Page 58 of Stroked Long
“What was that?” Andrea asks.
“Some old bird needing Poise Pads. Remember that time you tried on a pair of Poise Pads underwear and peed in them?”
“Can we not bring up my past indiscretions? I’m trying to make it as a kindergarten teacher here. I don’t need people knowing I would get drunk, pull on some Poise, sit on the toilet, and pee.”
“But those are some of my fondest memories of you.” I laugh, throwing some shampoo in my cart.
“And that’s why I’m coming over tomorrow, so I can create some new memories, ones that won’t have me committed.”
“I wish I could say everyone was doing it, but you were the only one brilliant enough to want to pee your pants.”
“It was for science!” she shouts in the phone, making me laugh.
“Thank God for science or else we would never know the capacity of pee a Poise Pad could hold.”
“You’re just having too much fun with this, aren’t you? How about you tell me why you have a need to watch the Olympic trials, huh? Does this have anything to do with the sexy Bodi Banks?”
She knows me all too well. Normally, I would have no need to watch the trials. The Olympics, yes of course, I’m an American, but the trials, eh, I could take it or leave it. But with being Bodi’sfriendnow, I want nothing more than to see him succeed.It has nothing to do with seeing his sexy, wet body emerging from the pool. Nope. Not. At. All.Liar!
His friend. The thought makes me giggle. How cute was he, giving me flowers and asking me to be his friend? It made my heart melt into a puddle. He does that quite often actually with his boyish charm. Here is this two-, soon to be three-time Olympian, with the most amazing body I’ve ever seen, a voice so husky it makes your toes curl, and a smile that will make you orgasm right on the spot, toeing the floor shyly and asking if I can be his friend. Holy hell, how is someone supposed to say no to that?
Do I want more? Uh yeah, I really want more between us, but I will take friendship right now because now more than ever, it looks like he needs one.
Not wanting to confirm or deny my obsession with the reigning gold medalist, I say, “I’ve just become very interested in swimming lately. I took a class the other day, and I’m fascinated with the sport.”
Andrea guffaws into the phone, not accepting my blatant lie whatsoever. “Okay, Ruby. Whatever makes you sleep better at night.”
“I really am . . .” Everything in my brain shuts off as I turn the corner and make eye contact with the one and only Reese King. Three time Olympian, Reese King. Underwear model, Reese King. Voted as the Sexiest Man Alive, Reese King. Man with gorgeous tattoo, Reese King.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
“Uh, hello? Are you there?”
In a wave of one sentence, I say, “Can’tTalkGotToGoReeseKingHereHotTattooInMyFaceCallLater.” I press the end button and stand still as he walks past me, not choosing to acknowledge my gaping mouth.
Because I’m a nosey creeper, I glance in his cart and see shaving cream, dial soap, Swedish Fish—at least he eats sweets—and some naturally roasted almonds.
Fumbling with my phone, I pull up Bodi’s name in my contacts and text him.
Ruby: You will never guess who I made eye contact with at the grocery store.
Putting my phone on top of my purse, which rests in the front seat of the cart, I wait for him to text back while I contemplate stalking Reese behind a stand of pickles.
I don’t have to wait long because as I’m scooting closer to the next aisle to see if Reese is down there, Bodi texts me back.
Bodi: Madonna?
What? I laugh out loud, by myself, next to a shelf of dill pickles.
Ruby: Why would you say Madonna? How does that even come to your mind?
Bodi: I heard she was in town.
Ruby: Yeah and I’m pretty sure she has assistants do her shopping for her.
Bodi: You never know; she seems down to earth.
Ruby: Well it’s not Madonna, sorry to blow the wind out of your sails.
