Stroker: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (5 page)

He looks to my shelves. “I mean, where are all your trophies and medals?”

“I’ve never won any.”

Now it’s his turn to reel back. “You’re kidding me? Not even a participation award, a you-tried-your-hardest-pumpkin medallion?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

He comes a little closer, hard plates of muscle shifting under his tank top, that dragon tatt alive on his arm. He points to the screen. “World of Warcraft, right?”

“It is.”

He peeks around my head. “Looks kind of cool.”

“It requires a functioning brain, sorry.”

He laughs, looking to the ceiling. “Wow, you really don’t hold back, do you?”

“With a known womanizer? No, I do not.”

“I have an idea, he says, sitting on the edge of my desk, groaning in response.

I cross my arms. “Here we go, and if it’s a request to go on your little website I’m damn well going to snap that celebrity dick of yours clean in half.”

He winces before tapping my monitor. “Teach me how to play World of Warcraft and I’ll get you a nice, shiny medal—guaranteed.”

“You can’t guarantee that,” I scoff.

He looks me up and down. “Sure I can. You’re a bit rough around the edges now, but give it a week and you’ll be kicking ass in the pool.”

“Why on earth would I want to teach
you
how to play my most beloved game?”

“Admit it, you can’t say no to me. I’ll even throw in a viewing of Star Wars. You choose the time and place.”

Popping his Star Wars cherry—now
that
is appealing. I’ve always wanted a Star Wars virgin to call my own.

Don’t you dare do it. This guy is a panty tractor beam. You know better.

“Okay,” I reach out and shake his hand, “but I mean, you know stuff about Star Wars, right? You haven’t been living under a cultural rock your whole life, have you?”

“I know things,” he replies, but he sure doesn’t look certain about it.

Let’s put you to the test Jerky McCutebutt.
“Come on then. If you could be any Star Wars character, who would you be?”

“The guy with the mask and the breathing… what’s-his-name.”

I raise my left brow. “Darth Vader?”

“Yeah, him.”

“One of the most evil characters created with a face like a hemorrhoid and ultimately killed by his own son?”

Less certainty. “Sure, and you?”

Nice deflection, smartass.
I pretend to think on this, even though I’ve been through it a hundred times in my head. “Princess Leia Organa. I mean, every girl wants to be a princess, right? It would be nice to be the damsel in distress for once.”

“And who have you rescued lately, pray tell?”

“You?”

“Me?” he laughs. “From what? A social life?”

Got you.
  “From expulsion.”

“You got me there,” he concedes, tucking a thumb into the waistband of his pants.

The tingle between my legs grows. I bring my eyes back to his face. “Princess Leia sees her fair share of fighting, too, isn’t a complete pushover, and I’d get to bang Han Solo, the most dreamy and bad-ass man in the entire universe.”

“Dang,” he snaps his fingers, “thought I had that one in the bag”. The thumb in his waistband pulls his pants lower, a defined arrowhead pointing past his Adonis belt to…

Oh hell.
“You thought wrong.”

“The guy’s seventy-something. You got a thing for older guys?”

“Harrison Ford might be, but Han is twenty-nine BBY, thank you very much.”

Blake looks left, right. “BB-what?”

“Years before the Battle of Yavin.”

“Now you’ve lost me.”

“Aw,” I stand and tap him in the head, “too much for that pea brain of yours to comprehend? Better get back to your cartoons and Spiderman PJs.”

“I’ve got more important things to do than study up on geek culture.”

I shrug. “Your loss.”

My phone goes off the same time Blake’s does.

It’s Ethan. There’s a party in the training gym.

Blake’s grinning at me, teeth white and gleaming.
Teeth of a shark.
“Well, Princess, shall we?”

*

The party turns out to be a small gathering of swimmers and random students drinking beer and reclining on crash mats. Cutter’s in the foam pit humping foam, another guy I recognize from the pool trying, and failing, to walk a balance beam with red cup in hand. A single lantern in the middle of the room provides light.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be in here,” I tell Blake.

He leads us into the center of the room, clearly stiffening beside me when Ethan reaches out for my hand. I don’t really know why, but I take it.

Ethan pulls me into his chest, sniffing my hair. “You smell great.” He’s watching Blake as he says it.

I push back, standing away. “Easy, buster.”

“Just playing,” he smiles. “Beer?”

“Sure,” I smile.

When he’s gone, it’s Blake who takes my arm. I sling it off. “What?”

