Stroked Hard

by Meghan Quinn

  “Oh dear.” The flight attendant takes a closer look as does everyone around us. I seriously don’t see any movement in the woman’s body “Have you spoken to her?”

  “We’ve asked her to move,” the girl whispers. “But she’s unresponsive.”

  Panic crosses the flight attendant’s face for a brief moment before she starts with protocol for such a situation. I couldn’t imagine having to go through training for such a thing. “Okay, let me get the paramedics.”

  Everyone holds their breath as the flight attendant turns to make her way to the back just as the old lady flops her hands in the air. A brief terrifying thought of rigor mortis flies through my head just before the woman starts to speak. “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she says, springing up from her seat like a spry chicken, scaring the crap out of all of us. “Can’t an old lady find out more about this one’s pierced nipples from her boyfriend? Her texts were just starting to get good.”

  Pierced nipples? I raise an eyebrow at the girl in the middle seat who’s blushing feverishly.

  After a quick check from the flight attendant, I’m situated in my seat, replaying the last few minutes in my head. What the hell just happened? This old lady was faking her own death so she could read the girl with the pierced nipple’s text messages.

  Damn, I have to admit it, well played.

  “She seems like a fun companion,” I mutter out the side of her mouth.

  “Could be worse,” the girl whispers back. “Could be a smelly dude with flaky skin.”

  Gah, I think I just threw up in my mouth. “So gross.” I look out the window and say, “Here I am, sitting on a commercial flight when my boss is taking a private jet to Omaha. How is that fair?”

  “Your boss is taking a private jet to Omaha? So is mine.” I thought so. I’m pretty sure I know this girl.

  “Why does this feel like a Parent Trap moment?” I laugh. “Should we both pull up a picture of our boss and show one another on the count of three?”

  “Could be a magical moment. Let’s do it.”

  I know the exact picture I’m going to share. It’s one I save for occasions where I have to tell people who I work for. The minute they see the picture, they understand completely.

  “Three, two, one . . .”

  Flipping our phones to each other, we both display a picture of Bellini Chambers.

  Whereas the girl’s picture is of Bellini holding her beloved Pope Francis, mine is of Bellini, trap wide open clearly screaming something horrific. It’s my favorite picture of all time because it truly shows how ugly Bellini really is.

  Laughing, we both grab each other’s phones. I knew this girl worked for Bellini. “Man, I wish I pulled up this picture. Where did you find it?”

  “I always have it in my photo album, so when people ask who I work for, I can just show them the picture and instantly receive their condolences. It’s easier that way.” I hold out her hand. “I’m Melony, also known as Melon by Satan’s Mistress. I’m her hair and makeup artist.”

  She takes her hand in mine. “Paisley, aka Mauve, the assistant.”

  “Oh, it’s great to finally meet you.” It’s good to put a name to the face. I’m about to ask her a question when her phone beeps in my hand. On instinct, I glance down. “Oh, you got a text from Reese . . .”

  My voice trails off. I can feel my eyes widen when the message registers in my head. From the look on Paisley’s face, she knows I saw something I probably shouldn’t have.

  Reese: I can’t wait to fuck you once you get here.

  A little embarrassed from snooping, we quickly trade our phones back. “I didn’t mean to look. I’m sorry.”

  It didn’t take long after being around Bellini and Reese together that their relationship was a fake one. There is zero love between them, actually more hate than anything. Man, seeing Reese trying to hold back his opinions about Bellini is actually kind of funny. I knew they weren’t together but what I didn’t know was how Reese had a little side relationship. Risky, very risky, but he deserves something good in his life, especially after he signed on to his bullshit reality show.

  Sensing Paisley starting to freak out by the way she’s fumbling with her phone and breathing so heavily she might fog up the plane windows, I rest my hand on hers and reassuringly say, “It’s okay.”

  “What?”

  “I won’t say anything. Almost everyone in production knows their relationship is fake, so you don’t have to worry about me saying a word. Good for Reese actually. You’re hot.”

