The Guy in the Middle (The Underdogs 3)

“Shut up, Prescott,” she says, stretching an arm across her chest, “do you want your present or not?”

“I do. A lot less mouthy and much more naked.”

“That’s after.”

“Oh yeah?”

“The wine’s kicking in, and René told me how to give a proper blowjob.”

“On with it,” I gesture impatiently with my hand. She throws her head back and laughs, and that’s the moment I know I will never love another woman in my life the way I love her.

“So, this is a running song throughout the movie.”

“Hence the title, “Love Theme Song.” I think I’ve got it.”

Narrowing her eyes, she stands in the center of her living room, the sweater swallowing her as she does a few more stretches. “I’m nervous.”

“Don’t be, I promise to give you roses after.”

“Even if I suck?”

“Especially if you suck, but you won’t.”

She shakes her limbs out at her sides, taps on her phone, and takes position a beat before violins sound throughout the living room.

And then she begins to move…ripping my newly-content heart right out of my fucking chest.

The only light in the space is from a streetlight through the window next to me, which casts shadows of the snowdrift behind her. Her dance intoxicating, she leaps and spins, her body fluid. She’s a master, her dancing weaving a story as she glides along the hardwood, not missing a single step. And she shines, God how she shines, her long angelic hair trailing behind her as if it’s all part of it, highlighting her strength, her grace.

She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. A ball of regret lodges in my throat as I think of the way I’ve punished her in the last few days for her gift.

She’s light, and you can’t hide light, you can’t hold it and keep it. It’s unattainable. And maybe that’s what Harper is for me—a light I can’t keep. As the burn in my chest grows unbearable, I fight myself not to let the defeat show. A fighter I may be, but I am the threatening dark to her light, and this light I can’t, I refuse to snuff out. As the song gathers momentum, she follows it in a surreal leap across the length of the room before spinning into a series of circles, her frame taut, her legs in a continuous rotation.

A saxophone chimes in, cuing the end of her story as she wraps herself back into position, and I sit there stunned until her head pops up and she peeks over at me, her skin shimmering with sweat, her cheeks heated.

“Merry Christmas?”

“Come here, beautiful,” I whisper hoarsely, holding out my hand. She lifts, worry on her features, and takes my hand as I pull her to me and wrap her in my arms. I cradle her, so she can’t see the expression on my face. I’m fighting like hell not to lose my shit. “I need you to forgive me.”

“For? What’s wrong, Lance?”

“I foolishly forgot just how magical you are. Harper,” I manage, “baby, that was incredible.”

“Really?” She tries to look back at me, and I keep her pinned where she is. Maybe it’s the wine, but I can’t help the threatening emotion, so I pull the damp hair away from her face along with her sweater and press a kiss to her shoulder.

“Can I ask for one more gift?”

“Anything.”

“It’s more of a promise. Please don’t ever stop dancing. Not for me, not for anyone, not ever.”

“I won’t. Lance, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing at all,” I say, pulling her back to me and letting my lips roam.

“I’m all sweaty.”

“I like you this way.”