“Be careful around Ethan, okay?”

“Yes, Dad, but you should know telling me not to do something only makes me want to do it more.”

“I’m serious,” he whispers, and he is—deadly serious. But I don’t belong to him. I don’t belong to anyone. I’ll do what I want, carpe diem and all that. Don’t I deserve some fun after everything I’ve been through?

Ethan returns with the beers, pressing one into my hand and guiding me away from Blake. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

I nod, watching as Blake fumes when Ethan places his hand on my back and draws us away.

I’m a little nervous as we enter the men’s showers. “Ethan, I—”

He comes in front of me, walks forward until my back is against the tiles, a shower handle pressing into my ass. He goes to kiss me, but I tilt my head away. “Ethan, you seem nice enough, but—”

He places a finger on my lips. “Don’t say anymore.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a baggie. “How about we
really
get this party started?”

“Aren’t you guys tested?”

He sniffs. “You’re right. I can’t, but
you
can. This is top-shelf shit right here. It would be downright rude to pass it up.”

I take a step sideways. “Thanks, really, but no. I’m not into that stuff.”

He shifts to come in front of me again, leans forward to press my back against the wall a little harder. “How about sucking cock? You into
that
?”

I try to swing under his arm. “I’m out of—”

He presses me back against the tiles, a little too firmly now. I look into his eyes and there’s danger there. Alarm bells are ding-a-fucking-linging big-time. “Let me go,” I state, firm.

He places a meaty hand next to my head, leans in and sniffs at my throat. “Come on. I bet you deep-throat like a pro.”

I can’t believe the change that has come over him. Well, I can, given our first meeting, but this is taking it
way
too far. I press against his chest, but it’s a solid wall. “Let me pass, or…”

“Or what?” he laughs.

I heave my knee up between his legs and drive it into his balls.

He gives a choking gasp and crumples before me, grabbing his nuts.

I don’t wait a second longer. I get the hell out of there before he does a T1000 and resurrects himself.

When I come out, flustered, I see Blake. He looks hella-pissed, but I’m not in a mood to deal with him too. I high-tail it back to the apartment, the cold night air a welcome respite.

BLAKE

I’m used to the front door slamming, but usually it’s from yet another can’t-remember-your-namer, not a fellow occupant.

I almost laugh it’s so out of character for Tia.
Almost
, because she doesn’t look like she’s in the mood for frivolity.

You hardly know her.

It’s true. I don’t know her, but I can see she’s not the deceptive type, someone to two-face or backstab others to benefit themselves. In many ways, she’s a breath of fresh air in this sweaty armpit of a school.

She looks surprised that I’m back before she is, but she doesn’t know the shortcut.

“Rough night, huh?” I start. “I
did
warn you.”

“Shut up,” comes the blunt response as she slips past me on the way to her room.

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

“No thanks, Oprah.”

And the door to her room slams closed.

Billy emerges from his own looking every part the Neanderthal. He looks to Tia’s door. He looks to me. “Women, man.”

“Amen, bother,” I nod. “A-fucking-men.”

*

I’m still thinking about Tia’s grand entrance last night as I push through training. The sun’s yet to show itself and Reed’s pushing us harder than ever. Seems the entire Reed family woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.

Coach walks down the pool beside us. “What the fuck?! Do I have to pour some piranhas in there to get your asses moving?”

Admittedly, the entire squad’s been a sluggish of late—all except Ethan, who’s powering ahead again like he’s got a 12V stuck up his starfish.

Coach is clawing at his hair—what hair he has left. I swear he’s about to have a coronary any second.

I hit the wall and surface a full second behind Ethan.

Ethan looks to me with red, bulbous eyes. I’ve seen him in form before, but this is different. Dude looks possessed. His head snaps up when he hears Coach’s voice. “Coach?”

Reed’s smiling, every bit the proud father. “Good work, EK. Show these other jackasses how it’s done.”

“I can do better,” Ethan replies, deadpan. That’s all he says these days: ‘I can do better’, over and over

Fuck, he really has become a robot.

Coach crouches down next to the blocks. “I hear you, son, but don’t be too hard on yourself.”

Out of fucking nowhere Ethan stands pounding the butt of his palm into his forehead. “I. Can. Do. Fucking. Better.” He repeats it, pounding and pounding.

I reach over from my lane, try to put a stop to it, but he hits me hard in the jaw, hard enough to send me back into the water.