  She laughs nervously, still a little unsure about my loyalty. I don’t blame her, she just met me. “I would say it’s not who you think it is, but it’s a little obvious, isn’t it?” She cringes from being caught.

  I don’t hold back on her. “Pretty much. The Emoji kind of clued me in.”

  “I’m so embarrassed. No one knows. It’s still new, like really new.”

  “Don’t worry.” I smile, trying to show her I’m on her side. “I’m friends with Reese; clearly I am not friends with Bellini. Trust me, your secret is safe with me.”

  She still eyes me skeptically. “Will this make you feel better?” I type out a text to Reese and talk out loud at the same time. “Guess who I’m sitting next to on the plane right now? I will give you one guess: someone who has your name listed in their phone as Reese *swim Emoji*.” I turn to Paisley and say, “Just watch.”

  Within seconds, a text appears and we read it together. Reese is good like that.

  Reese: Hmm, one guess? I’m going to have to go with my girl, Paisley. Black hair, fantastic rack, eyes that will cut you in half with their beauty.

  Ugh, he’s so sweet. People talk about him being such a bad boy but he really isn’t. He isn’t at all. I learned that quickly while working closely with him. I text him back.

  Melony: Ding, ding, ding. You’re a winner.

  Reese: What’s my prize? Please tell me it’s her.

  Melony: That’s not for me to decide.

  Satisfied, I say, “See, told you.”

  What I thought was going to be reassurance only causes her to panic some more. Her eyes are wild when she asks, “What, is he telling everyone?”

  I’m about to answer when she gets a text message. Being the nosey person I am, I see it’s from Reese who most likely is reassuring her. As she’s typing away on her phone, I receive a message from Reese.

  Reese: You and Hollis are the only ones who know.

  Hollis knows? I’m impressed. He never said one thing to me. Not that we tell each other our secrets, but even when all three of us were together, he acted as though Bellini and he were dating. Well done, Hollis.

  I send Reese a text back.

  Melony: Your secret is safe with me. Congrats, she’s hot.

  Reese: I fucking know it.

  Smiling to myself, I decide to text Hollis.

  Melony: I’m impressed.

  His response is immediate.

  Hollis: And I haven’t even sent you a dick pic yet. Things are on the up and up for me.

  Melony: You’re stupid. I’m talking about you being able to keep Reese and Paisley a secret.

  Hollis: I have no idea what you’re talking about.

  Melony: Go ahead, text Reese.

  Hollis: Hold please . . .

  God, he’s so ridiculous. Turning my attention away from my phone and back to Paisley, I see that she’s on the verge of a panic attack. Oh, this is not good.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  “I feel like,” she waves a hand in front of my face, “I can’t . . .” she doesn’t finish her sentence because her phone starts to ring. It’s Reese.

  Knowing she needs him to calm her down, I encourage her. “Answer it.”

  Worry in her eyes, she replies, “We’re about to take off.”

  “They haven’t told us to turn our phones off yet, answer it.”

  “Yeah, answer it,” the old lady says next to us, still not minding her own business.

 
She takes our advice and answers the phone, from the volume of the phone, I can hear Reese’s distinct voice say, “Hey baby.”

  I tune out their conversation just as I get a text from Hollis.

  Hollis: You have been confirmed as in the know.

  Melony: Told you. I can see it in my head. They’re cute together.

  Hollis: We would be even cuter, especially naked. My abs plus your ass, match made in heaven.

  Melony: You have a one-track mind.

  Hollis: Yeah, and its name is Melony.

  Chapter Seven

  HOLLIS

  “What did you eat this morning?”

  “A plate of eggs, some sausage, a yogurt, and two bottles of water,” I snap.

  Coach Fucking Ted. The urge to punch him is so real. He’s been riding my ass all week about my eating. Do I like to indulge in a little treat every now and then? Fuck yeah! I have a sweet tooth, but do I burn it off in the gym and counteract it with enough veggies and protein to shit out my own garden and chicken coop? Uh, yeah.

  “Turkey sausage?”

