“You have no idea.” I refrain the pathetic sigh of infatuation from releasing.
“Are you going to miss the beard?”
I think about how I stroked it last night, let it prickle across my fingertips, loving the way it roughened up my soft hands. Hell yes, I’m going to miss the beard. It makes him look dark and mysterious, sexy and rugged. Lucky for me though, he’s all man and will have it back in no time.
“I will, but he’s told me it grows back quickly so I won’t have to miss it for too long.”
“That’s a good thing.”
Together we watch Reese and Bellini interact. Of course Bellini is all over Reese, holding his hand, leaning into him with Pope Francis in her other arm, looking up at him with affection in her eyes. Does she really like him? I find it quite impossible for her to like anyone other than herself. I can only think of her as asexual. For her to have any feelings for another human being seems an insurmountable challenge.
Then I take in Reese: he’s holding her hand right back; he’s smiling down at her, laughing with her and even . . . kissing the side of her head.
My heart erupts in my chest the moment his lips connect with her temple. I know they’re supposed to have a fake relationship but it never dawned on me that he would have to be physically affectionate with her.
I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience as they sit down in a chair together—Reese on the chair, Bellini in his lap, and Pope Francis resting in her arm. Reese encases her with his strength, his arm wrapped around her, his hand on her thigh and his head resting on her shoulder. She snuggles into him and he does the same. The media practically salivates over the scene in front of them while I turn away, physically nauseated.
“It’s all an act,” Melony whispers into my ear, sensing my aversion to the scene in front of me.
I know she’s right, but I still can’t help but feel a little betrayed. The way he looks at her, it seems all too familiar.
I grip Melony’s arm and say, “I need to step into the hallway. Text me when it’s done or if Bellini needs anything. I will meet you up in the stands.”
“Paisley, it’s nothing.”
“I know.” I nod my head, wondering why Melony is defending Reese so fervently.
With a quick squeeze to her arm, I take off past the snarly security man and into the hallway where staff continues to prepare for the event. I lean my head against the wall and try to clear my mind.
You knew this was going to happen. You were going to have to watch them together, knowing fully well that it’s fake.
But why did it seem so real?
Images of Reese hovering over me, stroking my hair sweetly float through my mind. He was so genuine, so sweet, so . . . loving. He can’t possibly be playing me, right?
Shit. I play with the ends of my hair and stare at the ground, wondering if this is right to pursue. I would have to put up with a full season of this—and who knows, maybe two seasons—of watching Reese and Bellini act like a couple, be all cutesy together, as if they were actually in love. The mere thought of it makes me sick to my stomach.
My mind wanders to all different scenarios just as someone grabs my upper arm and starts escorting me down the hall. Shocked, I glance up to see Reese guiding me past everyone and into a private room in which he shuts and presses me up against the door.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, hoping no one saw him take me in here.
He presses his hands against the door, bracketing my head and bringing his lips inches from mine. “I’m showing you who I belong to.” Before I can react, his lips are on mine, searing me with his heat, prying my mouth open with his tongue.
Instinctively my hands fall to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer, getting lost in his kisses and the way his tongue tangles with mine; the distinct cologne he wears envelops me every time I’m around him.
His hips move against mine, pressing me farther into the door, his strong arms wrap around me and pull me closer. Every inch of his body is tangled with mine. I feel safe, adored, and I can’t help but sigh against him, loving the way it feels to be pressed against his hard, defined body.
I run my hands into the curls of his hair and pull on them slightly, loving the way I can make him groan so easily.
Stepping away, he presses his forehead against mine and speaks softly. “Please don’t ever think I want her over you or that I even want her near me for that matter.”
“I didn’t—” He cuts me off with a kiss.
“Paisley, I saw the way your face fell flat when she was sitting on my lap. I’m not an idiot. I know this is hard for you, but you just have to hang in there. These spotlights are few and far between. It’s rare I spend time with her. Can you understand that?”
Being in the business, I know how it works, so of course I
can
understand it, but that doesn’t mean I like it.
“Yeah, I can.”
