With a smirk, he pulls away, entwines our fingers, and walks us to the door. He steps out and pulls me with him. One quick kiss and a wink, he lets go and says, “See you tonight.”
“Good luck,” I call out.
Glancing behind him, he smiles at me and then turns back around. I watch his backside retreat, wondering if there will ever be a time I’ll get tired of having him around. Probably not.
Sighing from infatuation, I gather myself and turn to go back to the hotel, only to come face to face with a pissed-off Bellini.
“You lying-face whore bag. There is no Clyde.”
**BELLINI**
I knew I couldn’t trust that garbage can of a woman with her dreadlock hair, nasty tattoos, and lying dick-sucking mouth.
From the moment she walked up to me and introduced herself as some ninety-year-old women’s throw blanket, I knew she wasn’t trustworthy.
Not just because she paid “professionals” to scribble all over her body, and not just because she has eyes the color of Satan’s asshole—yes, Satan’s asshole is silver—but because she wears tank tops. You can never trust someone who wears tank tops as everyday outfits. Who shows off that much skin, that many times in a week? I will give you three guesses: strippers, whores, and prostitutes.
You might think I’m a priss for wanting Fiji water only. A lot of people say all water tastes the same. Those people are the ones who suck on Sour Patch Kids day in, day out while scratching their crotches in front of the elderly. They have no taste buds for the finer things in life. I know the difference between Pellegrino, Aquafina, Arrowhead, and Fiji water. There is a distinct taste. Fiji water doesn’t taste like skank breath.
So, when I started realizing the water crap-face was giving me wasn’t Fiji, I did my very own research. While she was staring down at the pool, watching man-fish flop around, I kicked her purse, opening it up to my view. I didn’t burglarize, so don’t think I took anything out of her satchel, as if I would want to stick my hand in it anyway. But I did notice she had an empty Fiji bottle in there and it hit me. She’s been scamming me out of the purified glory of refreshing water from the South Pacific where blue lagoons and palm trees kiss you in the morning with their beauty.
The tramp!
So when she said she was going to scout venues that sold my water, you can see why I grew skeptical of her intentions. Lucky for me, I’m vastly intelligent, so I put on my sunglasses and followed her around, Mission Impossible-style. Tom Cruise has nothing on my skills.
The minute I saw her go into a corridor of some sort, I knew she was up to something. What I didn’t expect was for Reese to walk in after her. I thought maybe, just maybe they were planning a secret surprise party to honor my beauty, but when I heard grunting, I knew they were both shaking hands with the devil.
Sex!
They were having sex. It was unmistakable.
Even though I burned with fury, I couldn’t help but feel sad for poor Clyde. Here he is, taking one for the team and dating this atrocious woman who refuses to brush her hair, and what does she do? Cheats on him. Makes me want to start a Kickstarter campaign for him to raise money for the obvious therapy he’ll need.
Now, I could be the woman who slinks away and lets the trout-face woman get away with it, or I can be the person my daddy raised me to be and confront that nasty trench-mouth.
That’s why I have the pleasure of standing in front of Mauve, staring her down as fear rolls on repeat through her eyes.
“Bellini, it’s not—”
“What I think?” I finish for her. She swallows hard and I take that as indication she is terrified of me, rightfully so. “So not only do you cheat on your boyfriend, Clyde, but you are a compulsive liar as well.”
She sighs and lowers her head, so I continue. “I heard you two in there, flapping your bodies together like animals in heat. Have you no respect for yourself? That you not only have to have coitus outside of the sanctity of marriage with someone else’s man, but you have to do it in what I can only assume is a broom closet?”
“It’s not a broom closet,” she says foolishly.
“That is irrelevant. What about Clyde? What about me?”
She looks to the side and then speaks up. “Both are fake relationships, Bellini. I know what you and Reese have is all for show, and I made up Clyde.”
“What?” I snap. “So you’re not a lesbian, and there is no Clyde?”
“No.” She shakes her head.
“Unbelievable!” I raise my hands in frustration. “What kind of monster are you? Did you go to the College of Lying, Manipulative Shrews and major in being a whore bag? By the looks of it, you graduated with honors.”
“Bellini—”
I hold up my hand to stop her.
