Stroker: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Read Online Free PDF

complex. It’s one thing to socialize with people online where you can hide behind anonymity. It’s quite another to meet them face-to-face in real life. For all I know ‘Lacey’ might be a balding fifty-year-old guy with a pot belly instead of pigtails. Thankfully, that’s not the case.
    She wears leggings and a Princess Peach sloppy tee about sixty sizes too big for her tiny frame. She does, in fact, have pigtails, but one’s blue, the other red—very patriotic. Her nose is pierced, her eyes an unnatural blue, but apart from that she is otherwise as normal as any other student around here.
    I start to stand. “Lacey?”
    She throws her training bag down by the table and slumps into the chair opposite. “Azagoth, I knew it was you.”
    “I actually go by Tia out here.”
    She slaps herself on the head, laughing. “Shit, sorry. You get so caught up in the game sometimes.”
    I reach out and take hold of my coffee. I don’t drink the stuff, but I thought it would make this socially more acceptable.
    There’s a moment of silence where I’m thinking this is a big mistake, just awkward awkward awkward, but then Lacey breaks into a beaming smile.
    She leans across the table. “This is weird, isn’t it?”
    I nod, a smile widening across my face in return. “Yeah, I think I’d be more comfortable if you were in armor chasing a band of wild orcs.”
    She leans back. “What can I say? Guys love a girl with an axe.”
    “Until they lose their head,” I add.
    Lacey grins back. “Ain’t that the truth.”
    I look around. The gym complex is monstrous, a perfect example of brutalist architecture if ever I’ve seen it, but that’s Carver—one giant no-pain-no-gain compound. “You train here?”
    She nods, crossing her legs over and wincing. “Six to six pretty much every damn day of the week. You’d think we were in a Russian gulag.”
    “You specialize in the beam, the, what do they call it, the uneven bars?”
    “I do it all,” she replies nonchalantly, “but I’m a gun when it comes to vaulting. That’s why they dragged my ass over here from the west coast”.
    I wanted to be a gymnast growing up. I think every little girl does after they spend too long running around the backyard with ribbon in hand post-Olympics. “You enjoy it?”
    “Leaving training feeling like I’ve been gang-banged by the wrestling team? Sure, who wouldn’t?”
    I laugh, choking a little on my coffee. “I think we’re going to get along just fine.”
    She leans closer again, lowers her voice. “How’s it going with… you know?”
    “Good,” I reply simply, conscious of the other students in the café.
    Lacey puts a finger to her lips. “Say no more. As long as you still think you’re up for it?”
    Truthfully, I don’t know if I am. I want to help, but the closer I get, the more dangerous it seems. “I am. Another couple of days and we’ll be ready to go.”
    She winks. “Nice. Where does your dad have you staying in this shit-hole?”
    I take another sip, try to look casual even though I’ve got no idea why people drink this liquid excuse for an ash tray. “He put me in with one of the swimming guys and his friend in an apartment just out of campus.”
    Lacey looks confused. “He what now?”
    “There’s no space in the dorms and Dad’s place on campus is way too small for the both of us. It’s two rooms, but the second one is the size of a shoebox. Besides, we haven’t lived together in… a while.”
    Lacey rubs her shoulders. “So, who are the lucky guys?”
    “Blake and Billy. I can’t remember their last names, sorry.”
    Lacey sits upright, eyes wide. “Blake Johnson?”
    “Yeah, that’s him, I think.”
    She shakes her head. “Holy hell balls, you’re shacked up with Blake Johnson?”
    “I suppose you could say that.” I really can’t work out what the big deal is. “Is something wrong?”
    “Not wrong, in a manner of speaking, but it’s certainly an interesting