Page 69 of Stroked Hard
Funny thing is, I don’t need fucking reminding. Every day I think about the text message I could have waited to look at, that I could have ignored since it was Coach Wilson telling me I forgot my goggles on the pool deck.
Fucking goggles.
A text about forgotten goggles is the reason my sister never gets to dive ever again.
Such a good reason—said with the most sarcasm anyone has ever used.
It’s fucking routine now, whenever I have this dream. I wake up in a sweaty panic, my mind trying to process where I am, my beating heart taking my breath away. I sit up against my headboard, waiting for my adrenaline to ease, leaving me feeling sick to my stomach and so fucking regretful that sleep isn’t even a possibility.
As my breathing slows down, my stomach bottoms out and one face pops into my head. This time it isn’t Holly. It’s Melony.
I want to hear her voice, I fucking need to hear it right about now. Which fuck, that scares me. Why do I have this feeling I need to talk to her? Has she become that significant in my life already that I feel like she could soothe me?
Fuck, I know just seeing those perfect pink lips of hers would do the trick.
Securing my phone from my nightstand, I find her name and press call. Not caring that it’s in the middle of the night. Her phone rings, and rings, and rings only to be followed by her voicemail. To my dismay, her voicemail is the generic robot answering so I don’t get to hear her voice. I didn’t plan on leaving a voicemail but the phone beeps before I can hang up.
Gripping my hair, I say, “Hey baby. Uh, sorry for calling so late. Just had a rough dream.” Shit, I sound like such a pussy. This sure as fuck isn’t going to win her over. Swallowing hard, I continue, “Sorry, I don’t know why I called. Fuck, forget I did. I’ll talk to you in the morning. Sleep well.”
I hang up before I can embarrass myself any more than I have.Fuck.
Sinking into my bed, I stare at the bright screen of my phone wondering if my call woke her up, if she is listening to my message, if she is thinking about calling back.
But she doesn’t. She doesn’t call me the next day, or the next. And the text messages I send go unanswered as well.
This isn’t over, baby.If only I could believe the words I said as much as I need to.
***
“Have another taco, dude,” Reese says sarcastically as I reach over onto his plate and snag one. “I wasn’t hungry at all.”
“You can order more,” I answer with a mouthful. “Fuck, you couldn’t put any cheese or sour cream on these? What is this, a wheat tortilla?”
“You know I don’t eat that stuff, and yes, it’s wheat. It’s better for you. But you should know that since you’re an elite athlete and everything.”
Leaning back in my chair, I take another bite of the shitty taco and look out over the rolling waves crashing into the shoreline. What a fucked-up week. I am a few days out from having to leave for the final send-off before the diving team heads to Rio and I have yet to hear from Melony.
I’ve tried everything to contact her, even scoping out her apartment like a fucking stalker, but she must be hiding or on some crazy schedule because I never see her. I finally gave in and asked Reese to lunch to get the scoop. Yup, I’m that desperate.
“So, you asked me to lunch, didn’t get lunch yourself but decided to mooch off my plate. What the fuck, man?”
Huffing, I rest my arm over the back of my chair and stare at my best friend. “Cry about it a little more, Reese. I don’t think the seagulls heard you.”
“You’re being a little bitch today. Care to explain?”
Chewing on my lip, I eye the dessert menu from my seat. “Want to get some fried ice cream?”
“No. That shit would sit in me for at least three days.”
“Fuck, you’re old. Too afraid of a little ice cream because it might sit on your hips?”
“I didn’t say sit on my hips, dickhead.”
“Might as well have.” I cross my arms over my chest, still eyeing the picture of the fried ice cream. I would do an extra set of stairs to put a droplet of it on my tongue. Just one taste . . .
Interrupting my fantasy of fried ice cream, Reese asks, “Stress eating and acting like you just found out you put a tampon up your vagina when you already had one corkin’ your load. You had the dream.”
Reese knows me too damn well.