“I suggest you keep that double-dealing, dick-sucking mouth of yours shut. Got it?” She nods, her hands twisting in front of her. “I’m going to give you two options here. Both benefit me and both shank you in the ass with a shiv.” I don’t give her a chance to respond and continue on. “First option: you can leave right now, pack your pathetic, ratty-old bags and sit in the airport for a flight back home, quit your job and never lay eyes on Reese or me again. Second option: you can try to stay, sit around with production, sucking on Jasper’s butt like you’ve been doing for the past month or so while I go to the press and tell everyone how Reese is a lying, cheating sack of scum, destroying that precious little image he’s been trying to build up by doing this show.”
Her eyes immediately water up, trying to gather some kind of sympathy from me, but little does she know I have zero empathy for people who lie, cheat, and make a mockery of themselves. Plus, it’s fun messing with her. I know Pope Francis would be okay with it . . . I hope.
“So what’s it going to be?”
She wavers on what to do but then asks, “If I leave you won’t do anything to Reese?”
“Nope.” I smile at her. “Why would I want to spoil his chance at gold? Plus, I do have a show to worry about. However, I’m willing to give that all up if you try to stick around. Honestly, you’ve been a flesh-eating virus since you arrived, and I’m done.”
“Okay,” she says on a heavy breath. “I’ll leave.”
“Smart choice, now hand me your phone.”
“Why?” she asks, pulling her purse to the side.
“Because, why would I want you texting or calling Reese to tell him what’s going on? Give me your phone. It’s time to delete everything and block his number.”
“You can’t do that.” She pulls away some more.
“Fine.” I shrug my shoulders. “I will just go talk to NBC right now; you know Matt Lauer will salivate over this story. The underdog is really just a stupid piece of crap who doesn’t deserve a gold. Knowing me, I can cause enough of a mess to have Reese disqualified. I know people.”
Her eyes water some more, causing me to roll mine. Enough with the dramatics already. Reluctantly, she hands me her phone and I go through it, sneering at the disgusting texts they’ve sent each other, deleting everything and blocking his number. My work here is done.
Handing her the phone back, I look her up and down and say, “Now beat it, you garbage can. I don’t want to see you again.”
With her head down, a slump in her shoulders, as if she’s an ape—
gross
—she walks away and out of my life. This day just got a whole hell of a lot better.
**REESE**
“Open this fucking door, Reese.” Hollis’s voice echoes through the hallway of the athlete dorms, his fist pounding an incessant storm of rage. “I swear to God, if you don’t open up, I’m going to,” he pauses as if he’s trying to think about what he’s going to do, “I’m going to call the hall monitor person.”
Clever.
It’s been a good five minutes of Hollis pounding on my door, and you would think he would get the idea I don’t want to talk to him, but the little punk is insistent.
“Reese, if I break my hand and can’t compete, I’m blaming you. America will hate you. I will go around to every news station to let them know them what kind of pussy—”
He’s cut off before he can even finish as I whip the door open. We are about the same height, but the rage boiling inside me puts me at a greater advantage.
Seething, I spit out, “What the fuck do you want?”
Inviting himself in, not even bothering for me to step aside, he pushes past my strong build and sits on my bed, crossing his leg over his knee and striking a casual pose. “You plan on coming down to the pool this evening? You know, for your final race of your career?”
Shutting the door so no one can hear my business, I say, “What’s the fucking point? We all know how it’s going to end. I might as well just go stand on the second podium and hold my hand out for the silver.”
The past few days have been hell, not just because I’ve been living up to every announcer and media outlet’s expectations of securing the silver for my past two races, but because Paisley has disappeared off the face of this earth. Melony informed me that Paisley checked out of their room without a word. Of course I went straight to my phone to contact her, but for some reason I haven’t been able to get through. Melony has tried calling her, but no one can reach her.
Not only am I terrified something has happened to her, but I’m also terrified she’s cutting me out of her life, which of course has destroyed my mental game, pretty much crumbled it right on the spot. Leaving me with two silvers, one I was barely able to snag, literally by a fingernail’s length.
“I’m kind of over this
woe is me
shit,” Hollis says. “Dude, you have one race left in your career and all you can think about is Paisley.”
