Stroker: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (4 page)

I hear “asshole” behind my back as I cut in next to Ethan. “What’s happening over here?”

He shoves something back into his pocket. “Blake. Thought you were busy with your running friend over there?”

I put on a smile. “Not really in the mood for crazy tonight.”

I look at Tia. “Let’s get out of here. What do you say?”

“Actually, I think I might stay a while,” she says, looking at Ethan with those shamrock eyes I can’t seem to shake.

The fuck?
I can’t believe she’s being sucked into his web. Wasn’t she paying attention at the pool?

I turn my attention to Ethan. “Big day of training tomorrow, brother. We should all hit the hay.”

He chuckles. “Since when did you become the sleep police, Johnson? I mean, fuck, you’re normally the life of the party.”

“Is he?” notes Tia, watching me.

I reach out to her. “Come on.”

She backs away. “I’ll see you back at the apartment.”

“Fine,” I snap, throwing my hands up. “Suit yourself. I’m out of here.”

“Blake?” Cutter calls, but I ignore him, heading out into the cold with my fists clenched and temples pounding.

For the first time in a long time I’m pissed off and I can’t place why. Even when I get back to the apartment I storm around, pacing and kicking at anything sizeable or foolish enough to stand in my path.

Billy comes out of his room, handful of tissues in one hand, holding his pants up with the other. “Fuck, bro, what crawled up your ass tonight?”

“Nothing,” I respond, looking through the fridge for a beer but coming up empty.

“Whatever,” says Billy, closing his door.

I sit on a stool and think, trying to pinpoint why I’m feeling like this, and then it hits me, a feeling I haven’t felt in a very long time.

Holy shit. I’m jealous.

TIA

I’m nervous sitting at the café next to the gymnasium complex. It’s one thing to socialize with people online where you can hide behind anonymity. It’s quite another to meet them face-to-face in real life. For all I know ‘Lacey’ might be a balding fifty-year-old guy with a pot belly instead of pigtails. Thankfully, that’s not the case.

She wears leggings and a Princess Peach sloppy tee about sixty sizes too big for her tiny frame. She does, in fact, have pigtails, but one’s blue, the other red—very patriotic. Her nose is pierced, her eyes an unnatural blue, but apart from that she is otherwise as normal as any other student around here.

I start to stand. “Lacey?”

She throws her training bag down by the table and slumps into the chair opposite. “Azagoth, I knew it was you.”

“I actually go by Tia out here.”

She slaps herself on the head, laughing. “Shit, sorry. You get so caught up in the game sometimes.”

I reach out and take hold of my coffee. I don’t drink the stuff, but I thought it would make this socially more acceptable.

There’s a moment of silence where I’m thinking this is a big mistake, just awkward awkward awkward, but then Lacey breaks into a beaming smile.

She leans across the table. “This is weird, isn’t it?”

I nod, a smile widening across my face in return. “Yeah, I think I’d be more comfortable if you were in armor chasing a band of wild orcs.”

She leans back. “What can I say? Guys love a girl with an axe.”

“Until they lose their head,” I add.

Lacey grins back. “Ain’t that the truth.”

I look around. The gym complex is monstrous, a perfect example of brutalist architecture if ever I’ve seen it, but that’s Carver—one giant no-pain-no-gain compound. “You train here?”

She nods, crossing her legs over and wincing. “Six to six pretty much every damn day of the week. You’d think we were in a Russian gulag.”

“You specialize in the beam, the, what do they call it, the uneven bars?”

“I do it all,” she replies nonchalantly, “but I’m a gun when it comes to vaulting. That’s why they dragged my ass over here from the west coast”.

I wanted to be a gymnast growing up. I think every little girl does after they spend too long running around the backyard with ribbon in hand post-Olympics. “You enjoy it?”

“Leaving training feeling like I’ve been gang-banged by the wrestling team? Sure, who wouldn’t?”

I laugh, choking a little on my coffee. “I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

She leans closer again, lowers her voice. “How’s it going with… you know?”

“Good,” I reply simply, conscious of the other students in the café.

Lacey puts a finger to her lips. “Say no more. As long as you still think you’re up for it?”

Truthfully, I don’t know if I am. I want to help, but the closer I get, the more dangerous it seems. “I am. Another couple of days and we’ll be ready to go.”

She winks. “Nice. Where does your dad have you staying in this shit-hole?”

