The Underdogs: The Complete Series

by Stewart , Kate

  “Stop giving me material.”

  “You can play off of anything.” His gaze rakes over me. “This is where you’re supposed to let the hormones kick in and get emotional.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  His grin widens as he presses a gentle kiss to my lips and moves to exit the bed. “I’m going to get us some food and water.”

  “I’ll straighten up your room. You’re quite the slob.” It’s just the opposite. There’s not a single thing out of place. His books piled neatly on top of a cheap IKEA desk, while all his clothes hang in a small closet. On top of his dresser sits his watch and a bottle of cologne. Even his pocket change is stacked neatly. He’s a neat freak, and I love it. It’s definitely the room of a bachelor, but not wholly devoid of life. There’s a picture of his family on the nightstand. Covering myself with the sheet, I study the image and what must be the eighteen-year-old version of Lance on his graduation day, his smile sincere, carefree, a different version of Lance than the one I met. The man sliding on his sneakers is a far cry from the boy in the picture. When I get a glimpse of that boy here and there, I hang onto it. It’s the side I love the most. A side I’m sure only a few see. I’m one of the lucky ones. He’s let me in, and it both elates and terrifies me.

  Lying in his bed naked in more ways than one, the reality of his words set in. My emotions are getting the best of me. I’ve let myself be vulnerable with him, something I don’t take lightly. Something I wasn’t sure I’d ever be capable of again. But because he is who he is, because of his understanding, it feels like I’m with another version of myself. We are alike in a lot of ways; ambitious, hard-working, goal-oriented, family-oriented, and loners who don’t easily trust. And I want so badly to trust the version I know; the version whose touch makes me feel beautiful and breakable, fragile and worthy.

  I share a reassuring grin with him as he leaves the room, burying my fears beneath that smile. It’s only when I hear his footfalls on the stairs that I let the tears slip. But they aren’t tears of regret or pain. They’re tears that let me know I made the right decision by choosing Lance Prescott, no matter where that decision leads us.

  Lance

  “Oh no. Oh, my God!” Her shriek is low, but it wakes me from a dead sleep. Raising my head from my pillow, I squint in the dark to see Harper shuffling around the room dressing frantically.

  “What’s wrong?” I click on my bedside lamp, and she freezes, one leg in her shorts. Closing her eyes, she hangs her head.

  “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  I grip her hand and pull her to sit on the edge of the bed, distracted by how her hair cascades down her back. I’m so tempted to pull her back to bed, but the look on her face has me on edge.

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s bad. Brace yourself.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I didn’t mean to. Swear to God.”

  “To what?” I glance around the room and then back to her. “What could you have done in this room in the last few hours?”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Out with it,” I growl impatiently and she jumps. “Sorry. But the suspense is killing me.”

  “I may have just Snapchatted a picture of your ass and the top of your jersey to my sister. Well,” she says a blush creeping up her neck, “it was meant for my sister.”

  “What?” I chuckle. “Why?”

  “It’s not funny,” she says gravely.

  “It’s kind of funny.”

  “Lance, I Snapchatted your ass to my father!”

  I freeze.

  “I sent it to my whole family. I meant to just get the top of the jersey without the number, I was cropping it that way and didn’t see your ass in plain view behind it.”

  “Did you add a caption?”

  “Yes.”

  I can’t help my laugh.

  “Lance, it’s not funny!”

  “Okay,” I say, unable to hide my smile. “Sorry,” I do my best to keep a straight face. “What did it say?”

  “I’ve taken a lover. Grand man, indeed.”

  “Oh, shit,” I lay back as laughter rips out from me.

  “It’s not funny!” She whisper-yells before her face falls.

  “Why would you do that?”

  “You wouldn’t understand. It’s a sister thing. She’s been trying to get me to take the leap for a hot minute.”

  “I’d say you did a pretty good job.” I rub her silky hair between my fingers, itching for another go with her.

  “Lance,” she shakes her head, her eyes filling with tears. “I really screwed up.”

  “Okay,” I sit up doing my best to get my shit together as I try to pull her to me. She shakes her head and pushes at my chest.

  “Hey, it’s going to be embarrassing, but it will pass.”

  “Dad is fiercely protective of me because of what I told you.”

  “I get it, but you’re twenty.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It was a really serious deal.”

  “Okay, so you don’t tell him who I am.”

  “That was always the plan. I never thought I’d have to explain this and I-I didn’t tell you, didn’t think it was important. I didn’t know what was going to happen here.” She gestures between us.

  “Out with it, woman.”

  She hangs her head.

  “My last name is Elliot.”

  That wipes the smile off my face.

  “Elliot?”

  “Yes.”

  “As in Coach Ryan Elliot’s daughter?”

  Her eyes fill with fresh tears, and she nods.

  I spring out of bed and glare down at her. “Your dad is my fucking coach!?”

  She nods, her eyes tracking my movement as I slip on mesh shorts. “Let me get this straight. You woke up in the middle of the night and took a shot of my jersey and ass and sent them straight to my fucking coach!?”

  “That’s, uh, that sounds creepy.”

