watch him intently, taking in the way his muscles shift ever so slightly with his movements: his back flexing, showing off his countless hours in the pool. Memorizing. Taking a seat on the bleachers near his lane, I listen carefully without being detected, not wanting to intrude.

  “This last set is going to push your limits, but I included it because we need to test your strength and endurance. You’ve been smooth all morning, let’s keep that up.”

  “Okay,” Reese gruffs out.

  “We’re doing fifties with fifteen pushups at each end. Freestyle. Pyramiding down. We’ll start with a set of five and work down from there.”

  I have no clue what they’re talking about—as I don’t speak swim—but from the hard set of Reese’s jaw, I can tell he’s not too excited about the workout he’s about to do.

  “Start on the block and listen to my signal. Go on my count.”

  I watch Reese’s long and sturdy body hop out of the pool and stride to the block. He adjusts his swim cap and looks at the pool. The minute his eyes meet mine from across the deck, his face brightens and his gaze sharpens. From the light smirk that blesses his features, I know he’s happy to see me.

  He snaps his goggles in place, adjusts his swim jammers that ride incredibly low on his waist—like dangerously low—and gets in position. Bending over at the block, he grips the edge, his feet positioned askew, and his head angling down toward the water.

  “Take your mark,” his coach calls through a mini megaphone. Reese’s arms tighten just before a beep sounds, sending Reese flying through the air and straight into the water. I’m angled so I’m staring down the length of the pool and he’s coming right at me. I wait in anticipation to see him pop up out of the water.

  After a few seconds, his head emerges and his strong arms stroke through the water while his powerful legs kick behind him. Fluidly his legs, torso, and arms work together, propelling him forward at a pace I’d never be able to keep up with. I would be flopping around in the water, begging for him to wait up. His hands enter the water with precision, barely making a splash as he glides toward me.

  Just when I think he is about to flip under the water to turn around, my mind plays games with me because it almost seems like slow motion as his arms straighten and his chest pops out of the pool. With his foot on the edge, he climbs out, water streaking down every sinew in his body, down to his waistline where his jammers cling to the bulge in his crotch.

  Fuck. Me.

  It’s like he’s giving me my own personal erotic show.

  He stops right in front of me. Droplets of water decorate my tennis shoes and as he planks over the ground, getting into a pushup position. He gazes up at me and winks just as his coach starts counting in rapid succession, setting the pace for Reese’s pushups.

  I’ve never been one to stare at another human being while they’re exerting themselves, because sometimes, humans are not the most attractive when they’re working their body weight up and down, coming inches from touching the ground. But that’s not the case with Reese King.

  He’s flawless—seamless—so freaking fluid with his movements that it’s impossible to look away. Erotic. Water drips off him onto the pool deck that’s starting to heat up from the rising sun, his dominant shoulders flex with each press, and the dimples above his tight ass draw my attention to his lower half.

  Just when I’m starting to get comfortable with the view, his coach calls out fifteen and then tells Reese to take his mark. Springing up from position, Reese does just that and then dives back into the pool when his coach sounds off a beep through the megaphone. I’m able to catch the flex of his calves right before he sails into the pool and a slow pulse starts in the pit of my stomach.
Reese isn’t just attractive; he’s sexy. Never did I think swimming would turn me on, but hell, watching Reese glide over the water—his powerful arms pushing him forward—is one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.

  For the next half hour, I watch Reese work his way down the pyramid, swimming fifties—look at me learning swim terms—and doing fifteen pushups on each end as his coach calls out each rep by counting them off. I’m fascinated in his endurance, in his ability to keep up with his coach’s relentless pace, and his determination to never show weakness. Every single time Reese pops out of the pool on my end, he blatantly makes an attempt to wink, smirk, or even blow a kiss at me. Yes, he blew a freaking kiss. I wore a mask of indifference but inside, every vein in my body turned into Jell-O with the slight pucker of his lips pointed in my direction.

  Yup, I’m that girl right now.

