STROKED (The Stroked Series Book 1)

  Dropping everything, he hops over the couch and plants himself right next to me. I hand him the burrito, and together we eat a much-deserved dinner, sharing my iced tea.

  “How was your first day on the job?”

  “Is that what you’re calling it?” I ask. “A job? More like a first-class ticket to Satan’s den.”

  Jonathan cringes, knowing fully well the kind of “job” he set me up with. “Pays well, so that’s good for both our bank accounts.”

  I feel guilty from his comment. The last couple months, Jonathan has been supporting me while I tried to get my act together, so I really shouldn’t complain about him finding me a job when he’s been giving me money to buy things like . . . burritos.

  “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 into Sports 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.

  “Oh yeah? What cat video?”

  “Uh . . .” I look to the sky, trying to think of one damn cat video to describe to Jonathan, but not a single one comes to mind. Out of all the time I spent watching those videos, letting them consume my out-of-work hours, you would think I could remember just one. “Oh!” I point my finger to the sky, remembering one. “It was a video of cats getting scared by cucumbers. Funny shit.”

  “You insult me. You really think I can’t tell when you’re lying?”

  I cross my arms over my chest and give him a look of indignation. “You think you’re so smart? Okay, how am I lying?”

  He nods at my chest. “Your right nipple gets hard every time.”

  “No it doesn’t!” I look down at my right boob to see that Jonathan is annoyingly correct. My nipple is in fact hard. Shocked, I glance up at Jonathan who is laughing.

  “So what are you not telling me? Who’s texting you? A new boy I don’t know about? Or is it still Mr. Man Bun who believes he’s saving the whales by not showering for ten days.”

  “He was conserving water to help protect clown fish and their delicate environment,” I point out.

  Jonathan laughs out loud. “Oh yeah, he wore that dumbass shirt that read ‘Saving Nemo. One Shower at a Time.’”

  It was a dumb shirt. I couldn’t disagree with Jonathan on that point. That worst part was the man wore it every day with a pair of ratty jeans. He was actually quite gross. His only good quality, going down on me. Probably the best I’ve ever had. Dude had a magic tongue. It was fat, but also pointy at the end. He was able to flick me in just the right way that had me gripping his damn man bun for dear life.

  “So, are you going to see him?”

  “What?” I ask, confused from my daydreaming. “Uh, yeah for brunch tomorrow,” I answer before I can think about what I’m saying.”

  “Oh, come on, Paisley. You can do so much better than him. I thought you were done with Mr. Man Bun.”

  “What? I am. I’m confused.”

  Irritated, Jonathan turns to me and his face grows serious. “Who are you going to brunch with tomorrow? Don’t make me look at your phone.”

  “Why does it matter to you?” I ask, casually pushing my phone farther into the crack of the couch.

  “Because . . .”

  “Good argument,” I shoot back.

  “Paisley.”

  “Jonathan.” I stick my chin up, not breaking under his tight stare.

  “Fine.” Before I know what he’s going to do, he lunges at me and reaches around my back, down into the crack of the couch.

  “What are you doing? Get off me.”

  “Give me your phone.”

  I palm his head and try to push him away but his stiff neck keeps him in place, not budging. From behind, I can feel him rooting around for my phone.

  “Get out of here.” I struggle against him, unwrapping my feet from their crossed position as I try to push them against his chest and move him across the couch.

  Thanks to my daily workout routine, I’m able to get a good enough push on him to send him back on his side.

  “Ha!” I call out in victory, only to be shamed by him holding my phone up in the air with a smile on his face. It’s my turn to lunge at him, but he puts up a leg force field, too difficult for me to penetrate before he can look at my phone.

  “Why are you texting Reese King?” Confusion is written all over his face when he invades my privacy.

  “I’m his assistant as well,” I respond, straightening myself up from the little rumble we just shared. “He wanted to make sure I was going to brunch with them tomorrow morning.”

  “Why would you need to go to brunch with them?”

  I pick at my cuticles, not looking him in the eye. “Uh, because maybe I’m their assistant, and they need to talk to me about what the next month or so is going to look like.”


  “But you were smiling,” he points out.

  “I told you, funny cat versus cucumber video.” I cover up my right nipple so he can’t detect my apparent lying.