I take another sip, try to look casual even though I’ve got no idea why people drink this liquid excuse for an ash tray. “He put me in with one of the swimming guys and his friend in an apartment just out of campus.”

Lacey looks confused. “He what now?”

“There’s no space in the dorms and Dad’s place on campus is way too small for the both of us. It’s two rooms, but the second one is the size of a shoebox. Besides, we haven’t lived together in… a while.”

Lacey rubs her shoulders. “So, who are the lucky guys?”

“Blake and Billy. I can’t remember their last names, sorry.”

Lacey sits upright, eyes wide. “Blake Johnson?”

“Yeah, that’s him, I think.”

She shakes her head. “Holy hell balls, you’re shacked up with Blake Johnson?”

“I suppose you could say that.” I really can’t work out what the big deal is. “Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong, in a manner of speaking, but it’s certainly an interesting development.”

“Because he’s on the swimming squad?”

Lacey leans close again. “Because Blake Johnson is bad news for any vagina within fifty miles. The guy’s a complete man-whore. It’s a Carver must-do, sleeping with him, or Goliath, should I say. They should print a picture of his cock on the brochures.” Lacey draws her hands apart.

I roll my eyes. “So I’ve heard.” Why is everyone so damn obsessed with his penis?

The coral tip of Lacey’s tongue sweeps over her upper lip. “Sneak into the shower and take a look. See what I mean. Just make sure he doesn’t collect you with that thing on the way out. It’s a concussion waiting to happen.”

“I’ll be fine. I can handle him.” I realize what I’ve said too late.

Lacey nods knowingly. “You think? Pretty, fresh thing like you—perfect target. I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to jump you already.” She clues in. “Ah, but you’re Coach Reed’s daughter. Yes, that’s it. He couldn’t touch you even if he wanted. You’re kryptonite.”

Now there’s something I understand. “Bingo. I haven’t seen Dad in a while, but I do know if he caught
anyone
trying to put moves on me he’d have something to say about it.” He’d have more than words to say about it. He’d probably put a slug through the poor bastard’s chest.

Lacey takes a box of mints out of her bag, pops one into her mouth. “But why put you with
those
guys, of all people?”

“Something about teaching Blake responsibility, he said.”

Lacey pushes her spoon back and forth on the table. “Take it from me, the only responsibility Blake Johnson knows is keeping that clam hammer of his well fed.”

I narrow my eyes. “You haven’t… have you?”

She throws her hands up. “Hell, no. I mean, not after… you know.” Her face darkens.

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

The smile returns. “Yeah, gaming’s so much more fun, right? Sounds silly, but I’d take an hour in Second Life over sex any day.”

I smile back, but the funny thing is, I wouldn’t know.

Two similarly pixie-like girls approach the table in matching leotards. They speak to Lacey. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she replies, directing her attention back to me. “This is Tia, from Orlando. She’s kicking it here in this excuse for a juvenile detention center for a while. Tia, this is Leah and Lexie.”

Lacey, Leah and Lexie—that’s going to be fun to remember.

Lexie, who for all intents and purposes has hair so white it looks like the color was shocked out of it, looks me over. “Track?”

I grab my coffee with both hands, hold it in my lap warm against my crotch. “Swimming.”

“Cool,” Leah nods.

“She’s rooming with Blake Johnson,” Lacey adds, a little more proudly than I’d like.

That gets their attention. They each take a seat, flanking me. I’m not used to being surrounded like this. I pull a little tighter into myself. “It’s nothing, really, temporary until Dad can find me my own place.”

“Coach Reed,” adds Lacey again, filling them in.

Lexie leans forward. “The plot thickens.”

“It would be the only thing thickening,” Lacey laughs.

Leah shifts her chair a little closer. “You’ve seen the elite squad’s little Fuckbook project then, I take it?”

Lacey looks visibly uncomfortable, but she manages to pull it back together. “I haven’t had time to fill her in.”

I act dumb. “Fuckbook?”

“Real Pulitzer material,” continues Leah, “a website with all the girls they fuck, rated, pictures—the works”.

I hold my tongue before I ask what girl would be stupid enough to allow herself to sleep with these guys so casually before letting them take photos and upload them for the world to see.

“No faces are shown,” Lexie butts in, “but everyone knows who the girls are. It’s almost like they do it for the fame.”

