Stroker: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (3 page)

I cross my arms, press my legs together, the stench of chlorine suddenly strong.

“I’m busy,” Blake replies, short.

I notice the hoodies have ‘Carver Elite Swimming Squad 2016’ printed on them.

The tall one puts on a smug little smile still staring at me. “I can see that. Lining up your next lay?”

Blake looks back at me. “Penance for the Bell tower thing.”

Word up, big boy, that’s
not
what a girl wants to hear.

The tall one takes a step forward, eyes settling on the vee between my legs. “If that’s penance, I’m not breaking enough laws. Where are you going to fuck her? The cleaning room? Reed’s office? She looks like she likes it rough.”

That’s it.
I put up a hand. “I don’t—” but Blake’s on the move.

The others snigger, Blake rushing forward and pushing the leader in the chest with two hands.

The guy stumbles back, surprised. “What the fuck, bro?”

Blake holds a finger up. “Stay the fuck away from her, Ethan.”

‘Ethan’ steps forward again, two hands on Blake’s shoulders. “Brother, it’s all good. I’m only playing around.” He lets go of Blake, side-stepping him and putting his hand out. “Ethan Knight, pleased to meet you.”

Reluctantly, I shake. “Tia.”

He leans forward and kisses the top of my hand, lips well moisturized. “A pleasure, Tia. Sorry about the intrusion.”

The others watch, Ethan cutting his eyes sideways to Blake as he stands back. “See you at training tomorrow?”

Blake nods, hands finding his hips again. “Yeah. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Ethan smiles, winking in my direction. “Sure thing, superstar.”

The T-Birds leave through the same door they entered, jumping on each other’s backs, rough-housing and shouting as they vanish into the night. And I thought Blake was a cliché…

I pull the towel around myself and continue to wring out my hair over the tiles. “Friends of yours?”

Blake breathes out. “My squad.”

I roll my eyes. “Great. “What’s The Trophy Room?”

“A bar.”

“Of course.”

The air grows awkward, especially in the wake of what just happened, but it’s not lost on me the way Blake jumped to my defense. I’ll remember that—not that he has a snowball’s chance in hell of sweet-talking me out of my swimsuit anytime soon, soaking as it may be.

BLAKE

“I checked the calendar this morning, gentlemen, and it ain’t April Fools. I’ve seen seven-year-olds who can swimmer faster than you asshats. If you douchebags don’t place in the top five at the next meet you can kiss your Olympic dreams goodbye.”

Coach Reed is never in a good mood, but today he seems particularly out of sorts. I don’t blame him, really. The entire squad is off its game, me included. I can’t stop thinking about Tia, weird as that is. Usually I can’t even remember the names of the girls I sleep with, let alone the exact shape of their face, the soft length of their lips…

You haven’t even slept with her yet.

And you’re not going to,
the voice of reason commands.
Not if you want to keep your balls.

Coach crouches down at the end of the lane. Ethan surfaces in front of him. Coach hits his stopwatch and nods with approval. “That’s the way, Ethan. Fifty flat. It’s about time one of you ladyboys pulled a finger out.”

It was a fast run for Ethan—uncharacteristically fast.

But the brown-noser doesn’t stop there. He keeps digging all the way up Coach’s back passage. “I can do better, Coach.”

Reed looks pleased. “That’s the spirit. Let’s see what you’ve got.” He addresses the pool. “All you other shit-for-brains, pay attention.”

*

I’m annoyed at myself in the showers. I lean forward to let the water stream down between the blades of my back.

Cutter, the antithesis of a professional swimmer if ever there was one, with his neck tatts and mohawk, slaps me on the ass. “How the hell do you even get around with that third leg of yours? What do you do? Tie it in a knot?”

I blow him a kiss. “Fuck you, Cutter.”

He leans close. “Hey, you see Ethan out there today?”

I run my hands through my hair. “He was fast.”

“Like
really
fucking fast.”

I look at him through the curtain of water streaming off the front of my face. “What are you getting at?”

“I think he’s using.” Cutter might look like he just got out of the local penitentiary, but he’s the biggest gossip queen going around. Besides, I know what it’s like to be behind bars. Cutter wouldn’t last a second.

I shake my head. “No way. He wouldn’t be that stupid. You can’t get anything past the screenings these days. We’re months out from the Olympics. He’s a shoe-in if he keeps those times up, most of us are. He wouldn’t jeopardize that, not now.”

Cutter shrugs, turning the taps in the wall, steam billowing in pale clouds around us. “Just sayin’. What’s the story with Coach’s daughter, anyhow? How’d you pull that gig?”

