“But the box isn’t checked.”
“But it says ALL ACCESS.” I raise my voice in frustration.
Right before me, I swear he grows two inches taller as he puffs his chest out. He is actually quite intimidating. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step aside.”
Not backing down, I puff my chest as well, hands on hips and say, “Or what?”
“Or I will strip you of your badge and ask security to escort you outside so you miss the entire meet.”
“You can’t do that.”
Giving me a smarmy look, he brings the walkie-talkie that’s attached to his belt up to his mouth and presses down on the button.
“She’s with me.” Behind the man stands Reese with a stern look on his face.
“Mr. King. I’m sorry but she doesn’t have the media box checked on her badge.”
Being the amazing man that Reese is, he says, “Thank you for doing your job properly, sir, but I assure you, Miss Maccaro is with Bellini and me. Please let her by so she can do her job, and also punch the hole on the media box so she won’t run into another problem in the future.”
“Yes, sir,” the security man says, quickly grabbing my badge and punching a hole in it and then letting me by.
Reese puts his hand on my lower back and guides me through the crowd, talking closely to my ear. “You look fucking adorable in that shirt, baby.”
“Reese . . .” I warn, garnering a laugh from him. The last thing I need is for some reporter to catch on to our relationship. One slip up and it will be all over the news.
We step up to the backdrop where Melony is primping Bellini. Her ensemble for today: a pink sweater set, white cami underneath, a short khaki skirt, and her signature pearls. Where’s her American spirit? She looks like she’s about to get drunk at a tennis match rather than attend a swim meet.
“Ugh, look who decided to roll out of bed and join us. You could have at least brushed your hair. What did I tell you about that?” Bellini says with a roll of her eyes. For the record, I brush my hair, every day, multiple times a day. She then points to her mouth with her finger and looks at me. “Hey, fabric pattern, why don’t you pop a Tic Tac in my mouth, I’m starving.”
I’ve become accustomed to carrying around Tic Tacs for Bellini. In fact, the rattle in my purse has a new norm, practically my cadence to follow while walking down the street. When I don’t hear the little sugar tablets jingling, I get slightly freaked out now. This is what my life has become: Tic Tac-carrying donkey.
Mumbling to myself about her trying to actually eat something for breakfast like every other normal person instead of relying on sugarcoated droplets to replenish her, I fish out the pack in my purse, trying not to think about how I spent a decent amount of time on my hair this morning. I tamed the waves and made it piecey and sleek. In my opinion, it looks really good.
“Here,” I say, holding the pack out to Bellini who instantly sneers at me.
“Do I look like I want to get the orange coating on my fingers? Place it in my mouth, for heaven’s sake, Mauve. Do your job.”
Assistant sound technician to assistant to reality star dickhead who specializes in feeding said dickhead Tic Tacs. Splendid. How the mighty can fall.
Grinding my teeth, I place one on her expectant tongue, trying to avoid touching the saliva-coated muscle sticking out at me. Knowing her, I would contract some kind of disease that transformed me into a massive, insult-flinging, sweater-set-wearing slut bag.
“Melon, what the ever-loving hell are you trying to do? Pull out my hair?” Bellini’s hand grips the back of her head. From behind, Melony winks at me, and I have to turn around to avoid showing the smile that crosses my face. I really like that girl.
“Where is Pope Francis? Pocket,” Bellini screams, causing the entire room to silence. “I need him to bless me before this interview. Pocket!”
I glance over at Reese who doesn’t seem affected by Bellini’s over-the-top behavior. How he puts up with it is beyond me, or how he can even possibly stand to have his name attached to hers is crazy.
“Here he is,” Pocket screeches, holding out Pope Francis and running toward Bellini. How the hell did she get access into this room and I didn’t? She probably rolled in with Bellini, her lips stuck to her ass, and security didn’t even realize.
“God! Pocket, get away from me, you’re breathing like a cow.”
“I did just sprint in here.”
Bellini pushes her to the side. “Yes, we can all see that from the out-of-shape platypus look you have on your face. Gah, you’re really disgusting right now. Is that sweat on your brow?”
“It might be?” Pocket touches her forehead. “It was a long run from outside to in here.”
“Security,” Bellini calls out. “Please remove the sweaty, fowl-smelling stork standing next to me. Stick her up in the stands, downwind from others.”
“Yes, ma’am.” And just like that, Pocket is escorted out of the interview room without one ounce of remorse from Bellini’s pursed, devil-blessed lips.
Christ, this woman is the worst.
“Tic Tac!” She points to her mouth again, calling out to me.
And this is what my life has become: popping Tic Tacs into the mouth of a heinous human being. Yup, so proud of myself right about now.
“All right, let’s get these interviews done, Reese has to prepare himself. Bellini, please step up next to Reese.”
Ashley, Reese’s publicist is giving him a pep talk off to the side, Jasper is directing everyone in position, and Bellini speaks closely to Pope Francis, lifting his ear so she’s speaking directly into it.
“Amen,” Bellini says, finishing up her pep talk. I REALLY want to know what she just said to him. And to be that dog, who quite literally is a saint for putting up with his owner. If only I could read his mind, I wonder what he would say.
Melony stands next to me, bumping me with her side. “Long night last night?” She wiggles her eyebrows and I can’t help the smile that pops up.
“No,” I answer honestly. “Hard and fast, and then a good night’s sleep.”
“Oh damn.” She fans herself. “I bet he’s really good in bed.” She whispers so our conversation can only be heard between us. Jasper sets up Bellini and Reese, and we watch over them.
“You have no idea.” I refrain the pathetic sigh of infatuation from releasing.
“Are you going to miss the beard?”