  He sighs and sets my phone on the coffee table. “Paisley, I’m going to say this one more time. You can’t mess up this job.”

  “I know,” I say, exasperated from his constant lecturing.

  “Do you?” He pauses for a second, shifting his body so he’s looking at me directly. “You’re not just working for Bellini Chambers and Reese King; you’re working for Wally Rose, one of the most influential men in the business. One screw up, and he will hear about it, believe me, especially from Bellini. She complains to him about everything. If you get on his bad side, you might want to think about choosing a different career. You already have a black mark on your résumé—”

  “I know!” I wave my hands in the air out of pure frustration. “I get it. This job is important, it’s my one shot to get back into what I want to be doing.”

  “Yes, if you excel at this job, then you will be able to move up in the company. You want that, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then that means whatever you’re smiling about because Reese sent you a text message needs to stop . . . now. He’s your boss, you have to maintain a professional relationship.”

  “I’m not an imbecile, Jonathan. This isn’t my first job. I know what it means to be professional.”

  He gives me a pointed look.

  “Fine, was I giddy because Reese King sent me a text message? Yup,” I respond with gusto. “But I feel like any girl would have reacted the same way. It’s hard not to when the SEXIEST MAN ALIVE sends you a text message.”

  Jonathan rolls his eyes. “Pfft. Ladies just love him because of his tattoo and his smoldering look.”

  “Smoldering?” I lift a quizzical eyebrow in his direction.

  “What? I’m comfortable enough in my manhood to notice an attractive man when I see one. Doesn’t mean I want to rip his pants off and let him whack me in the face with his dick.”

  “Why is that something you would say?”

  He shrugs his shoulder. “It’s called embellishing to make a point.”

  “Weird point you’re making.” I look away and pick a piece of lint off the couch.

  “Back to the topic at hand. You know Reese is with Bellini, right? And that your giddy little school crush will have to be tucked away when you’re working with both of them.”

  My upper lip rubs against the bottom of my nose as I try to tamp down my temper, not wanting to shoot off at Jonathan. He did just get me a job and has been supporting me for a while. “How about this?” I suggest, not wanting to fight about this anymore. “You trust in the fact that I take this job seriously, that I want a better life for myself, and that I want to further my career. Trust I won’t screw this up, and you don’t talk about it ever again. Because I love you, Jonathan, but I’m two seconds away from strapping you down to this couch and sticking a needle up your dick hole.”

  He cringes and covers his crotch. “Damn, Paisley.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “You do realize that would mean you would actually have to look at my dick.”

  Since college, I have seen the man’s dick probably more than all his girlfriends combined. Almost every morning, he walks around naked. I still squeal and cover my eyes, avoiding any eye contact with his penis. Not that I hate penises. I don’t at all, but Jonathan is like a brother to me, and I don’t want to see his junk. Simple as that.

  And for all the men out there, yes, you have a penis, congratulations. But please note: it’s not God’s gift to all women, it’s not the most amazing thing to look at. It’s a rod of skin hanging between your legs. Unless it’s erect, supercharged, and ready to burst, cover that shit up because a flaccid penis is just a soggy meatball sub, balls sagging behind, and hopefully devoid of parmesan cheese.

  “Like I have a choice in the matter. I’m surprised your penis hasn’t been present for this entire conversation.”

  “Do you want it to be present?” His hands fall to the button and fly of his pants, threatening me.

  “No,” I yell. “Leave it inside your jeans. For fuck’s sake.”

  He laughs and wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me to his side. I rest my head on his shoulder and bask in the cool smell of his cologne. Jonathan and I have been friends for years now, nothing else. We never even thought about turning our friendship into anything romantic, just didn’t seem right. We are each other’s soul mates, but in a “blood buddy” kind of way, not in a “my vagina likes your penis” kind of way.

  He kisses the top of my head and says, “For the record, if I were a lady and Reese King sent me a text message, I would get giddy too.”

  “You’re so annoying.” I twist his nipple, causing him to scream.

  “Watch it,” he says, rubbing his chest. “I forgot to wear an undershirt today, the nips are a little chafed.”

  “Not my problem. Don’t give me hell over something you would do too.”

  “If I were a lady,” he drawled out.

  I look up at him and laugh. “You would be one hell of an ugly lady.”