I shut off the water, watch it trail down between my legs. “Fuck knows. What can I say? Coach loves to punish me.”

Cutter laughs. “Fine piece of ass like that ain’t punishment, my friend. It’s a gift to the dick gods.” He glances down at my cock. “Goliath is hungry, is he not?”

Touching Tia would be death to my dick. “She’s lava, completely off limits. Can you imagine the shit-storm I’d be swept up in if I touched her? Coach would have my head.”

Cutter grabs my ear, pulling it back and forth. “And it’s such a pretty head.”

“Fuck off.”

“Trophy Room tonight?”

I shake my head, reaching over and grabbing my towel from the railing. “No can do. Like I said, Coach loves to punish.”

*

Billy’s out when I get back to the apartment. I find Tia in her room with headset on, speaking rapid-fire gibberish while her fingers work feverishly on the keyboard. The screen of her PC looks like some kind of medieval troll orgy.

I walk in and tap her on the shoulder. She doesn’t even turn around. “Not now.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Not you, Firelord. I was talking to my roommate.”

Roommate now?

I walk back to the kitchen, hunt through the fridge for anything that isn’t past its use-by date.

I’m settling into a tub of yoghurt and Ellen when Tia leaps onto the sofa, pulling her legs under herself and popping the tab on a can of soda.

I keep my eyes on the TV. “Thought you were busy finding the Kingslayer?”

“That’s Game of Thrones, not World of Warcraft.”

I lather on the sarcasm. “How silly of me.”

She tucks herself into the corner of the sofa—dainty little feet, gym pants stretched tight around her ass. She points her soda at the TV. “Looks like you’re busy growing a vagina.”

I casually press a pillow over my crotch, my cock hardening like cement. “Ellen’s a wonderful human being. We should all aspire to be like her.”

Tia laughs, searching through the folds of the sofa. “Hmm, I guess your balls are here somewhere, but dang, I just can’t seem to find them.”

“Funny.”

She takes another swig. “I am.”

I flick the side of her soda can. “Those seven teaspoons of sugar aren’t going to do your swimming any favors, though, or your ass.”

She gives me a look of mock mortification. “You do realize it’s a mortal sin to tell any girl her ass is fat, right?”

“It’s a compliment in some parts of the world.”

She reaches down and swats her butt. “I’ve got a great ass. I know it. You know it. Ellen sure as hell knows it.”

She does. Her whole body is tight, toned, the perfect measure of supple and hard, soft and firm. There’s nothing I’d love more than to peel those gym pants away, pull her panties to the ground and bury my cock inside her.

I press the pillow a little harder into my crotch.
Easy now, partner. We don’t want to put someone’s eye out, do we?

I gesture to the soda. “Where’d you even get that?”

She takes another sip. I picture those lips closing around my cock, her tongue lathing the underside of my shaft hot and wet. “Mini-fridge in my room.”

“You’ve got a mini-fridge in your room?”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, I wasn’t about to venture into that viral Petri dish you call a fridge over there, was I?” She pats the fridge beside her, “or its twin brother by the sofa. I’m not really keen on salmonella.”

I lift my shoulders, digging into the yoghurt. “Suit yourself.”

“You should really invite me out to dinner.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You want
me
to invite
you
out on a date?”

“Dinner, stupid. You know, restaurant? Places with plates and utensils, waiters?”

I’m still daydreaming about her lips. “It’s my one night off training and you want me to spend it babysitting you? Like running you through drills isn’t bad enough.” Though I have a couple of other drills I wouldn’t mind trying out on her.

She places the soda down, lets her legs dangle and leans forward. “Or I could tell Dad you’re still being an asshole to me. This was your last chance, wasn’t it?”

“You’re blackmailing me?”

She winks. “You bet your tight little tushy I am.”

*

As anticipated, the entire gang’s at The Trophy Room. The place is busier than usual for a Saturday night. A couple of girls I recall from the cycling squad are dirty dancing by the band, a Blink 182 rip-off. There’s a pack of track-and-field guys in the corner, a contingent of the gymnastics team sitting at a table with no drinks and looking at everyone else’s with wanton eyes.

The world’s best bar this is not, but it’s the close to campus and not short of charm, AKA random sports memorabilia like the kayak hanging from the roof. It once found its way into the Dean’s bathroom, or so I heard.

“Blake, you fucker you.”

Cutter notices I have company. “Oh, shit. Didn’t know you were bringing…” He looks at Tia.

“Yes?” she queries.

“…Your
friend
,” he finishes rather diplomatically.

