Page 125 of Stroked Hard
I text her back that I will be there and then plug my phone into my charger.
Will he be at the party?
If he is at the party, will he try to talk to me?
Do I want him to talk to me?
I think about it for a second and the answer is clear. Yes, I want him to talk to me. If anything, these past few weeks have proven one thing: Hollis isn’t going anywhere. It’s been over eight months since he started texting me and asking me to go out with him. Any other man would have given up by now; they would have called it quits.
You’re everything I could ever ask for. I’m just hoping I can live up to your expectations.
He’s worried he won’t live up to my expectations. If there is anything I don’t deserve, it is Hollis doubting he won’t be enough.
No. Hollis hasn’t called it quits; if anything, he’s become more determined. And this isn’t one of those unachievable pursuits where the man works so hard for the girl just to get some pussy and then takes off. If that were the case, Hollis would have been long gone.
No, he’s different. He loves me. He truly, from the bottom of his soul, loves me.
And I love him.
So what’s holding me back?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
HOLLIS
“Happy birthday,” I say, looking over Paisley’s shoulder and handing her a present absentmindedly. It’s an awful thing to say, but I couldn’t care less about the birthday girl right now. I have one person on my mind right and I need to know if she is here or not.
“Thanks. Can’t you even make eye contact with me when you say that?”
Annoyed, I grip her shoulders, look her dead in the eye and say, “Happy Birthday. There, does that work?”
“Not really. Your eyes are all bugged out and crazy. It’s startling actually.”
“You’ll get over it.” I look around her some more. Ever since Paisley moved into Reese’s place, some slight decorative changes have been made. It’s not as masculine in here anymore. There are throw pillows on the couch, pictures of them everywhere, and a potted flower on the dining table. “Place looks good, Paisley. Nice flower.”
“You talking about my girl’s vagina?” Reese asks, walking up behind her, blocking my view of their house.
“Yup, that’s what I like to do, walk into your condo and start discussing your girlfriend’s vagina with you. Nailed it on the head, buddy.”
“Cut it the fuck out. You’re not allowed to talk about it.”
“Christ,” I rub my eyebrows, willing away the headache that wasn’t to appear. “I wasn’t talking about her vagina.”
“It would be a great topic of conversation if you were,” Paisley adds. “I’m very proud of my vagina.”
Losing my temper, I say, “That’s great and all, but I couldn’t care less about your vagina. What I want to know is if Melony is here.”
Smiling at each other in a conspiratorial way, Reese says, “She is. She’s floating in the pool as we speak.”
“In a bathing suit?” I ask, my cock already starting to get happy over the thought of seeing her scantily clad body.
“Nope,” Reese says. “Strangest thing, she showed up in her grandma’s wedding dress and is floating in that. Something about how she doesn’t want skin cancer.”
I look Reese up and down. “You’re a dick.”
“Don’t ask idiotic questions.”
“Can I just come in already? Jesus.”
