“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 fuck 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 fucking more than you right now. Drive the truck. Coach will have our asses if we’re late.”
Chapter Ten
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.
Chapter Eleven
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.”
“How do you know?”
“I told you, I’m a fan.”
This has my attention. “You watched practice today?”
“For about fifteen minutes. My sister was at the school, bringing my dad lunch. I met her there.”
“Huh.”
“You’re looking good out there.”
“Thanks.”
“I just ordered a pizza. You want some?”
“What kind?”
“Does it matter? This is your third workout today and you’re barely standing.”
“Good point.” I work my gloves off just as a sharp knock sounds on the tin door of the gym. Harper disappears briefly before hauling a huge box back in along with a plastic bag.
“You ordered that not knowing if I’d want any?”
I approach her and take the box, setting it down on a stack of mats.
She shrugs. “Leftovers. Someone at home will eat this if you don’t.”
She unveils some plates and napkins from the bag and passes them between us. I take the seat opposite her on the mat. Lifting the lid, I see it’s plain cheese, New York style.
“Shit, you did good. This is my favorite.”
“Mine too. This is the only place that makes it right. Like authentic New York.”
“You ever been there?”
“Oh yeah, it’s my second home. I’m a half Jewish New Yorker, Mom’s side. I guess that’s where I get my love for numbers. Double major; dance and accounting. I work some summers for my nana at her accounting firm in the city. Nana knows her numbers and thanks to her, I’ve been invested since I was young. She’s a wizard. After I hang up my dance shoes, I plan to run my own firm and later, live off dividends. If you need help getting your investment portfolio started, I’m your girl.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I chuckle dryly at the irony I don’t have much in my account due to the fact my dad swiped it to pay for a couple of Red Angus.
“We’re supposed to see a Broadway show this Christmas. I can’t wait.”
I question her while devouring the perfect bit of gooey bread and cheese. “Is that your goal? Broadway?”
“Any dance troupe. I’d love to dance backup in a tour. What about you? Ever been to New York?”
“Nah, we didn’t travel much when I was young. We had too much work to do at the ranch.”
&nbs
p; “I’ll bet it must have been awesome growing up there.”
“It was. Lots of vitamin D but a shitload of hard work.”
“Yeah. I can imagine.”
She lifts the pizza to her mouth and takes a huge bite.
“How in the hell did you get all that in your mouth?”
She wrinkles her nose and pulls the pizza away, a string of cheese floating in the air behind it. “Talent,” she says around a bite.
“Impressive.” I finish a slice in record time and am grateful. “This is good. Thank you.”
“Welcome.”
Grabbing a second piece, I look up to see she’s watching me. “You look…less stressed.”
I want to tell her I’ve been beating off more regularly thanks to her weekly shows, but I don’t think that will go over well. “I’ve been sleeping a lot better lately.”
She quirks a blonde brow. “Any particular reason?”
“Excessive workouts.”
Her eyes dart down at her empty plate. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“If you want to ask me a question, Priss, you need to look at me.”
She doesn’t hesitate, though I know it costs her a little pride. But if I’m honest, I’m tiring of the cat and mouse routine. My interest is past piqued. Our eyes connect, and I feel…something shift. It’s a connection, along with a low-lying pulse that’s been strengthening since the minute we met in this gym.
Her eyes dart to my lips as I lick them clean. “Harper, you had a question?”
“Just asked if you had a girlfriend.”
“I’ve been avoiding it most of my time here because I’m not sure where I’ll end up. I’m concentrating on the game. Wouldn’t be fair.”
She nods. “Makes sense.”
“What about you?”
“I was seeing this one guy for all of ten minutes a couple of months ago, but I swear he was only into me when I danced.”
I choke on some cheese and clear my throat with my chuckle.
Her eyes snap up. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me,” she prompts.
“Harper, you know damn well you get dirty as fuck at times when you dance.”
A guilty grin covers her lips before she gives me a full smile that kicks my pulse up. “I do know that, but if my ass is all he’s drawn to, we don’t have much to go on.”
Guilt covers me because, in a way, I’m guilty of the same. But it’s not just the way she moves; it’s the way she looks at me, it’s her backbone, the way she smiles. The way she lights up when she sees me. The way I feel lit when I look at her.
“True.”
“So, yeah, single. I’m too into my goals to take anyone seriously.” She sips her soda.
Silence lingers, and I’m comfortable in it until she speaks up.
“Don’t feel obligated to hang out. It was pizza.”
“What?” Confused, I stare at her.
“It’s Friday night, Lance. Don’t feel like you need to make conversation…or hang because I bought pizza. You got quiet.”
“I’m in a carb coma,” I say, laying back on the mat. “I’m not going anywhere.”
More silence. I open my eyes and find hers trained on the exposed skin at my stomach.
“Busted. You know you check me out almost as much as I stare at your ass.”
“More ass talk,” she rolls her eyes.
“It is one amazing ass you have. And those legs.”
Red creeps up her cheeks as her chewing slows, and she swallows loudly.
“Are you innocent, Harper?”
Fuck, Lance, subtle much?
I can sense her deer in headlights vibe. “Don’t answer that. I had no right to ask.”
“I’m not. Not exactly. I fooled around when I was way too young.” She slides closer to me, and I tuck my hand behind my head and peer up at her. “I, uh, made a big mistake in judgment and let’s just say, I compensated with my virginity. My parents found out. It was a bad time. So innocent, no, far from it. But I haven’t…uh, done much since.”
