I sniff, willing myself to calm down before I turn blotchy from irritation. “You realize this is like working in a sweatshop, right? The conditions I have to work under are preposterous and hazardous to my health. You treat me like your little lab rat, thinking of different ways to torture me. Do you even have any moral boundaries? Or is your heart a cinder block hole where slave drivers from the past reside?”
“Bellini . . .” Reese begs. “Please let’s just finish this.”
I shoot a look over my shoulder and shoot daggers at him. “I will swim when I want to swim.” I turn back to Jasper. “Can’t he just pull me down the pool? Look at my arms. They’ve boiled down to over-cooked noodle status. You would think this vat of water would be cold, but under this godforsaken sun it has turned into a pressure cooker. Please just let me be done.”
“One more time down the pool and you’re done.” Jasper doesn’t let up, tipping me over the edge.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
I scream at decibels that can crack glass, splashing water with my hands, making sure to get Jasper wet in the process.
Everyone on the pool deck stops what they’re doing and turns to look at me. Crew members from my show and the photo shoot setting up to the side for Reese afterward, spectators, and family members all stare at me.
Any other person would wilt under the pressure of the human race observing them as an outsider, but not me. I thrive off it. I want the attention; I crave the attention.
I DESERVE the attention.
I bring the back of my hand up to my forehead and sigh. “If you’re requiring me to take one more lap in my state of mind and physical handicap, than I guess I have no choice.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Reese shake his head in disappointment and I make a mental note to talk to him later about the way he’s making the audience perceive our relationship. Even though it’s fake, he needs to treat it like it’s real. I will be damned if he will make a fool of me.
“You’re so brave,” Pocket calls out from the side.
I raise my fist to the sky, showing off my strength and then take my position next to Reese who looks like an imbecile just floating there.
“Ready?” he asks.
I turn my head away from him in defiance and wait for Jasper’s cue.
“Action.”
Just like the ten other times I swam the length of the pool, I kick my feet and doggy paddle my way down the pool, taking my time, and refusing to get my hair wet. Reese is swimming backward, encouraging me, and putting on a good face for the camera, all the while, calling me cute nicknames, which grates on my nerves.
“Almost there, sweetheart.”
If he weren’t incredibly attractive and popular, I would pop him in the nose. Yes, he might sound sweet to everyone else, but I can read that condescending tone anywhere. Lately he’s been giving me more sass, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s getting nervous about his stupid swim games coming up, or if he’s just turning into a type-A bastard like the rest of the men in this world.
I finally make it to the end and everyone cheers for me as Jasper yells cut.
Exhausted, and practically suicidal, I grab on to the edge of the pool and beg for help. “I need an air lift,” I call out. “I can’t possibly extract myself from this hell.”
“I’ll help you,” Reese says next to me.
Before I can protest, he hoists my body out of the water and flops me down on the pool deck so I roll across the steaming hot concrete a couple times.
“You barbarian!” I cry, outraged from his manhandling.
With a quick push up from the side, he’s out of the pool and walking toward the photo shoot, stopping to shake hands with Jasper briefly.
“I have your towel,” Pocket calls out, falling to the ground next to me and covering my body.
I lie on the searing concrete, dazed and confused. Practically delirious from the strenuous job I have.
A shadow casts over me and through blurry eyes I see it’s Jasper. “Good job, Bellini. We will talk about tomorrow’s setup. Get some rest.”
He walks away without letting me speak my mind. In a blur, Pocket helps me up from where I’m lying, walks me over to my chair, and sits me down. Carefully, she takes off my swim cap and offers me water.
“I can’t believe they made you swim for so long.”
“I think I saw death at one point,” I answer, leaning back in my chair and looking up to the sky. “I need to get my lawyer to look over those contracts again. And after a long night of researching lesbian bars, I can’t keep up with this kind of demand. I’m only one person.”
“But think of all the good you’re doing.”
“True.” From the side, I see Mauve approaching. “Pocket, quick, hand me my flag.”
Scurrying behind me, Pocket digs into my purse and then places a small rainbow flag in my hand just in time for Mauve to walk up and see me waving it.
“Hello, Mauve. How are you doing?”
She glances at the flag and asks, “I’m fine. Why do you have that in your hand, waving it around like you’re in a parade?”
I laugh. “Oh Mauve, it’s called gay pride. I want to make sure you feel comfortable around me. I’m pro-vaginas touching. I’m waving your colors for you. It’s to show my support for you.”
“Such a humanitarian,” Pocket compliments me from behind.
What I expect to happen is for Mauve to lighten up, maybe brush her hair from time to time, and applaud my decision to be an activist for her rights, but instead, she ignores me and opens up her notebook.
“Tomorrow, Jasper and the crew will be over around noon. Melony, will be at the house around eleven for hair and makeup. They want to record you having a conversation with your dad about your swimming lessons with Reese. He’s already been informed. Wear something comfortable and casual, something you would wear while lounging around the house. I’ll arrive around ten thirty. If you need anything before then, let me know. I have to finish up the photo shoot with Reese, and then I’ll be heading home. Oh, and your dry cleaning is in your car.”
“Um, are you not going to react to my blatant display of generosity?” I wave the flag a little faster, this time in her face.