I surface spluttering, about to slug the fucker back, but he’s managed to pull himself from the pool, completely ignoring Coach while he continues to smack his head.

“Son!” yells Coach, but either Ethan’s ignoring him or he’s too caught up in the meltdown to hear him.

I hold my jaw. At least he swims better than he punches.

Right before he gets to the showers, Ethan head-butts the wall. Even from the pool I hear tiles crack against his skull, see the red spatter of blood bloom out around it. Thing is, if he’s in pain, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps on walking into the showers.

Coach looks on bewildered. Cutter swims up next to me. “What the
fuck
was that all about?”

I shake my head. “No fucking idea.”

By the time I get in there to see what the hell’s going on, maybe dial up a fist sandwich of my own, Ethan’s already gone.

*

Sitting in such close proximity to Tia is almost more than I can take. Every time she leans over the keyboard to show me something I’m hit with her smell—lightly floral and minty, sweet. Bottle it up and Viagra stocks would plummet.

We never did talk about why she came home so pissed the other night, but I’m certain Ethan is behind it, that fucker. I should confront him, knock some teeth out if I have to. We might have been close once, but not anymore, not if he’s touched her, hurt her. Whatever the case, I’m simply happy things are back to normal.

“It’s all about role-playing,” she says. “Every character has a specific set of skills and abilities that define their role. Take mages. They’re powerful spell casters who use magic to inflict damage from afar, but they’re really vulnerable to attack. That’s why they have to hang back, do as much damage as possible and then hope to hell they can get away before anyone gets to them.”

I’m listening, but my attention is on the way her lips press and part as she talks, the very top of her breasts so smooth and round caught inside the World’s Luckiest Tank Top. She brushes her hair back and practically begs me to kiss her shoulder, but I keep it together, almost have to cross my legs to cut off the circulation to my cock. “Mages, got it. Why are you so into this thing, may I ask?”

She looks sideways at me, emerald eyes smoldering. “You really want to know?”

“Enlighten me, O great Azagoth, Warrior of the Plains.”

“It’s just ‘Azagoth’, and my dad got me into it, right before he…”

Coach Reed, the gamer?
Now that’s some wacky shit, but I’m distracted by Tia. There’s pain on her face I can’t bear. I want to bundle her up in my arms, hold her for eternity, but I’ve got a long way to go before she’ll let me get that close. This is the first step in a long fucking ass climb. “Wouldn’t that turn you off it?”

She looks at me with wet eyes. “This is going to sound so stupid, and I don’t expect you to understand, but this is more than a game to me. I did stop, for years, but I came back. It’s cool to check out new content, worlds, but you know what really does it? When I log in, when I see that logo and those familiar sounds, I’m home and I know everything will be alright as long as I’m there.”

“So it’s an escape?”

“I suppose you could say that.”

“You don’t miss, you know, human interaction?”

She pokes the monitor. “My family is there, in the game.”

“What would your dad have to say about that?”

She crosses her legs together, her arms. She’s closing herself off just when I was starting to get her to open up. “I think it’s great he wants me here, that he’s trying to connect again, but it’s been ten years. He’s got a long way to go before we’re skipping off into the sunset.”

“Does he still play?”

“WoW?”

“Yeah.”

She looks back at the screen, the delicate features of her face lit pale blue. “He was never that serious. He would kill me if he knew I was telling you about this. It would break his bad-ass SEAL persona—a grown man playing computer games.”

I smirk. I probably know Coach Reed better than she does. “You should ask him, talk to him about it. You had that connection once. Why not again?”

The arms come undone. “It’s not the worst idea you’ve had. In fact, I don’t think you’ve said anything overtly sexual or offensive in,” she checks her watch, “about an hour now. That must be some kind of record.”

I point back to the screen. “Just show me what the big guy with the sword does.”

She grins, lips supple. “With pleasure.”

*

Meet day—Time to kick some Ivy League ass.

I wave to Tia on my way to the changing rooms. She’s smack dab in the middle of the crowd with that gymnastics chick she’s been spending all her time with.
She’s probably a lesbian knowing your luck.

This is a big meet. I have to qualify here or kiss any chance of making the Olympic team goodbye. I’m not on fire, but I’m good enough. I haven’t worked this hard to let it slip through my fingers now.

Cutter points up to Tia. “You hitting crazy yet, man?”

“Too busy with your mom”.

He punches me in the shoulder. “Low, even for you.”