My phone rings, halting me from answering Hollis. Frantically, I take a look at my phone and see it’s Bellini, calling me for the twelfth time in the last half hour.
I rub my hand over my face, exhausted already from the conversation I’m about to have. Hitting the green button, I answer, “What do you need?”
“It’s about time you popped your head out of that muddled, disease-ridden vat of water to answer my call. Don’t you realize I’m important people and when I call, you expunge yourself from whatever nonsensical shit you’re doing and you speak to me?”
Exhaling, I reply, “Just get to the point.”
“I’m going to need your publicist to bring me a package of Fiji water. I’m out.”
Pausing my hand running over my face, I grit out, “You called me because you want my publicist to run some asinine errand for you? Isn’t that why you have an assistant?”
“That’s beside the point. I need the water.”
“Well, get it yourself. Ashley doesn’t run errands.”
Whining, she says, “Reese, I’m thirsty and Mauve isn’t . . .” She pauses and clears her throat, “I mean, I have no one to fetch my things.”
My hackles rise from Bellini’s misstep. Without even thinking, I ask, “Where’s Paisley?”
“Probably not brushing her hair somewhere.”
“Bellini,” I snap. “Where is she?”
“Why do you even care?”
“I’m not in the mood for your games, Bellini, just tell me where Paisley is.”
“Why? Because you want to screw her in another broom closet?” she asks, a mixture of menace and sadness in her voice.
Shit.
Sighing, I sit down on my bed next to Hollis and cradle my forehead in my hand. “Bellini—”
“Yeah, I know, Reese. I know you’re been sticking your dick in that dumpster of a vagina. Not only is it completely and utterly revolting for me to think of you stooping so low as to have sex with the hired help, who frankly looks like they just crawled off the body of one of those tattoo freaks from
Sons of Anarchy,
but it’s despicable you would even consider having sex before marriage. Have you no respect for yourself?”
“You know what, Bellini? I could really give zero fucks about your opinion, so you can either tell me where the hell Paisley is, or I can take this sham of a relationship to the media and out us. I have no problem handling the repercussions. At this point, I have nothing to lose.”
“You wouldn’t.” A high-pitched squeal breaks through the phone, causing me to temporarily pull the phone away from my ear. I turn to Hollis who mouths, “Holy fuck.” A small laugh comes out of me from the terrified look on his face. He hasn’t had much interaction with Bellini, so this temper tantrum is startling to him. To me, it’s an everyday occurrence.
“Bellini, there is nothing I wouldn’t do right about now, so don’t fucking test me. What happened to Paisley?”
Screeching some more and pounding on something on the other end of the phone, she finally says, “You’re infuriating.”
“Answer the goddamn question, Bellini.”
Huffing she says, “I gave her an ultimatum, both resulting in her disappearance. You should know you brainwashed her sufficiently that she chose the one that helped you out, the one that didn’t make you look like a fool. But, that meant I blocked your number in her phone. Genius on my end, really.”
“We’re done,” I snap, enraged. “We are so fucking done, Bellini. You’ve gone too far.”
“I’ve gone too far? You’re the one poking people with your penis behind my back. I was just saving the sanctity of our relationship.”
“There is no relationship,” I yell. “We have nothing, Bellini. I can barely stand to look at you, let alone be in the same room. I’m not kidding when I say we’re done. Better prepare for a shitstorm, because by the time I’m done with you, you’re going to be begging you picked someone else to fuck around with.”
Without even waiting for a response, I hang up the phone and toss it, only to grab the ends of my hair and pull.
“That seemed like a fun conversation,” Hollis says after a bout of silence.
“Fuck!” I yell, pulling hard on my hair. “I need to go find her.”
“Find who?” Hollis asks as I get up from the bed and start packing a bag.
“Paisley.”
Immediately, my arms are halted and I’m pushed away from the bag. “Are you fucking insane?” Hollis asks. “Reese, you have a race tonight.”
“I know that, dipshit, but do you really think I’ll be able to concentrate on it with Paisley on my mind? I mean . . . shit, what the hell is going through her mind right now? Is she in her apartment by herself, without a job?” The mere thought makes me sick to my stomach.