  “Yeah, well, sorry, maybe I don’t understand. I’ve never slept with a woman and Snapchatted her ass to my brother. What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking I was happy for five seconds and wanted to share it with my sister.” She pulls the hem of her shirt down. “I have to go.”

  “Did you get my number in the picture?”

  “No, I told you I made sure I got just the top of the front of it and snapped your ass on accident.”

  “Dammnit, Harper.” I palm my face and shake my head. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “You know this was a spontaneous hookup.”

  “The first time. The second time. Not today.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll go home and face the music. It’s not like he can see the pic again. He can’t study it and try and figure out who you are.”

  “Thank Christ.” Anger boils beneath the surface, and I try to remain calm. “When you say protective—”

  “He’s unreasonable. What happened years ago broke his heart. It was humiliating for the whole family.”

  “Can’t you delete it?”

  She swallows. “No, you can only delete text, not pictures.”

  “It’s dark in here, maybe he won’t be able to make out much.”

  “Except I took the picture with flash. I’m so sorry.” She gathers her bag from the floor. “I screwed up. I’ll own it. I’ll make it so you’re nowhere near this.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek so hard my eyes water.

  “Lance, I’m sorry.”

  “Just go, Harper.”

  “Please don’t hate me.”

  “I don’t, but you need to go. This could ruin my whole season and all of my plans.”

  “I meant to tell you…”

  “But you fucking didn’t,” I seethe and see the hurt in her eyes. I’m seconds from an explosion and don’t trust myself.

  “No,” she wipes a tear off her cheek and sniffles. “I didn’t. I wanted to keep you to myself a little longer.�
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  “Didn’t keep you from bragging about it, huh? I know it wasn’t your intention to broadcast, but it doesn’t make you much better than the others.”

  Her eyes flare. “Don’t you dare.”

  “You need to go before I say something else I know I’ll regret.”

  She shakes her head, her eyes refilling. “I’m sorry, Lance.”

  “Just go.”

  “Don’t do anything, okay? I’m going to go feel them out, maybe I can get to their phones before they view it and then it will be like nothing ever happened.”

  “Except I just deflowered my coach’s daughter.”

  Tears stream down her cheeks. “You want to erase that too?”

  “Harper, you purposefully deceived me. What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you not to have meant that. But you did. Don’t worry,” her voice cracks along with my chest at the devastation on her face, but I’m too angry to stop her from leaving. “I’ll make it disappear on my side. I’m sorry,” she whispers one last time before closing the door.

  Harper

  Creeping down the stairs of the house Lance rents with two other guys, I’m safely at the front door and nearly sigh in relief.

  “Hey.”

  Jumping back, I turn towards the source and see Troy fucking Jenner, the wide receiver for TGU sitting at the kitchen table. He’s kicked back in his seat, playing with a beer cap, a bottle in one hand, his eyes on the deck just outside the door. The moon lights up his face clearly, though I know I’m safely shrouded in the dark. Troy is devastatingly handsome and for some reason I know if he were to look my way, he would see right through me. He’s lost in his own head. I don’t bother replying, but haul ass out of there. Once safely on the other side of the door, I sprint to my car parked on the other side of the street, praying I don’t hit any other landmines. In the driver’s seat, I start up my Toyota and glance up at Lance’s window. He’s standing there, watching me. He’d thrown me out, not with malicious intent. I know I deserved it. I’d kept my identity from him in a way. I wonder if he would have entertained me at all if he had known. Then again, with how pissed he is, I guess I got my answer.

  When it comes to women and ball, the alphabet wins. The B always comes first. And for once, I let myself get lost in the moment, and this game already cost us both. He disappears from the window as I drive away.

  Harper

  “Twenty years old, and you’re hiding in your room because you had sex,” I mutter around my toothbrush. I’ve been waiting my parents out. My parents—who are early risers. I haven’t slept a wink and I got home too late to sneak into their room without being caught. Knowing them, there’s a good chance they won’t even open it today. They’re not exactly social media experts and only downloaded the app so my sister, Kandace, could snap them pics of my nephew. I send my twentieth text to Kandace praying she calls me back. Briefly, I consider running through the house, jumping in my SUV and hauling ass to Houston where she lives and is capable of having sex without announcing it to the whole damned family. Just as I curse her for not coming to my rescue, my phone lights up, and I see her name.

  “Kan—”

  “Oh, my God, you idiot. You just killed our father!”

  “Shut up! Shut up! What do I do?”

  “Get a fucking crash cart,” she yelps over the phone before she bursts into laughter. “Has he seen it?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “You’ve got to get that phone. Steal it. Smash it. Both of their phones.”

  “I will. Just…how?”

  “I’ll tell you, but can we talk about that ass for four seconds. Jesus. Way to go big or go home.”

  Panic courses through me. “Did you notice the jersey?”

  “Yeah, seriously, what were you thinking?”

  “I just wanted…” I don’t know how to answer that. We’re close, she knows why. She’s just as nervous as I am.

  “I get it. I do. But Harper…”

  “I was giddy. And I couldn’t sleep.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Mortified. That’s a good description.”

  “Well, just tell Dad you meant to send it to me.”