I think about how I stroked it last night, let it prickle across my fingertips, loving the way it roughened up my soft hands. Hell yes, I’m going to miss the beard. It makes him look dark and mysterious, sexy and rugged. Lucky for me though, he’s all man and will have it back in no time.
“I will, but he’s told me it grows back quickly so I won’t have to miss it for too long.”
“That’s a good thing.”
Together we watch Reese and Bellini interact. Of course Bellini is all over Reese, holding his hand, leaning into him with Pope Francis in her other arm, looking up at him with affection in her eyes. Does she really like him? I find it quite impossible for her to like anyone other than herself. I can only think of her as asexual. For her to have any feelings for another human being seems an insurmountable challenge.
Then I take in Reese: he’s holding her hand right back; he’s smiling down at her, laughing with her and even . . . kissing the side of her head.
My heart erupts in my chest the moment his lips connect with her temple. I know they’re supposed to have a fake relationship but it never dawned on me that he would have to be physically affectionate with her.
I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience as they sit down in a chair together—Reese on the chair, Bellini in his lap, and Pope Francis resting in her arm. Reese encases her with his strength, his arm wrapped around her, his hand on her thigh and his head resting on her shoulder. She snuggles into him and he does the same. The media practically salivates over the scene in front of them while I turn away, p
hysically nauseated.
“It’s all an act,” Melony whispers into my ear, sensing my aversion to the scene in front of me.
I know she’s right, but I still can’t help but feel a little betrayed. The way he looks at her, it seems all too familiar.
I grip Melony’s arm and say, “I need to step into the hallway. Text me when it’s done or if Bellini needs anything. I will meet you up in the stands.”
“Paisley, it’s nothing.”
“I know.” I nod my head, wondering why Melony is defending Reese so fervently.
With a quick squeeze to her arm, I take off past the snarly security man and into the hallway where staff continues to prepare for the event. I lean my head against the wall and try to clear my mind.
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 I can understand 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 my Rocky tattoo. 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 from Rocky.
“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.
I get that she is one of the worst humans to ever walk the planet, but can’t she be excited for Reese? They are co-stars after all, so she could show some enthusiasm.
“Bellini, aren’t you excited?” I ask.
Giving me the once-over, she curls her lip in disgust. “Contrary to what you might think, I don’t like to hop up and down like some overly charged tween at a Justin Bieber concert. I prefer to hold my dignity.”
“But it’s for Reese.”
“Look around you, fool, he’s not even out there yet.” Once again, I’m rewarded with a disdainful once-over and a smirk appears on her face. “You know, Mauve, I’m quite parched. Bring me a drink. Fiji water in the bottle with a cup of ice. Tick tock, the clock is running.” She points to her wrist.
I know exactly what she’s doing; she’s trying to ruin my experience. Fair enough, at least Reese’s race won’t be up for a bit, so I have some time to spare.
I move to leave when Melony grips my arm. “Where are you going?”
Keeping my voice low, I answer, “Bellini wants some water.”
“You’re going to miss everything.”
“Reese’s race isn’t for a while. I have some time.”
“Well, hurry up.” She winks. “You don’t want to miss anything.”
I didn’t need Melony telling me that. I give her a wink back and then take off to the concession area, knowing fully well they’re not going to have Fiji water, but thanks to my mastery of knowing Bellini’s demands, I keep an empty bottle in my purse at all times and just fill it up with whatever water I can find and then pour it for her. I would use tap water from the bathroom, but for some reason, the water always comes out murky, so it would be obvious it’s water from the tap.
So, I head over to the concession stand and wait in line. From above, I can hear the announcers talking about the first race and introducing the swimmers. The energy in the stadium is contagious and even tho
ugh it’s not one of Reese’s races, I still want to watch the other swimmers compete. I’ve heard bits and pieces from Reese about his other previous teammates, especially Bodi Banks. I want to see just how good they are.
“Can I help you, miss?” the concession store worker asks.
“Yes, one water please, the big one, and a cup with ice.” I pull out my wallet and use the credit card Jasper gave me. Luckily, I didn’t have to charge any of Bellini’s crazy demands to my own card. I would be about three hundred dollars in debt due to Tic Tacs and obscene Starbuck’s orders.
“That will be five dollars and fifty cents.”
Feeling like Tom Hanks in You’ve Got Mail when he hears the price of the books he’s buying, I shake my head and swipe the card. Concession stands should all go to hell for the price gouging they take part in.
“Enjoy the meet.”
“Thanks.” I nod at the worker and go in the bathroom where I can have a steady hand while I pour.
There are TVs everywhere, even in the bathroom so when I set my purse on the counter, I watch the first race take place. The camera is panned out for an above-the-pool view, arms fly through the water until the line of swimmers hit the wall and float under water for a few seconds before resurfacing and disturbing the water once again. I can barely doggy paddle my way across a pool, so it’s insane to me that humans can move that fast through water.
Wanting to get back into the stadium, I pull out the Fiji water bottle, uncap it and then do the same with the other, less fancy water, that still tastes equally the same. Don’t try to tell me they don’t. It’s water.
Funneling carefully, I pour the water in, making sure to fill it to just the right height that won’t throw Bellini off. Just a little bit more . . .
“What are you doing?”
Startled, I shake the water bottle, spilling contents all over my hand and on the counter. I turn to see Pocket standing against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest and a devious look in her eyes.
Shit, I forgot she was quarantined from Bellini due to “sweating like a cow” or was it a gorilla of some kind? I can’t quite remember; Bellini’s insults can be rather erratic. Honestly, the girl smelled fine to me, I didn’t see what the big deal was.