  “I have no fucking clue. Room service brought it up. Should I call down and ask them?”

  “I don’t appreciate your attitude, Hollis.” Coach Ted’s voice is harsh, unforgiving, as if he’s about to make me do a thousand burpees for talking back. What’s the worst that could happen? I fire him?

  I could fire him . . .

  The idea of sending the fucker packing appeals to me more than a giant waffle cone with soft serve at the current moment, but then Coach Wilson’s face appears in my head. He told me to stick with Coach Ted, to ride it out, that he would be good for me.

  What was Coach Wilson thinking? How could he have possibly thought Coach Ted would be a good match for me?

  I exhale hard and fall back into my chair, my legs spread, my head bent forward. “Can I be honest with you?”

  “I only expect honesty from you.”

  Of course that would be his answer.

  “We’ve been clashing for a while—”

  “Clashing? Is that how you see it? Because I see it as you treating me with disrespect and questioning my coaching technique every chance you get.”

  “I’m not questioning you. When have I ever questioned you? I don’t fucking say a word.”

  “It’s not what you say, Hollis, it’s your body language. The way you roll your eyes when you think I’m not looking. Coach Wilson would be so disappointed in you.”

  “Don’t,” I yell, losing my control in seconds. Wanting to divert attention away from me, I lower my voice and speak sternly to Coach Ted. “Don’t fucking bring him up. This is about us, not him.”

  “But you respected him.”

  “Of course I did. He was a second father to me. He knew how to push me without pushing me too hard, something you haven’t learned yet.”

  “Excuse me?” Coach Ted’s face turns bright red with anger and I wonder if he might stroke out right about now. His coloring is quite concerning.

  “I don’t mean to piss you off.” That’s genuine. The last thing I want is to get in a fight with my coach right before my last chance to get into the finals. I might be the best in the world but I also know what a bad mental game can do to you. “But you have to notice how we clash. You’re tough with your athletes, a bit harsh, unrelenting. I don’t do well with that kind of coaching. You need to let up at some point.”

  “Is that what you think makes an Olympic medalist? A coach who lets up?”

  “I’m sorry to say, but I won my two golds without you and under Coach Wilson’s tutelage. He wasn’t relentless like you; he knew when to give me a break and when to push me. Right now, I’m so fucking tense with you around me that I can barely focus on mentally prepping myself.”

  “So you’re going to blame me for your shortcomings?”

  “For fuck’s sake.” I blow out a long breath and run my hands over my face. “Can you fucking listen to me? I’m not blaming you for anything, I just want us to find a happy medium with our relationship.”

  “How’s this for a happy medium?” He tosses his clipboard at me. “I quit, you prick.”

  Without another word, he vacates the pool area, leaving me coachless, speechless, and so fucking irritated. What the fuck just happened?

  Gee, I can’t wait to dive now.

  ***

  One dive left, one chance left to get my score up into the top two so I qualify for the team. The stunned silence of the crowd is obvious every time I pop out from my dive. I’m not the diver today. Everything about me is off. I’m either releasing from my tuck too early, causing my splash to be obnoxious, or I’m not pointing my fucking toes, or I’m breaking form. Mistake after mistake has put me in a close third where normally I would be breaking away from the pack with a lead of at least ten in the scoring.

  Not today, I’m clawing my way up the ladder, trying to beat out the new talent who walked in the pool area like little bitches, as if they own the facility.

  News flash, fuckers: I’ve won the gold medal in ten-meter platform for the past two Olympics; you have some fucking work to do.

  Shit . . . I have some work to do.

  My next dive has to be near perfect in order for me to qualify and it’s my hardest.

  Needing to get away from the noise and the other divers, I put on my warms-ups, stick my ear buds in, and turn on my music from my phone. Sitting in the hallway near the locker rooms, I try to zone out. The first things I see are a few text messages. All from my sister.

  Holly: What the hell is wrong with you today?

  Holly: Where is your coach?

  Holly: Hollis! What the fuck? You’re better than this.