On the other side of the crowd I see Billy holding up a ‘Team Goliath’ sign with a crude drawing of what could be a rocket taking off or a penis ejaculating—it’s hard to tell.

It’s busy in the change rooms. Ethan’s pulling his gear on, looks about as bat-shit insane as always these days. The whole over-the-top episode last week was one thing, but that was just it. It was a once-off. He apologized the very next day. Every training session since he’s been his usual asshole, cheeky self. God knows what’s up with him.

I place my bag down on the bench, start to strip.

Ethan pulls up beside me. “You ready for this?” he asks, slapping his chest.

I pull off my pants, wouldn’t be surprised if my dick starting talking for me. “I was born ready. You?”

He smiles. “Born to kick your ass.”

I take out my suit, step into it, pull it up my thighs. Such a tight fucking fit. Any tighter and I’d cough out my balls. Someone slaps my ass. “That you, Cutter?”

He pushes in between us, unzips his bag. “You fuckers watch it out there. I’m feeling
gooooooood
today.”

“What, you finally get laid?” I tease.

The call for our heat comes over the PA. I zip up my bag and prepare to head out. “Anyone seen my water bottle?”

Someone throws it on top of my bag.

“Thanks,” I offer, taking a few glugs to keep myself hydrated. “See you out there.”

“Yeah,” laughs Cutter, “see your pretty ass on the podium”.

I love the fucking energy of these meets. I live for it. It’s fuel in my tank, better than sex.

I’m charged, more than ready for this to score my ticket to Rio, but something happens between the time I leave the changing rooms and the actual heat. I start to space out. My head feels fat on my shoulders. I drink a little more, but it doesn’t help. Soon all I’m feeling is full-blown paranoia.

I stretch behind the blocks, pull my googles on.
Keep it the fuck together.

Cutter looks across, concerned. “You alright there, cowboy?”

I shake my head, can’t lose the rocks inside it. “Nerves.”

He laughs. “Blake Emmanuel Johnson nervous? That’s new.”

I look down seeing three lanes instead of one. “I guess so.”

By the time I step up onto the blocks I’m having a complete panic attack, shaky and off-kilter.
What the hell is happening?

I look up to the crowd and see Tia and Coach. Both of them are watching me closely.

Do not fuck this up.

I actually reach up and slap myself across the face, nice and hard, limber up a little and get down to business.

Do not fuck this up.

Do not fuck this up.

Do not fuck this up.

God knows how many hangovers I’ve swum off before, but I haven’t had a drink in over a week. It’s been water only for days now.

Get in the game.

This is a no-lose situation. I’ve got to put in a time here.

“Blake?” Cutter shouts, the concern greater.

I wave him off. “I’m fine.”

I think back to what I ate, but why now?
Maybe you really are nervous? This is
it
, after all.

I’m so zoned out I almost forget to take position, slow on the launch, the water feeling like fucking concrete when I hit. It’s all a fucking blur.

The pain’s real, but nothing, not this headache, not this weird fucking feeling, is going to stop me. The muscle memory kicks in. I pull and push, body moving through the water, let it flow over me, rush past my sides.

It’s over.

I surface, almost go back under the pain hits so strong, the world a smear, but I’ve done it—second, but it will be enough. Ethan’s slipped ahead, but he can have it today. I wasn’t at my best.

Cutter helps me from the pool, can see something’s up. Coach and Tia meet us. Coach takes my arm, sees I’m about one second from hitting the floor. “You alright, son? You look fucking terrible.”

“Sit down,” adds Tia, face full of concern.

“Sit down?” I laugh, just as the world closes in and everything overwhelms me at once.

I go down hard. All I can think about lying on the tiles is how damn bright those lights are overhead and how fucking stupid I must look here on my back.

Pussy. Should have listened to the lady.

*

I come into Coach’s office, take a seat.

He picks up a file. “Physically, the doctors say you’re fine, but there was some weird shit in your bloodwork.”

“Weird shit?”

He snorts. “Trace amounts of fuck-knows-what, nothing prohibited, but odd enough for them to notice.” He slaps the file down, two hands on his desk. “You tell me straight, son. Are you using something?”

“No.”

“One last time.”

How fucking dare he. “I said no and it’s the fucking truth.” I stand. “You don’t believe me?”

“You’ve got a history of substance abuse.”

I spin around, turn my back to him with my hands on my hand. “Precisely, a history. That’s
the past
. I’m clean. You have my word.”