There is none right now.
The woman is driving me absolutely nuts, to the point that when my head is buried under water, staring down at the black tiled line at the bottom of the pool, all I can envision is her wavy dark hair, floating beneath me.
Everything about me is off.
“We decided on just taking individual shots and then Photoshopping them together,” the photographer says, breaking me out of my reverie. “Bodi is done. Hollis, let’s do you next so Reese can collect himself.”
“Not a problem. Make sure to get some back shots. I’ve been doing a lot of lunges, earning some lift on my ass, and I want it noted.”
“Oh sure,” the photographer acknowledges.
I walk past the poor man and say, “He’s being an dickhead. Just photograph his front and be done with it. The man has no ass, it will probably break your camera if you focus on it for too long.”
“Fuck you!” Hollis calls out to my retreating back. “I heard that and I do to have an ass; it’s just smaller than other asses. Don’t shame me in front of people.”
Ignoring him, I spot Paisley, and without hesitation, make my way toward her. Her hair is piled on top of her head and there is a light glisten to her skin from the heat. She’s focusing on typing something into her phone when I come up next to her.
“You’re doing a good job avoiding me,” I say quietly.
Startled, she fumbles her phone, dropping it into a bowl of yogurt fruit dip Bellini demands to be present everywhere we have to be, but never ever eats it.
“Nooooo.” She shoots a glare in my direction and then fishes out her yogurt-covered phone. “Great, thanks a lot.”
“Oh no, you can’t blame me for that. If you hadn’t ignored me for the past few days, or since you got here, then maybe I wouldn’t find the need to come to you.”
I’m not even sure if she’s listening to me. She’s too busy wiping her phone off with napkins from the snack table.
“Are you going to talk to me?” I ask, feeling a little desperate to hear her voice.
Side-eying me, she glances at my appearance and then quickly turns away. “Don’t you have a photo shoot you have to participate in?”
“They’re shooting individually. Don’t you have to pretend to be nice to me since I’m your boss?”
Sighing, she turns to face me, hand on hip, and nerves in her eyes. Call me a dick, but I like that I make her nervous. I like that she shows her true self around me, her unguarded and natural self. Someone who flicks humans in the forehead and then headbutts them a couple days later has to be as honest as they come.
With a less aggressive approach, she says, “What can I help you with, Reese?”
“Why have you been ignoring me?” My voice is heavy, raspy even, as I’m almost frantic to talk to her.
She scans our surroundings and steps a little closer so our conversation is more private, more intimate. I can get on board with this proximity. “Reese, I’m your employee and you’re in a relationship—”
“Fake relationship.”
“Whatever you want to call it. We need to keep this strictly professional.”
Frustrated, I try not to show my irritation with her when I say, “Can I ask you one thing?”
“As long as it’s not out to dinner or to go on some date.”
I ignore her smart-ass comment. “Do you want me?”
“What?” Her eyes shoot wide and her entire body becomes fidgety with nerves. “Why would you ask that?”
Softly, yet roughly I say, “Because I can see it in your eyes, the way you look at me, the way your body reacts to mine when I’m near you. You’re nervous, you’re yearning, you’re desperate for me to touch you. It’s written all over your face. I just want you to fucking admit it.”
“You’re wrong.” Her voice shakes, confirming my exact thoughts.
“Reese, we’re ready for you,” the photographer calls out.
I wink at her and start walking backward. “Believe what you want, Paisley. You can only deny it for so long.”
Turning on a dime, I meet the photographer at the set where Hollis is begging for one more pose. “I really think you need a picture of me doing my ‘come hither’ face. I will guarantee a million copies sold if you put that look on your front cover.”
I grip Hollis’s shoulder and speak to the photographer. “Don’t listen to him. He’s been selling that look for years now, all it does it scare people away and turn nipples inside out with displeasure.”
“Dude, you’re supposed to have my back,” Hollis replies, laughter in his voice.
“You know I do, but I also care about the American people. Do not force them to see your stupid mug trying to pull off some Zoolander look. It’s not good for country morale.”
Sighing, Hollis says, “Fine, pick the picture displaying my massive twig and berries.”