Mauve pushes my flag down and leans closer. “Bellini, that’s not . . .” She looks around and then I realize what’s going on.
“Oh my God, no one knows you like ladies.” I place my hand on my chest flabbergasted.
Mauve cringes, looks around one more time and then nods. “Yup, so, if we could just keep this between us, that would be great.”
She wants to keep this a secret? I guess I can do that. But who really wants to live a life in secrecy?
“Well, I was unaware. I thought since you wore combat boots in public, you were telling everyone about your personal choices.”
“You know it’s not a choice, right?” she asks.
I wave my hand at her. “Nature versus nurture, whatever. Now, stop standing in front of me, you are blocking the spectators’ view of my divine body in this Missoni striped bandeau halter-top bikini I’m wearing.”
“So you will be ready for filming tomorrow?”
I cock my head to the side and study her. “Are you aware of these two pieces of cartilage hanging off the side of my head? They’re called ears. They unfortunately help me hear your lackluster monotonous voice every time you squawk at me. Of course I will be ready. If anything, I’m a professional. Now beat it, before I renege on my flag waving. You’ve annoyed me.”
With sealed lips, she nods and walks away.
“Ugh, why I decided to take that lesbian under my wing is beside me. She’s exhausted me even more. Pocket, bring me my Tic Tacs. I’m hungry for lunch.”
Chapter Twelve
**REESE**
“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?”
“Why have you been ignoring me?” My voice is heavy, raspy even, as I’m almost frantic to talk to her.
She scans our surroundings and steps a little closer so our conversation is more private, more intimate. I can get on board with this proximity. “Reese, I’m your employee and you’re in a relationship—”
“Fake relationship.”
“Whatever you want to call it. We need to keep this strictly professional.”
Frustrated, I try not to show my irritation with her when I say, “Can I ask you one thing?”
“As long as it’s not out to dinner or to go on some date.”
I ignore her smart-ass comment. “Do you want me?”
“What?” Her eyes shoot wide and her entire body becomes fidgety with nerves. “Why would you ask that?”
Softly, yet roughly I say, “Because I can see it in your eyes, the way you look at me, the way your body reacts to mine when I’m near you. You’re nervous, you’re yearning, you’re desperate for me to touch you. It’s written all over your face. I just want you to fucking admit it.”
“You’re wrong.” Her voice shakes, confirming my exact thoughts.
“Reese, we’re ready for you,” the photographer calls out.
I wink at her and start walking backward. “Believe what you want, Paisley. You can only deny it for so long.”
Turning on a dime, I meet the photographer at the set where Hollis is begging for one more pose. “I really think you need a picture of me doing my ‘come hither’ face. I will guarantee a million copies sold if you put that look on your front cover.”
I grip Hollis’s shoulder and speak to the photographer. “Don’t listen to him. He’s been selling that look for years now, all it does it scare people away and turn nipples inside out with displeasure.”
“Dude, you’re supposed to have my back,” Hollis replies, laughter in his voice.
“You know I do, but I also care about the American people. Do not force them to see your stupid mug trying to pull off some Zoolander look. It’s not good for country morale.”
Sighing, Hollis says, “Fine, pick the picture displaying my massive twig and berries.”
“You realize that’s a contradiction, right?” I ask. “If it was massive, you should have said canon and bowling balls. You’re not fooling anyone.”
“Damn, man.” Hollis scoots away from me. “What’s crawled up your dick hole today? Get some ass, you’re all clogged up. Your inner bitch comes out when you haven’t had
your vein drained in a while.” I cringe, such a gross term. Hollis points to the photographer as he walks away. “Just so you know, I have a huge dick, massive. That’s on the record, you may use it wherever you want. Peace out, King.” He throws deuces in the air and walks away.
Hollis and I have been friends for many years. Even though he’s on the diving team, we’ve leaned on each other during our time in the Olympics. When he was flipping his way to gold, I was stroking my way to silver. The Olympics wouldn’t be the same without him. I’m just hoping I have one more chance to share the experience with him.
Who fucking knows at this point, though? I’ve been swimming like shit and can’t seem to get my mind off the small ebony-haired fireball a few short feet away.
“Reese, we are going to have you pose in front of the white screen. Are you comfortable with what you’re wearing?”
I glance down at my American flag Speedo and nod. “Yup, It’s not like it would be the first time I have my picture taken in a scrap of fabric. As long as you are good with this.”
“Works for us.”
“Do I need to style up the mop?”
“You just need a spray down. Let me find someone to help—”
“Don’t worry about that, I have someone more than happy to assist.” I call out over the crew. “Paisley, could you grab the spray bottle and come here?”
She looks up from her phone, points at her chest a little shocked. I nod my head and quirk my finger at her, indicating for her to come quickly. Looking around frantically, she finds the squirt bottle and walks up to me. Confusion is in her eyes.
“What are you doing?” she asks between clenched teeth, a fake smile plastered on her face.
“I need my assistant to squirt me with water and fix my hair.”
“There are makeup and hair stylists for that.”
“I don’t trust them.”
“Give me five minutes, and we’ll get started,” the photographer says, cleaning his lens.