I greet Ethan and Magnus at our usual table near the bar. Magnus’s hair normally looks a little ginger, but under these lights it’s god-damn nuclear.

Sandy, the bartender, arrives with the usual round. She leans down to Tia. “Better watch out, hon,” looking at me, “this one’s trouble”.

“I can handle myself,” Tia replies, and I’m sure she can.

I lay a ten on the table. “A Cruiser for the lady, Sandy.”

Tia puts her hand up. “Fuck that girly shit. Bourbon and coke. Make it a double.” She prods me in the shoulder. “He’s paying.”

I fork out another ten.

The others laugh. She’s in.

All this time I thought she was a naïve, sheltered geek from Orlando, but more and more I’m learning there’s more to Tia Reed than meets the eye—not that what meets the eye isn’t hot as fuck. I can’t remember the last time I was so infatuated with someone.

Magnus sizes her up, the lights above making his head glow amber. “So Tia, what’s it like living with Goliath?”

“Goliath?” she asks.

I’m running my hand across my throat in a ‘don’t you fucking dare’ motion, but Magnus isn’t going to let the fun go.

“Haven’t you heard about Blake and his one-eyed friend?”

Tia, poor kitten, looks completely confused. “I don’t follow.”

“His dick,” Cutter interjects. “It’s got a name.”

Tia looks sideways at me, face scrunched up. “You have a nickname for your penis? That’s… different. Does it go down easily? Is that why you call it Goliath?”

I look for Sandy.
Sure could use a beer right now.
“It wasn’t my doing. Someone came up with it.”

Cutter interjects. “By ‘someone’, he means the busty blonde from the fencing team. Whole campus could hear her counter-riposte.”

Everyone’s having a great time at my expense, but seeing Tia laugh, seeing the smile on her face, dilutes my anger. In fact, it completely dissolves it. A SWAT team could be busting down the door, but everything would be right in the world as long as she was smiling.

Tia addresses the others. “What do
you
guys call your dicks?”

My turn. “Sadly, their dicks are too small to warrant special treatment.”

Cutter jumps back. “Hey, not everyone was born with a broomstick between their legs like you”.

“Can we change the subject?” I offer, a first.

“Please,” laughs Tia. “Next you’ll be telling me you’ve named your balls Ben and Jerry.” 

*

Sandy keeps the drinks coming. Tia keeps up with us. For such a small thing she can totally pack it away. It’s fucking impressive.

We’ve drifted up to the bar together when a tall girl in a campus sweater grabs my arm, turning me towards her. “Hey, handsome.”

Shit.
This is one of those awkward moments where I can’t recall the name of someone I’ve slept with. “Do I…?”

“No,” she laughs, rolling her eyes, “but I’d like to get to know the infamous Johnson & Johnson”.

Yep, she’s staring at my dick. That’s signal for ‘I want to fuck your brains out’, but I’m not on the hunt tonight.

I look behind myself at Tia, now standing awkwardly alone while I try to deal with whoever this is.

“I’m Emma, running.”

I’m wondering what a weird name ‘Emma Running’ is until I realize she’s listing her sport like everyone does here as if it’s some disease or addiction. ‘Hi, I’m Blake, Blake Swimming’.

Emma Running drags a finger across the bar, a droplet caught below it. “Do you come here often?”

I look back again but Tia’s gone.
Fuck.

I can’t believe Track & Field used my own line on me. “Look,” I start, “I’m actually really busy, sorry, I can’t—”

“Oh,” she pouts, “you haven’t got time for timid little me?”

She’s trying to look sexy but it’s coming across like constipation. I never thought I’d ever say this, but I just want her to go the fuck away.

“Another time.” I flash her my pearly whites, moving to leave, but Emma isn’t done. She takes my arm, pressing herself against me. “Come on now. We’ve barely gotten to know one another.”

Picking up has almost become too easy around here. Every girl on campus wants to tick Goliath off her bucket list. It’s a rite of passage.

I’m so busy trying to stop this girl pulling my pants off right here I haven’t noticed Ethan draw Tia off to the side of the bar.

“I placed third in…” Emma continues.

He’s leaning towards her, hand on the bar but moving closer. I’ve seen this guy work before. Hell, I taught him everything he knows, used him as a wingman countless times.

“My dream is to…”

Tia looks uncomfortable at first, but the more Ethan talks the more relaxed she seems to become.
Come on. You’re smart. You can see through him.

“Do you work out? Your arms…”

I wish Marion Jones here would get out of the way so I get a better look at what Ethan’s up to. She places a hand on my chest. “I’m all yours if you want me.”

I push her aside as gently as I can. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.”