“And how do you know who the guys are?” I query.

Two seconds later Leah has thrusted her phone in my face with the offending website. She points below a highly compromising picture of what appears to be the backside of a Latino girl. “See?” she says. “This post was put up by user Goliath. That’s Blake Johnson.”

“Yep, getting that loud and clear.”

Lexie’s looking at me like I’m the Holy Father. “I can’t believe you’re living with him. I mean, wow, just
wow
. Have you seen it?”

“Seen what?” I feign, knowing full well what she’s after.

Leah shakes her head. “His womb broom, his porridge gun, Dora the Explorer—you know.”

“No,” I state, “I have not”.

Lexie smiles. “Oh, you will. Like the moon, it’s fucking hard to miss.”

*

I had a fun day with the ‘Triple Ls’, as they call themselves. I can’t really fathom the idea of having real friends, fellow sisters in life to share things with. It’s an abstract concept I’ve yet to come to terms with being an only child, but one I’m coming to understand is essential to college life.

I see the distorted figure of Blake standing at the end of the lane. I break out of the water, reaching for the wall, gasping and trying to fill lungs with air instead of concrete.

He looks down at his stopwatch. “Fifty-nine. Not bad, but you’ve got to push a lot harder through the last twenty if you want to take out the competition at the meet next week.”

“The meet?” First I’ve heard of it.

He reaches down and I take his hand, allowing myself to be pulled from the water, trying as hard as I can to avert my eyes from the delicious way his arm hardens and bulges as he does so. I catch myself staring at his shorts thinking about this mysterious appendage and wondering whether all this talk is true.

You know you want it.

Shut up, Brain.

“Regional colleges, nothing major, but a win looks good to selectors,” he continues, all business.

I put my hands on my hips, chest heaving, my breasts lifting up and down constrained in my swimsuit, the lights suddenly too bright and this cap crushing my skull. “You think I could win?”

He drops his chin to his chest and flicks one eye up, a move that would make James Dean blush. “With me behind you, you bet your ass you’re going to win.”

*

A sock on Billy’s door informs me some unfortunate girl is busy getting plowed by that wildebeest. As much as I love listening to the sounds of primal copulation, I close my door and throw on my headphones, letting myself relax for a few hours catching up with my guild in World of Warcraft.

I’m deep into a good looting near Agmond’s End when two heavy hands fall on my shoulders. I jump so high I almost bounce off the roof.

I spin in my chair outraged, Blake killing himself with laughter.

I take off my headphones. “You can’t just come in here whenever you feel like it! This isn’t a 7-11. Didn’t you see the door?”

He sits on my bed and I can’t help but picture him in it, tied up in my sheets, naked and ready for me. A flicker of need electrifies my clit. I twitch in the chair.

Whoa, get a grip, Tia.

He points behind himself. “Your door was open, genius.”

I’m finding it a bit hard to calm down. “And that gives you a right to invade my personal space?”

“Hey,” he smiles, “I’ll invade your personal space any time. Just say the word.”

I roll my eyes. “Seriously?”

He puts a hand up, turns his head sideways. “Okay, sorry. Old habits die hard, but really, what are you doing?”

“Why, you bored? No girls to bed tonight like Billy, no one to add to your Fuckbook?”

Boom.
Headshot. He sobers up real fast. “You found out about that, huh?”

“Seems you’re the talk of campus, or your dick is, rather—one and the same as far as I can tell.”

He scratches the side of his neck, a perfect patch of skin waiting for my lips to press upon it. “It’s stupid, really stupid, I know, but—”

I laugh. “You’re going to try to justify it? Come on.”

“Fine,” he says, standing and walking around the room, examining my things, “it’s what the girls around here expect
now. They
want
to be on that site. They
beg
me to take their photo, give them a good rating. Guess it just got out of hand.”

“Win-win for you and your squad buddies then.”

He picks up a DVD off my shelf. “Guess so.” He faces the DVD towards me. “Major geek factor detected.”

I can’t stop rolling my eyes at this clown. “Star Wars is a cinematic masterpiece. It hardly marks me as a,” I use my fingers for air quotes, “‘major geek’.”

He tosses it onto my bed. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen it.”

I back up a bit in my chair. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, you’ve never seen Star Wars?”

He shakes his head. “Nope, and so what? I’m sure there’s plenty of stuff you’ve never done, am I right?”

If only you knew…