“Good.” He kisses my nose and pulls away. “Now, I have a race to win. You’re going to be watching me, right?
“Wouldn’t miss it.” I smile up at him, stroking his beard one last time. “I guess you have to go shave.”
“It will be back, baby. I promise. I will be scratching up your inner thighs soon enough.” I blush from his admission. He then lifts my arm and pushes the folded up sleeve of my T-shirt down, exposing my
Rocky
tattoo. He runs his thumb across the phrase and then kisses it gently.
I look him in the eyes and smile. “You got this, Reese.”
“I know I do. Catch you after, baby.”
One more quick kiss and then he’s gone, out the door before I can wish him good luck. I take my time, counting to fifty before I leave just in case anyone followed us. It is time to get up to the stands to watch my man.
***
The lights are dim, the stadium is buzzing, and the scoreboard ahead is playing a swimming montage of highlights from last Olympics. Every time Reese’s face and body flashes over the screen, my stomach dances with butterflies and thousands of women scream. I don’t blame them. All I want to do is jump up and down and clap.
I love a sports montage. Flashes of sweaty people, unforgettable and very inspirational music all cinematically put together and tied harmoniously with a voiceover that gives you chills. Gets me every time.
This time being no exception, especially since I know the man who is striving for his last go of it.
Swimmer after swimmer appears on the screen, saying what the Olympics mean to them, what it would feel like to return to the big show, to compete for their country. Chills sprinkle across my skin, my stomach flips with nerves, and just when I feel like I’m going to burst in anticipation, Reese comes on screen, slowly lifting his head, showing off that beard of his. The crowd erupts and then his voice takes over the stadium reciting his favorite quote from
Rocky
.
“Every champion was once a contender that refused to give up.” The cheers surrounding me are so loud, I almost can’t hear what he says next. “I refuse to give up until I hold a gold in my hand.”
Energy and excited electricity bounces over the stadium as the montage fades out, laser beams start to race around the room, music builds up and the first race is about to begin. The announcers take over, working the crowd, pumping everyone up even more. I’ve never in my life been a part of something so intense, so energetic, and I can’t help but get caught up in everyone’s excitement.
“This is so cool,” Melony says, clapping her hands with everyone else.
I have to agree with her. I turn to Bellini to see her excitement, only to find the priss sitting in her seat, holding Pope Francis who is wearing earmuffs, blocking out the loud sounds of the speaker. She has a bored look on her face and it almost seems like we’re torturing her by being here.
I get that she is one of the worst humans to ever walk the planet, but can’t she be excited for Reese? They are co-stars after all, so she could show some enthusiasm.
“Bellini, aren’t you excited?” I ask.
Giving me the once-over, she curls her lip in disgust. “Contrary to what you might think, I don’t like to hop up and down like some overly charged tween at a Justin Bieber concert. I prefer to hold my dignity.”
“But it’s for Reese.”
“Look around you, fool, he’s not even out there yet.” Once again, I’m
rewarded
with a disdainful once-over and a smirk appears on her face. “You know, Mauve, I’m quite parched. Bring me a drink. Fiji water in the bottle with a cup of ice. Tick tock, the clock is running.” She points to her wrist.
I know exactly what she’s doing; she’s trying to ruin my experience. Fair enough, at least Reese’s race won’t be up for a bit, so I have some time to spare.
I move to leave when Melony grips my arm. “Where are you going?”
Keeping my voice low, I answer, “Bellini wants some water.”
“You’re going to miss everything.”
“Reese’s race isn’t for a while. I have some time.”
“Well, hurry up.” She winks. “You don’t want to miss anything.”
I didn’t need Melony telling me that. I give her a wink back and then take off to the concession area, knowing fully well they’re not going to have Fiji water, but thanks to my mastery of knowing Bellini’s demands, I keep an empty bottle in my purse at all times and just fill it up with whatever water I can find and then pour it for her. I would use tap water from the bathroom, but for some reason, the water always comes out murky, so it would be obvious it’s water from the tap.