  “Because that will go over well,” I scoff. “This is serious. You think he’ll kick him off the team?”

  “You know he can’t. Don’t be dramatic. Who is it?”

  “Not telling. Ever. So don’t ask.” I vow to myself then and there no matter what I face with my dad I won’t ever crack.

  “Was it awesome?”

  “It was until I told him who I was.”

  “Oh, shit. You didn’t tell him?”

  “No. The whole first month we met we were kind of at odds, and then it just, you know, happened…God.” I bury my head in my hands. “How am I going to explain this to Dad?”

  “Tell him you wanted to brag to your sister that you bagged a hottie.”

  “Hey!”

  “It’s the truth, and I tell you all the time you’re pretty and you don’t believe me.”

  “Because I’m not. Not for a guy like that.”

  “He disagrees.”

  “Right.” I cringe at the idea I may never feel what I felt beneath him last night in his bedroom again. Worshipped is a good description. Fresh anger surfaces when I think of how he threw me out of his room.

  “He threw me out of his room. He took my virginity and threw me out of his room.”

  “You are kind of in the wrong, sis, seeing as how you Snapchatted his ass to his coach.”

  “He could have brainstormed with me, or at least walked me to the door.”

  “Self-preservation is evil. When that kicks in, all bedside manners have a tendency to go out the window. You’re so green.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, you have a lot to learn about men. The good part about them screwing up is that they have to grovel to get back in your good graces. Stand your ground early.”

  “Will do.”

  “Okay, so here’s the plan. Until you hear Mom’s voice morph, you’re safe.”

  “I know, when she goes nuts her New York accent kicks in, and she sounds like that prude mom on South Park. What, what, what!?”

  Kandace giggles. “That’s dead-on, but Harper, focus. I’m going to call Mom on the house phone and gauge her mood. I’ll fake an emergency and create a distraction.”

  “Uh-huh,” I’m eager for the help.

  “While I’ve got them all riled up, you—”

  “Harper!” My mother screams from the kitchen.

  “Oh shit,” Kandace’s voice deflates. “Maybe you forgot the trash…”

  “Oh my God! Harper Jean!”

  “What in the hell?” My dad’s voice booms from the same room.

  “Well there goes that theory. Babe, you’re twenty. Stand firm. He knew you wouldn’t be innocent forever.”

  “Harper! Get in here, right now!”

  “I took a lover,” she giggles. “You idiot.”

  “Thanks,” I reply dryly as footsteps approach my door and my mother shrieks behind him.

  “Ryan, Ryan, don’t go in there, don’t you dare, let me talk to her. Ryan, stop right now! You need to calm down.”

  “I should thank you,” Kandace chirps. “I’ll be the good daughter for at least six months.”

  “He’s coming,” I tell Kandace as my heart beats in my throat. “Bye, love you.”

  “Love you,” she sighs. “Call me after.”

  “K.”

  Just as I hang up, my door bursts open, and I meet the livid eyes of my father.

  Lance

  It’s been nearly a week since I’ve seen her. She’s not answering my texts and hasn’t been to the gym since that day. School started a few days ago and I’ve been frantically searching campus between classes for any sign of her.

  Through texts, I’ve apologized for the way I reacted, though I know for a fact, coach did not miss that message. He’s been a prick since the summer prog
ram started, but now he’s being unreasonable, riding us harder than he ever has, looking at each of us with clear accusation. Harper wasn’t exaggerating. We got a thirty-minute lecture on respect just yesterday, most of which, coach growled out. The team was understandably confused as to why we were being lectured for half of practice, rather than on the field. It took everything I had to meet coach’s eyes yesterday and not flinch. Most of the last few practices I wanted to speak up and name myself the culprit so I alone can deal with the backlash, other days I want to call him out for being such a dick. If I thought for one second this would blow over, I was dead wrong. Coming up empty on my search for her, I ignore the gnaw in my chest and shoot off a text.

  Lance: Talk to me, Harper. Right now. At least tell me if you’re okay.

  Bubbles pop up and disappear the way they have for the last few days. She wants to talk, but she’s afraid of the asshole that kicked her out of his room. I get it. But the situation was shit, and I was not at all prepared for the bomb she dropped. I see both sides of this, and I can’t understand why she can’t or refuses to see mine. I’ve told her enough for her to know how important this season is to me.

  She’s stubborn as hell. And most days it’s an attribute I like about her, but for the last week, it’s pissed me right the hell off. Staring at my phone, I will her to text back until it lights up with an incoming call.

  “Hey, Momma.”

  “Hey, you. How are you?”

  “Good, sore from practice yesterday and walking to class.”

  “They’re working you hard, huh?”

  “Every day.”

  “Well, I raised a warrior. You’ll make it.”

  “How are you? How’s Dad?”

  “Good. Good. Dad’s good, but your brother is a nightmare. I knew I should have stopped at one child. The little shit took off with the tractor last week to impress some girl. He actually drove it down the highway and picked her up. Stole my picnic basket with the good china and everything.”

  I can’t help my grin. For years, Trevor thought his name was ‘little shit.’

  “He’s in the dog house. Your father nearly skinned him.”