Page 6 of Stroked Hard
Hollis: I’ve scoured the photo shoot for you. All I see is Reese in a leopard-print Speedo. Please come find me to wash that image out of my mind with your gorgeous lips.
“Yeah.” Reese doesn’t even correct my name-calling of Bellini; he knows the kind of person she is.
“No, fortunately I got here only a few minutes ago and was just talking to my mom on the phone. What did Princess Shithead want this time?”
“An African blackwood bench.”
“What the fuck is that?”
“Hell if I know.” Reese runs his hand through his hair. “Seriously, the last few months have been an absolute nightmare. Why did I think this was going to be a good idea?”
“Because who doesn’t want to be attached at the hip to a placebo-pill-popping narcissist with a holy dog?” Leaning forward, I say, “I’m not kidding, I had a headache when I got here. I ran into the dog briefly in the hallway, it licked my shoe, and now my headache is gone. I know you’re going to call bullshit, but I might believe in that dog’s powers.”
My phone dings. Ignoring Reese for a second, I take a look at it.
Melony: Called in sick.
Hollis: That sucks. Are you all right? I heard my penis cures some of the worst diseases. Want me to stick it in you to make you feel better? At the least, to feel your temperature? I don’t mind taking one for the team.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” Reese says, referring to my belief in Pope Francis actually having healing powers.
Turning back to Reese, I look him up and down. “Coming from the douche romantically involved with an ass wart and wearing a leopard-print Speedo.”
“Why can I picture an ass wart with perfect clarity?”
“Because you’re all kinds of fucked up.” I clench my stomach and ask, “Are you going to get changed? Christ, dude, I’m starving.”
“You’re starving?” He stares at the table next to me. “And that Pop-Tart wrapper. That’s not yours?”
The silver foil shines in the lights and I know I’ve been caught but I still try to deny it. “Nope, not mine.”
“Really? Because it’s not fucking mine and you’re the only person I know who has at least two boxes of Pop-Tarts in their car at all times.”
“They’re a great post-workout snack. Simple carbs to replenish the loss of my glycogen stores so I can repair my muscles. It’s bro-science, dude.”
“Keep telling yourself that. Want to grab a burrito?”
“Sounds good, but hurry the fuck up. I just got done with three hours of dryland training, my fucking metabolism is eating my stomach lining.”
Turning back to my phone, I smile.Yes.
Melony: Pretty sure if you stuck your penis in me, I would receive more diseases.
Ha, little does she know I’ve been fucking celibate for too damn long. I’m not a one-and-done man. I like being in a relationship.
Hollis: Fun fact, I don’t sleep around.
Melony: That seems hard to believe.
Hollis: Because of the abs, right? Or is it my giant dick? Or my infamous charm?
Melony: Definitely not the charm.
Hollis: Ask me to come over.
Melony: Goodbye, Hollis.
Damn, and here I thought I was making progress.