“You realize that’s a contradiction, right?” I ask. “If it was massive, you should have said canon and bowling balls. You’re not fooling anyone.”
“Damn, man.” Hollis scoots away from me. “What’s crawled up your dick hole today? Get some ass, you’re all clogged up. Your inner bitch comes out when you haven’t had your vein drained in a while.” I cringe, such a gross term. Hollis points to the photographer as he walks away. “Just so you know, I have a huge dick, massive. That’s on the record, you may use it wherever you want. Peace out, King.” He throws deuces in the air and walks away.
Hollis and I have been friends for many years. Even though he’s on the diving team, we’ve leaned on each other during our time in the Olympics. When he was flipping his way to gold, I was stroking my way to silver. The Olympics wouldn’t be the same without him. I’m just hoping I have one more chance to share the experience with him.
Who fucking knows at this point, though? I’ve been swimming like shit and can’t seem to get my mind off the small ebony-haired fireball a few short feet away.
“Reese, we are going to have you pose in front of the white screen. Are you comfortable with what you’re wearing?”
I glance down at my American flag Speedo and nod. “Yup, It’s not like it would be the first time I have my picture taken in a scrap of fabric. As long as you are good with this.”
“Works for us.”
“Do I need to style up the mop?”
“You just need a spray down. Let me find someone to help—”
“Don’t worry about that, I have someone more than happy to assist.” I call out over the crew. “Paisley, could you grab the spray bottle and come here?”
She looks up from her phone, points at her chest a little shocked. I nod my head and quirk my finger at her, indicating for her to come quickly. Looking around frantically, she finds the squirt bottle and walks up to me. Confusion is in her eyes.
“What are you doing?” she asks between clenched teeth, a fake smile plastered on her face.
“I need my assistant to squirt me with water and fix my hair.”
“There are makeup and hair stylists for that.”
“I don’t trust them.”
“Give me five minutes, and we’ll get started,” the photographer says, cleaning his lens.
I glance down at Paisley and ignore her irritation. “Better get squirting, don’t want to hold up the photo shoot, do you?”
“You’re doing this on purpose,” she says, wetting down my chest.
“Yes, you’re correct. I am. Now don’t forget to rub the water into my skin. I want to look like I’m not only
wet
, but glistening.” I put extra emphasis on the word wet, just to grate on her nerves. “Oh, and try not to feel me up too much, despite how much you want me.”
Reluctantly, she sprays me, coating my chest and hair first before rubbing her hand along the contours and curves of my muscles. Her breath grows deeper with every pass of her hand, her eyes grow heavy, and right about now, I would give my left nut to know what she’s thinking, to feel what she’s feeling, to fucking rip her clothes off and see how turned on she is.
Because I’m a man, I peek down at her chest to see if her body is reacting to mine. To my delight, both of her nipples are hard, and she’s licking her lips as she concentrates on running her hand diligently across my broad and defined chest.
“What are you thinking?” I ask her, breaking the silence between us, my gravelly voice pulling her from her concentration.
She startles and meets my gaze, shocked she was lost in thought while smoothing water over my chest.
She shakes her head, a million thoughts running through those gorgeous grey eyes of hers. “Um, I think you’re set.”
“That’s not answering my question. What were you thinking, Paisley?” She doesn’t answer, she doesn’t even look me in the eyes. Instead, she focuses on the water bottle in her hand, peering at it as if it will transport her to another location. “Let me guess, you were thinking about how much you wish we were somewhere private so you can lower your hands past the waistline of my suit to feel my thick, long cock. Am I right, Paisley? Don’t think I didn’t see you staring at my cock when you were at my house. I notice everything you do, especially when it comes to those grey eyes of yours igniting with flames whenever I’m around.”
She clears her throat and takes a step back. “You’re all set,” she repeats.
Happy with her awkward and uncomfortable reaction, I ask, “Are you sure? What about my hair?”
She scans my curls and cringes. I can’t help but smile at her facial expressions. I’m about to ask her to run her fingers through it when she stands on her tippy toes and dumps the rest of the water in the bottle over my head, drenching me.
