Stroker: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Read Online Free PDF Page B

development.”
    “Because he’s on the swimming squad?”
    Lacey leans close again. “Because Blake Johnson is bad news for any vagina within fifty miles. The guy’s a complete man-whore. It’s a Carver must-do, sleeping with him, or Goliath, should I say. They should print a picture of his cock on the brochures.” Lacey draws her hands apart.
    I roll my eyes. “So I’ve heard.” Why is everyone so damn obsessed with his penis?
    The coral tip of Lacey’s tongue sweeps over her upper lip. “Sneak into the shower and take a look. See what I mean. Just make sure he doesn’t collect you with that thing on the way out. It’s a concussion waiting to happen.”
    “I’ll be fine. I can handle him.” I realize what I’ve said too late.
    Lacey nods knowingly. “You think? Pretty, fresh thing like you—perfect target. I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to jump you already.” She clues in. “Ah, but you’re Coach Reed’s daughter. Yes, that’s it. He couldn’t touch you even if he wanted. You’re kryptonite.”
    Now there’s something I understand. “Bingo. I haven’t seen Dad in a while, but I do know if he caught anyone trying to put moves on me he’d have something to say about it.” He’d have more than words to say about it. He’d probably put a slug through the poor bastard’s chest.
    Lacey takes a box of mints out of her bag, pops one into her mouth. “But why put you with those guys, of all people?”
    “Something about teaching Blake responsibility, he said.”
    Lacey pushes her spoon back and forth on the table. “Take it from me, the only responsibility Blake Johnson knows is keeping that clam hammer of his well fed.”
    I narrow my eyes. “You haven’t… have you?”
    She throws her hands up. “Hell, no. I mean, not after… you know.” Her face darkens.
    “We don’t have to talk about it.”
    The smile returns. “Yeah, gaming’s so much more fun, right? Sounds silly, but I’d take an hour in Second Life over sex any day.”
    I smile back, but the funny thing is, I wouldn’t know.
    Two similarly pixie-like girls approach the table in matching leotards. They speak to Lacey. “Hey.”
    “Hey,” she replies, directing her attention back to me. “This is Tia, from Orlando. She’s kicking it here in this excuse for a juvenile detention center for a while. Tia, this is Leah and Lexie.”
    Lacey, Leah and Lexie—that’s going to be fun to remember.
    Lexie, who for all intents and purposes has hair so white it looks like the color was shocked out of it, looks me over. “Track?”
    I grab my coffee with both hands, hold it in my lap warm against my crotch. “Swimming.”
    “Cool,” Leah nods.
    “She’s rooming with Blake Johnson,” Lacey adds, a little more proudly than I’d like.
    That gets their attention. They each take a seat, flanking me. I’m not used to being surrounded like this. I pull a little tighter into myself. “It’s nothing, really, temporary until Dad can find me my own place.”
    “Coach Reed,” adds Lacey again, filling them in.
    Lexie leans forward. “The plot thickens.”
    “It would be the only thing thickening,” Lacey laughs.
    Leah shifts her chair a little closer. “You’ve seen the elite squad’s little Fuckbook project then, I take it?”
    Lacey looks visibly uncomfortable, but she manages to pull it back together. “I haven’t had time to fill her in.”
    I act dumb. “Fuckbook?”
    “Real Pulitzer material,” continues Leah, “a website with all the girls they fuck, rated, pictures—the works”.
    I hold my tongue before I ask what girl would be stupid enough to allow herself to sleep with these guys so casually before letting them take photos and upload them for the world to see.
    “No faces are shown,” Lexie butts in, “but everyone knows who the girls are. It’s almost like they do it for the fame.”
    “And how do you know who the guys are?” I query.
    Two seconds later Leah has thrusted her phone in my face with the