  He pauses. “I would love to defend you on that point, but unfortunately I have to agree. I tried on one of your dresses once, and I just don’t think I have the hips or the bone structure to pull off a womanly sway.”

  “You did not put on one of my dresses.”

  He nods his head. “In college, for a stupid commercial my buddies and I had to do for a project. It was late, we had procrastinated and needed a shot of a guy talking to a woman. So, I took one for the team, put on your red dress and a wig and stood in. Let’s just say, we barely passed the project. The teacher wasn’t impressed with the broad-back hairy Mary in the commercial. He could tell we didn’t follow through on casting.”

  “Obviously.” I laugh. “Do you have evidence of this?”

  He shakes his head. “No, we deleted that shit as quickly as possible. It would be damaging to all of our careers today if it ever got out. It was total piss.”

  “If it had you starring as Lady in Red, I can believe it was total piss.”

  “Maybe one day I will reenact it all for you.”

  “Don’t play with my heartstrings,” I reply, holding my hands to my chest in a silent plea.

  “Get me good and drunk, flash me your boobs, and then maybe I’ll consider it.”

  I make a disgusted sound and push him away.

  “What?” He holds up his hands and smirks at me. “You may be my best friend, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see your boobs. It’s a natural wonderment. I bet if I didn’t walk around naked you would be curious too. I’ve seen your ass plenty of times, what’s a little T to go with that A?”

  “First, you’re not doing anyone any favors by being bare for the world to see. Second, you’re not seeing my boobs. Ass is different. All butts look the same.”

  “False,” he points out. “Your ass does not look like everyone’s.”

  A slight blush creeps up my face. “Are you saying I have a nice butt?”

  “Hell yeah,” he says. “Those squats have done you well. Now let me see if your chest presses have worked out for you just the same.”

  “No!” I laugh.

  “Come on, just let me see them. It’s more for observation than anything.”

  “How do you say that? As if you’ve never seen a pair of boobs before.”

  His smile turns into a devious one. “I’ve never seen pierced nipples before.”

  Rolling my eyes, I get up off the couch and grab the empty wrapper to my burrito. “Better put out a want ad then, because there is no way you’re seeing my boobs. Not for any kind of observation.”

  He hangs over the back of the couch as he talks to me. “What about if I need to inspect them for infection? Or lumps? I really think we are doing each other a disservice by not doing random lump checks. Want to hold my balls while I cough?”
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  “Not even a little bit,” I call out from the kitchen.

  “Fine, but you’re truly missing out on a fantastic opportunity. Can you at least grab me a beer while you’re in there?”

  “Only if you promise not to walk around naked anymore.”

  He grumbles to himself, and to my surprise, gets off the couch and rummages through the fridge to grab his own beer. Using the fridge magnet we have that doubles as a bottle opener, he pops off the top and takes a long swig of his beer.

  With my hand on my hip, resentment evident in my voice, I say, “You’re that adamant about being naked?”

  He swallows, smacks his lips together and smiles at me. “There is nothing like reading the newspaper and eating a bowl of cereal while your balls rest against the cold surface of a chair. Sorry, sweetheart. Sun’s out, dongs out.”

  With that, he winks at me, and then heads back to the couch to watch his highlights.

  The man is infuriating.

  Chapter Five

  **REESE**

  These wooden chairs are doing nothing for the pain searing through my back. My morning swim was a bitch. Coach Fern showed no mercy and kept drilling me on my one-hundred-meter freestyle. We were doing benchmark testing, preparing for the Olympics Trials, and he was not easing up, not that he ever would. This was my final swim. We were both giving it all we got.

  But fuck if I’m not sore. Two hours of relentless kicking and stroking every morning for the past few months has been grueling. Some people think since I’m a swimmer, I’m just floating through, allowing the buoyancy of the water to sail me to my destination. Not true.

  Water is approximately a thousand times thicker than air. It’s in the physics. Instead of a runner who is propelling their way through air, I have to stroke my way through water, an environmental element much denser than the oxygen we breathe. Ever wonder why we shave every last inch of our body? Every square inch of smooth skin counts.

  If I wasn’t meeting Paisley this morning, I would have had breakfast delivered to me while I sat in the hyperbaric chamber to aid my recovery. I’m older now, so I don’t bounce back like I used to, and I feel it every fucking day.