  Yup, Holly made it to the competition which at first made me so fucking happy, but right about now, I wish she was still overseas.

  Ignoring her text messages, I scroll down to the one that is most important to me. I sent her a text earlier today letting her know I had a dream about her last night.

  Melony: What was I doing? If you say sucking your dick, I’m going to punch you.

  Just that single text puts me in a better mood. Leaning back, I pump up my diving mix I put together and text her back.

  Hollis: You made me brownies. But just as I was about to eat them, I woke up.

  Her response is fast. Thank fuck I don’t have to wait forever. I need to talk to her right now.

  Melony: Is this where you say my pussy was the actual brownie?

  Hollis: Look whose mind is in the gutter.

  Melony: You put it there.

  Hollis: Now if only I could get your heart in my hands, then I would be golden.

  It’s so fucking true. All I want is for Melony to give me a chance. One. Fucking. Chance. I would show her how good of a boyfriend I am, how much of a perfect match we really are.

  Melony: Shouldn’t you be diving?

  Hollis: Keeping track of me?

  Melony: Just looking for an excuse to change the subject.

  Of course she would want to change the subject when I start talking about dating her. I’m not going to lie; her rejection is a bit of a blow to the ego. The only thing that keeps me in pursuit is her texts back to me. If she wanted nothing to do with me at all, I believe she would have blocked me by now. That’s what I want to believe, at least. Right now, I feel that it is the only thing I can cling to. My life-long coach is dead, my new asshole coach has quit, my sister can’t dive anymore because of me, and I’m diving like shit today. Just give me something here, Melony. Please. I suck in a deep breath to attempt to not lose it completely.

  Hollis: One more dive to go.

  Melony: Really? Are you in the lead? As if I really need to ask.

  I love her confidence, if only she fucking knew.

  Hollis: Not my best day.

  I hate sending the text but if I lie, she’ll know I’m lying, as this shit is televised. But fuck, I hate looking weak in front of her, not my best. She may think I’m a cocky bastard but I normally have go
od reasons to be cocky. I know my strengths and I use them to my advantage.

  Today though, fuck, today I’m so weak it’s destroying my chances at my third Olympics. One bad day is all it takes. I’ve seen it happen before; I just never thought I would be in this position.

  “Hollis, two minutes.”

  Fuck. I stand and start to shuck my warm-ups when my phone beeps.

  Melony: Don’t let it be your worst. You got this.

  Fuck me, and just like that, my heart is pounding rapidly in my chest, my adrenaline starts to surge, and all I can think about is the beautiful smile of hers. Melony is right. I won’t let this day be my worst.

  This woman, why won’t she let me be a part of her life? Why won’t she let me be her better half? That’s all I want. I know she thinks I’m crazy when I say we’re going to be married one day, but hell if I don’t truly believe it. Sometimes, you just fucking know. My dad knew with my mom, and I know with Melony. What I don’t know is why she is so adamant about saying no. Why the very idea of dating me seems so abhorrent to her. Has she always been this bristly toward men? Because with such a gorgeous body and face, there is no way she hasn’t received attention. I want her, but right now my head needs to be focused on my next dive. The dive that will secure my position in the Olympic diving team. And thanks to the encouragement from my girl-to-be, that’s what I’m going to do.

  Quickly, I text her back before I take off for the pool.

  Hollis: Thanks, mini muffin.

  With a deep breath, I do my pre-dive ritual.

  If you’ve ever watched a diving competition before, you will see the weird things we take part in. First of all, we carry around a shammy. It’s our lifeline, our security blanket, a little piece of us that we can show off since all our Speedos are pretty generic. These little scraps of fabric actually serve a purpose, rather surprising, I know. We don’t just walk around with these draped over our shoulders thinking we look cool.

  Have you ever performed a tuck flip? Have you ever done one at the velocity we perform, flip after flip until you part at just the right moment before hitting the water? Imagine trying to do one when your hands or legs are wet. Pretty much impossible. You will find quite quickly that water is slippery and if you’re not dry, that tuck flip will turn right into a belly flop.