  During his workout, Bellini and Jasper never show up. Did I miss something? I check my calendar for anything but don’t see where I went wrong. I have the time and place right so I chalk it up to them being incredibly late.

  As Reese does some sort of cool down, I take in the relationship between his coach and him. They are close, there is no denying that. His coach talks about their workout, what they accomplished and then starts asking Reese questions that involve his mental game. Reese answers them without skipping a beat, telling his coach he feels strong and confident going into trials and that he’s looking forward to his taper week—whatever that means.

  The day starts to heat up, and I’m thankful for the tank top I’m wearing under my light zip-up hoodie. Taking off my sweatshirt, I let the sun’s rays warm my exposed arms. Having to wake up so early left me with no fashion sense as I put on workout Capri spandex, a purple tank top, my all-black Nikes, and because I wasn’t interested in doing much with my hair, I quickly styled it into two loose French braids. My white-rimmed sunglasses protect my eyes from the sun reflecting off the pool and hide my burning gaze of Reese.

  Finally, Reese hops out of the pool, shakes hands with his coach, grabs a towel, and starts walking in my direction. There is swagger in every single step he takes; there is purpose in his approach, and there is fire in his eyes as he connects with me, never breaking contact.

  “You came,” he says, taking a quick sip of his water bottle. Despite his towel draped over his shoulder, he makes no attempt to dry off, and I wonder if it’s because he can tell I have zero self-respect when it comes to watching water drip off his body.

  Clearing my throat and trying to show a shred of professionalism, I stand and say, “Of course. Where’s Jasper and Bellini? I thought we had a meeting.”

  “I canceled with them.” He smirks.

  Raising an eyebrow, I ask, “What do you mean, you canceled with them?”

  “It’s just a practice, didn’t think they wanted to watch.”

  “Soooo . . . there is no meeting?” I’m so confused.

  “No, I sent them an email last night about what I wanted to discuss for Bellini’s pool training. I guess I forgot to copy you on that.”

  “I guess you did,” I reply skeptically.

  He shrugs. “Sorry about that.” Even though the apology comes out of his mouth, I don’t believe him for one second. “Enjoy the practice?”

  I cross my arms over my chest and lean one hip to the side. “Yeah, but kind of wish I got to sleep in. A girl needs her beauty sleep, you know.”

  “Looks like you got enough sleep to me.” He bites his bottom lip and gives me a once-over. I swear, my stomach does an entire somersault and my nerves jump in excitement.

  Taking the towel in his hand, he rubs the top of his head, drying off his curly black locks, and then asks, “Want to get breakfast? I’m starving.”

  “Umm . . .” Your answer should be no, Paisley, tell him no. I berate myself in my head, but for the life of me, I can’t seem to form the words to reject him.

  “It’s on me.” He winks. “You know . . . for forgetting to copy you on the email and making you get up so early. Give me a few minutes to wash off. I’ll be right back.”

  Before I can tell him I’m too busy, he takes off toward the locker room, his backside flexing with every stride.

  Real smooth, Paisley, way to hold strong.

  ***

  “I’ve never been to Flake,” I say to Reese as we walk along the sidewalk of Venice Beach. Of course, Reese insists on driving together, so I get to ride in his black Rubicon and pretty much suffocated in lust from the fresh soap smell rolling off Reese. At one point, I rolled down the window but all that did was waft his heavenly scent in my direction. Stupid sexy-smelling soap.

  “Really? They have the best breakfast in the area. I come here at least once a week, although not when I’m craving my banana granola pancakes.”

  “As you could tell, I’m not much of a morning person, so I don’t go out to breakfast very often. I usually go to CrossFit and then shove a protein bar down my throat on the way to work.”

  “Well, this place won’t let you down.”

  We turn the corner to the entrance of Flake, a grey stucco building with orange doors and a surfboard with a bacon sign hanging off it. It’s laid-back and cute, just the kind of place I like. Placing his hand on my lower back, he opens the door for me and ushers me inside, the heat of his palm branding me the entire time.