So, I head over to the concession stand and wait in line. From above, I can hear the announcers talking about the first race and introducing the swimmers. The energy in the stadium is contagious and even though it’s not one of Reese’s races, I still want to watch the other swimmers compete. I’ve heard bits and pieces from Reese about his other previous teammates, especially Bodi Banks. I want to see just how good they are.
“Can I help you, miss?” the concession store worker asks.
“Yes, one water please, the big one, and a cup with ice.” I pull out my wallet and use the credit card Jasper gave me. Luckily, I didn’t have to charge any of Bellini’s crazy demands to my own card. I would be about three hundred dollars in debt due to Tic Tacs and obscene Starbuck’s orders.
“That will be five dollars and fifty cents.”
Feeling like Tom Hanks in
You’ve Got Mail
when he hears the price of the books he’s buying, I shake my head and swipe the card. Concession stands should all go to hell for the price gouging they take part in.
“Enjoy the meet.”
“Thanks.” I nod at the worker and go in the bathroom where I can have a steady hand while I pour.
There are TVs everywhere, even in the bathroom so when I set my purse on the counter, I watch the first race take place. The camera is panned out for an above-the-pool view, arms fly through the water until the line of swimmers hit the wall and float under water for a few seconds before resurfacing and disturbing the water once again. I can barely doggy paddle my way across a pool, so it’s insane to me that humans can move that fast through water.
Wanting to get back into the stadium, I pull out the Fiji water bottle, uncap it and then do the same with the other, less fancy water, that still tastes equally the same. Don’t try to tell me they don’t. It’s water.
Funneling carefully, I pour the water in, making sure to fill it to just the right height that won’t throw Bellini off. Just a little bit more . . .
“What are you doing?”
Startled, I shake the water bottle, spilling contents all over my hand and on the counter. I turn to see Pocket standing against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest and a devious look in her eyes.
Shit, I forgot she was quarantined from Bellini due to “sweating like a cow” or was it a gorilla of some kind? I can’t quite remember; Bellini’s insults can be rather erratic. Honestly, the girl smelled fine to me, I didn’t see what the big deal was.
“Oh, hey there . . .” Do I call her Pocket? It just seems so demeaning to call her something other than her real name, but what the hell was her real name? Patricia? Polly? I couldn’t remember. So I went with something simple. “You. What’s going on?” I lean against the counter, striking a casual pose, trying not to look like I was just caught red-handed.
“I’m wondering the same thing about you. Is that water for Bellini?”
I glance down at the water bottle and then back up at her.
I could lie, come up with some foreign reason as to why I’m putting water into this water bottle, or I could lie in a good way—if there really is one—where it makes it seem like I care about Bellini and looking out for her best interest, I choose the latter.
“It is.” I nod. “She’s thirsty.”
“Why are you putting the water in a Fiji bottle? You know she only likes Fiji water.”
“Yup.” I nod some more and shrug. “They didn’t have any.”
“I knew it!” Pocket cheers, obviously loving that she “caught” me. “You’re being deceitful. I’m going to make sure Bellini knows about this.”
She starts to walk away when I call out to her. “No. You can’t.”
In the matter of seconds, Pocket is in my face poking her finger into my shoulder and talking in a menacing tone. “Ever since you’ve started this stupid job you’ve been stepping on my toes. I was supposed to be her assistant but instead, she denied me the pleasure and had someone hire you. I’m just waiting for the moment where you screw up so I can take your place. This will throw her over the edge.”
Pocket is someone I need on my side, pronto. That’s if I ever want to work in this industry again.
“I’m so sorry,” I apologize, pulling her into a hug, catching us both off guard. “I didn’t know you were up for the position, if I did, I never would have taken it.” I pull away and grip her shoulders. “You are her best friend. I can’t imagine it being easy to work with your best friend. Your relationship would probably shift, I wonder if that’s why she didn’t hire you.”
She ponders my reasoning. “Do you really think so?”
“I do. It’s evident from how she’s reacting in the stands now.”
“Why? What’s going on?” Pocket asks, seeming less likely to call me out, and more interested in how Bellini is feeling.