“Much?”
She frowns. “Why are you so interested?”
“Because I am.”
“That’s too vague. If you want to pry, you’re going to have to give me a better reason than that.”
“Because I think about you. A lot lately.”
She pauses her drink halfway to her mouth and stares down at me before recovering.
“I’m thinking it’s not about my sharp wit or pizza ordering capabilities.”
“It’s not like you’ve given me much of a chance to get to know you, Priss.”
“Well, it’s not like you’re the most receptive man in the world with your mastery of resting bastard face.”
We both laugh until I lift her hand and put it on my chest.
“I’m serious, Harper. I think about you. I wonder what it would be like if we just cut the bullshit.”
“You want more of a chance to know me?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“That clears things up,” she spouts sarcastically, tossing her half-eaten slice down and pulling her hand from my grip to clear her hands of the crumbs.
“Look, I’m not much into fucking around subjects.”
“That’s obvious.”
“I’m just saying let’s not waste time denying there’s something going on here.”
I reach out and run a finger down her cheek, and she freezes. Our eyes lock and my cock stirs. “I know you feel that.”
“I do,” she says, a little breathless. I grip the back of her neck from where I lay and pull her towards me, my thumb sliding along her throat. “Closer, Harper, I want to run something by you.”
She leans in, her breath catching with each stroke of my thumb.
“W-w-what?”
“What if I told you I wanted to pull you to me right now and fucking murder those lips of yours?”
“I would say that,” she swallows, her chest rising and falling, “sounds painful and like a bad idea.”
I loosen my grip. “Message recei—”
“But,” she sputters nervously, “you should totally do it.”
In a flash, she dumps her plate on the mat and straddles me. I’m already in motion, rising up and thrusting my fingers in her hair right before our mouths crash together. It’s more than a kiss; it’s recognition of the fuse we lit the second we met and the fire we’ve spread up until this point of explosion. Her kiss as eager as mine, I go deep, sweeping my tongue into her tiny mouth, the sweet taste of soda fresh on her tongue as she grinds on my lap. It’s instant, our rhythm like we’ve been practicing for months for the big show. I devour her, cradling her head, my hands in a place where I know she feels safe. It’s incredible kissing her, being this close, after wanting her for what seems like an eternity but has only been a matter of weeks. When we pull away catching our breath, we share a smile before she speaks.
“So, this is an ass thing?”
“I told you, it was your legs first.”
Chapter Twelve
Harper
Lance grins at me from where he sits beneath me, his hands still tangling in my hair. I’m drunk on his kiss, the situation surreal. It’s his words that slap me back into reality. “It was your legs first.”
I hide the piece of me hurt by his comment and my offense. He doesn’t know or understand why this would irk me. He doesn’t see me the way I view myself. Just once I wish my body wasn’t the physical attribute that draws a man in, especially this man.
“You’ve got to admit,” he says hoarsely. “I’m not the only one guilty of that.”
“No, you’re not.” It’s the truth. I’ve been just as attracted from afar as he has. It sure as hell wasn’t his personality that drew me to him initially.
He’ll be the perfect man to experiment with. And maybe that’s what he should be for me, an experiment with my newly revived sexuality. Because since he stepped into the gym with me, the part of me I’ve kept dormant h
as sprung back to life. Watching him this summer, I’ve worked up quite a thirst, and suddenly he’s quenching it. His eyes never straying from mine, I can feel him hard beneath me, feel the heat emanating from his skin, from his bold touch. Most girls would have a condom strapped on him by now, and a part of me wants to be that girl, but the other knows this experiment could go horribly wrong, not just for me but for us both.
He presses his forehead to mine, the bulge beneath me impossible to ignore. “Harper,” he huffs before leaning in to bite my neck. I grind on his dick fully aware I’m stoking the fire and hear the breath leave him. “We both know you’re not about to get naked, be kind.”
“Sorry, can’t help it.”
“Neither can I.”
“I like that I have this effect on you.”
He pulls back, his eyes seeking my permission as his hands gently explore. He trails them down my sides before he grips my ass in his palms, and I swear I hear him whimper before his lips again crush mine. Then we’re kissing again and it feels like flying. I know this high—it’s dangerous. This high is a liar that tells you that nothing is more important than chasing for more, but the importance lies in who is behind the kiss. I’m kissing Lance Prescott, one of Grand’s most eligible bachelors. His palms glide up my waist, his thumbs sliding along the underside of my breasts while I moan into his mouth. I’m in nothing but cotton sports shorts, my clit rubbing along the hard ridge in his thin mesh shorts. It’s the perfect friction. Gasping into his mouth, I pull away electrified and he studies me. I swivel my hips, spurring him on and his eyes flare.
“Jesus,” he groans thrusting up to meet my movement, and with that, my thighs begin to shake.
“Look at you…” I don’t have a second to react to his compliment before I’m on my back, his hands pinning me, grinding into me. “Can I make you come?”
Gazing up, I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Lance is hovering over me looking at me like I’m the eighth wonder of the world. To him, this may be nothing unusual, to me, it’s everything. It’s like I’m being seen for the first time, center stage. It feels so spectacularly real.
Team Player 2: A Sports Anthology Page 4