Stepping back, she bites her fingernail, a regretful look on her face, and says, “All set.” Then she puts a great distance between us, standing back with the crew.
Soaked, I run both hands through my hair, catching all the water and smoothing out my waves, slicking them down so it looks like I just got out of the water. Droplets fall off my chest, and all the spraying she did goes unnoticed from the downpour she just bestowed upon me.
Smirking, I shake my head at her. I should have known better, the woman holds nothing back when it comes to her actions.
“Perfect,” the photographer says, lifting his camera to his eye.
Wanting to get Paisley back, I do what I do best, I pose in a Speedo . . . while she watches.
Casually, I lift my right arm and place my hand behind my neck, gripping it and flexing my bicep at the same time. With my left thumb, I hook it under the waistband of my Speedo and pull it down, just far enough that I’m not revealing anything, but moments away from letting everything hang out. Then I give the camera a sultry look.
“Hold that pose,” the photographer yells, getting shutter happy on me, clicking his camera in rapid succession.
From behind him, I can see Paisley gripping the water bottle, hugging it closely to her chest, and her straight teeth nibbling on her lip, staring directly at my package.
Yup, it is only a ticking time bomb until I have her just where I want her.
***
“Are you going to cry about this the entire time we’re on the phone?” I ask, wrapping a towel around my waist before I take the phone off speaker.
He always calls a couple times before a big race, it’s ritual. I do the same thing when it comes to his competitions, so this post-shower call is not at all surprising.
“I’m just saying, you could have supported me when it came to my dick size.”
I chuckle into the phone. “I’ve never seen your dick, therefore I can’t vouch for it.”
“Want me to come over? Better yet, let’s FaceTime. I’m wearing an elastic waistband, easy access.”
“Yeah, I will hang up on you. I love you, man, but I don’t want to see your dick. It’s not something I’m particularly interested in.”
He exhales and says, “And what would you be particularly interested in these days? That little assistant of yours? She’s hella fine, I can’t blame you.”
“She’s cool,” I answer, evasively.
But apparently not evasively enough because on the other end of the phone call, Hollis busts out in laughter. “Fuck, man. You’re going with ‘she’s cool?’ Have you fucked her?”
“No,” I say quickly. Hollis is quite aware of my fake relationship with Bellini. He’s not a fan of the setup. To be honest, neither am I, but I’m already signed on, not much I can do about it now. “She’s my assistant, that’s it.”
“You’re such a shitty liar. I saw the way you looked at her, you were two seconds away from plowing your dick inside her at the photo shoot.”
Fuck. Was it really that obvious? I hope to God not. If Bellini caught any whiff of my attraction to Paisley, she not only would have her fired within seconds, but she would be up my ass before I could put my Speedo back on.
“There might be a little attraction there,” I admit. Hollis is trustworthy. As my best friend, he would never say anything.
“Yeah, a little is a boldfaced lie. You like her a lot. What’s her story?”
I relax on my sofa, a towel as my only garment of clothing. “I’m not quite sure.” I sigh and run my fingers through my hair leaning against the couch. “She hasn’t really opened herself up to me. She has a master’s in film production. I don’t believe this is her choice job, but from the looks of it, it’s something related to what she’s interested in. Her tattoos are meaningful to her.”
“They’re hot as shit. I bet she has some under her clothing as well.”
Having seen Paisley in a bikini, Hollis is absolutely right about that.
“They’re all quotes from her favorite movies.” I rub my eye with the palm of my hand. “Fuck, she even has the Rocky quote I carry around with me tattooed on her bicep.”
“For real? Dude, you totally popped a chub over that, didn’t you?”
Pretty much.
“She wants nothing to do with me, though. She’s so adamant about keeping a professional relationship, she won’t give in to the attraction between us. I saw her on the beach the other day, invited her to my place for lunch, hoping it would relax her, maybe have a little make-out session.” Hollis laughs. “I thought that maybe I was going to get somewhere with her, even just a fucking kiss would have been awesome. The sexual tension between us is fucking heavy, but she didn’t give in, instead she headbutted me.”
“What?” Hollis laughs into the phone some more. “She straight-up headbutted you? Like some kind of sexy ninja?”