  Trying to ignore the way Reese ignites my body so easily, I take in the ambiance of the restaurant. It’s quaint with a row of olive-green booth seating flanking the length of the wall with orange tables lined up next to it, providing a great deal of seating. The walls are decorated in cream and orange hues with surfboards and the fronts of cereal boxes scattered across the space. Above the register are chalkboards with the menu, and below it, a cereal bar with toppings that range from fruit to Reese’s Pieces. I think I’m in love.

  Leaning in close as we stand behind a few people in line, he speaks softly, telling me all about their menu. “They have a bunch of egg sandwiches, burritos, and yogurts, but then they also offer bowls of cereal.”

  “Cereal?” He’s so close, I have to pull away slightly to look him in the eyes.

  “It’s not just cereal.” He chuckles. “It’s cereal with a twist. You get two scoops and then depending on what you’re interested in, you can either get two toppings or one toppings.”

  “What are the toppings?” I ask, starting to be more interested in this cereal idea.

  He points to the jars in front of the bar. “Anything really. They have a bunch of fruits, nuts—”

  “Gummy bears?” I ask, my mouth starting to water.

  He chuckles next to me, the rumble of his chest vibrates against my back. “Yes, they have gummy bears.”

  “Sold.”

  I study the menu as we step forward, preparing my order, making sure I have the perfect combination of toppings to my cereal.

  “Mr. King, we haven’t seen you in a while,” the worker says as we step up.

  “Hey George. Yeah, it’s been a bit. I had a long swim today and decided to bring my friend. She’s a newbie.”

  George looks over at me, and it doesn’t go unnoticed to me that Reese referred to me as his friend and not his assistant. I don’t know why that makes me happy. It shouldn’t.

  “Welcome then,” George coos. “I’m hoping Mr. King gave you a run-through of how things work, but if he was neglectful to a beautiful lady like yourself, I would love to answer any questions you might have.”

  “Settle down, George,” Reese says before I can answer. His voice has a more rugged tone to it. “I explained everything to her.”

  Chuckling to himself, George nods. “The usual for you today, Mr. King?”

  “Please.”

  “And what would your friend like?”

  Stepping up to the counter, Reese once again puts his hand on my back, and I wonder if it’s a territorial thing or if he’s taking any opportunity he can to touch me. He did make his attraction toward me quite clear at his house.

/>   “I’m going to have The Basic Bowl.”

  George touches the screen in front of him. “Okay, two scoops of cereal, two toppings, and your choice of milk. What will it be, sweetheart?”

  From the endearment, Reese’s hand presses harder against my back. Settle down, buster, it’s not like George is trying tongue me from over the counter.

  “I’m going to have two scoops of Crunch Berries, a scoop of gummy bears and one scoop of mini M&M’s with one-percent milk.”

  There is a smile on George’s face as he plugs my order in. Looking up at Reese, he says, “You payin’?”

  “Do you think I’m some kind of chump that will make the lady pay?” All George does is lift an eyebrow. “Fuck off.” Reese laughs and pulls out his wallet to hand George a twenty-dollar bill. Watching Reese pay for my breakfast sends a thrill of excitement through me. It feels like he’s taking care of me, and there’s something to say about the feeling of being taken care of. If anyone says they don’t like that feeling, they’re lying. It’s a simple gesture, paying for a meal, but it still hits home for me, causing me to yearn for the man that much more.

  Once again, going to breakfast with Reese is a poor decision on my part because I’m unable to separate professional from personal. Right now, everything is muddled into personal wanting, professionalism nowhere to be seen. I should be so ashamed, but hell if I’m not excited to be around Reese.

  While we wait for our breakfast, we take a seat at a table. I try to avoid all eye contact with his hazel glare, knowing I can easily get lost in it.

  “I forgot to wear my cup,” Reese says, pulling me into conversation with him.

  “Your what?” I ask, completely confused.

  “My protective cup, you know, for my balls.”

  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.”