The Guy in the Middle (The Underdogs 3)

“It doesn’t. You barely socialize at all, let alone sit and chat with a girl who’s clearly not your type.” He glances back, “decent set of legs, but yeah, that nose ruins her for me.”

“Good thing she doesn’t give a damn about you or what you think. Don’t be such a dick. There’s nothing plain about that girl, I assure you.” I shrug. “I was having coffee, so was she.”

“Huh.”

I climb inside the cab, slamming the door behind me. Pat joins me, staring a hole into the side of my head. I take three seconds to cool my shit before I turn to him on a growl. “What?”

“You like her.”

“A lot more than you right now. Drive the truck. Coach will have our asses if we’re late.”

Harper

Twerking. He caught me twerking. I admit I got a little carried away once I saw what it was doing to him. Some days my ass has a mind of its own and today, it got lost in the music, and in him. I blame Lizzo and her bad bitch self. The minute the music started; my ass took the cue. I must admit I broke it down and got a little nasty. Even when I caught sight of him standing at his bag—I didn’t tone it down, no I turned it up…octane. And damn if he didn’t deserve a little payback with the way he struts around the gym, just as close to indecent as me. Fine, he’s got shorts on, but it’s not enough to cover his raw sex appeal. The man is tall, dark, trim, tanned, muscular perfection and the barbed wire tats around his arms deserve the attention they’ve gotten. The Gods slapped that man with sexy, and his skin drank it in. I worked myself stupid, basking in the attention of his smoldering gaze. And the payback was worth it.

He got hard. I know he did because I watched him adjust his junk…twice. Stamina is something that comes naturally to me after years of dance, so the show lasted far longer than intended, and not once did his gaze waver. He enjoyed every second. For fifteen solid minutes, his gloves didn’t touch the bag, arms at his sides, he’d watched me, and I danced for him.

And it was the most erotic fifteen minutes of my life.

When I finish the last of a five-song set, I begin packing my bag, thankful when I see my sister’s name flash on my phone and I shoulder my duffle before answering. I spare a glance back at Lance to see he’s still speechless and not doing a damn thing to hide his arousal. My heart skips several beats as our eyes connect.

“Sis, you there? You answered the phone. Harper? What in the hell are you doing?”

Eyes locked, my throat goes dry. I see the intent in his eyes, the hesitation in his posture. Was that an invitation I just gave him? And why? It’s not like he deserves one. But that was clear flirtation on my part. Maybe he’s just as confused at the signal as I am.

“HARPER! I’m about to hang up.”

“H-hey.”

“Are you okay?”

Am I?

I can’t see shit past the look in his eyes. I burn that look to memory because I know later, I’m going to use it.

I raise my hand to Lance in goodbye, and he barely lifts his glove before I walk out the door.

Lance

“Wake up, Prescott!”

I move to position and curse my lack of concentration.

She’s fucking killing me. That body, Jesus, that body is perfect. The more I watch her, the more I want to play with it, play with her.

I’ve been in a daze since she danced for me. And there’s no mistaking it was all for me. What in the hell was that show all about? I got so hard the other night I thought I was going to load my shorts and that was just from watching her. The way she moves is addicting. An hour into practice and I’m still cloudy just thinking of how she made that ass jiggle. Jesus Christ, I’ve never been so hard. I had to snap two off that night. In her wake at the gym, I had my gloves off and my cock in hand before she could lock the door. I was jerking my shit like a sick fucking lunatic. It was only after I came long and hard that I realized there might be cameras. I had to call Jake to verify there wasn’t video evidence of me losing my shit over this girl and stuttered out an excuse as to why I needed to know. In my prayers that night, I thanked God his dad was too cheap to spend the money on security.

Harper is torturing me at this point, and I have no idea why, but I’m letting her. For the last few weeks, she’s been taking up my thoughts and every bit of my sexual imagination. I don’t know what’s happening, but there’s static in every corner of that gym and it’s not just on my side. I’m so tempted to cut the bullshit and just ask her what her game is, but I’m not sure she knows. She’s a good girl, that much I’m sure of. Though she’s quiet, there’s an inkling of something in her eyes, her stare, that I’m all too familiar with.

There’s a lion inside that little lamb, and if that was an invitation—I’m all too ready to unleash her.

I’m not in the mood to box tonight, but I showed up. I’m here. Hoping…for what? Honestly, it’s enough just to watch her dance. It’s quickly becoming a new favorite pastime. Watching her brings me a sort of peace. It lets me know I’m not the only one out here working on my hustle alone. She’s like me in a way, at least I think she is. Every time I see her, she’s alone, and I think she prefers it. She doesn’t seem uncomfortable without the company of others.

“Hey,” she greets me, walking out of the locker room.

“‘Sup?” I say, throwing a punch.

“You not in the mood tonight?” She asks, reading me all too easily. I speed up my throws, and she rolls her eyes. “It’s cool, Prescott, no need to showboat, you must be exhausted since you had two practices today.”