The Guy in the Middle (The Underdogs, #3)

by Kate Stewart

We make our way toward the subway, and the women’s stares follow like dominoes. He’s drawing the attention of a freaking movie star, and honestly, he looks the part. “Seriously? You can’t see this?” He smirks down at his boots as we wait for our train. “All I see is you. And your flaring nostrils.” “Oh, shut up.”

My phone buzzes on the bench beside me as Tony tapes up the cut above my eye. “No stitches needed, the nose will go down overnight, and the tooth will reset itself, just don’t touch it. Your eye, though,” he whistles through his teeth, “well tomorrow, you’ll have a face only a mother could love.”

“That’s a good reason. Most kids say age. You know what I tell them? Don’t wait until you’re in your late thirties. You might have more money then, but nothing matches the energy of your twenties. Not all of us got it wrong.” She clamps a hand on Lance’s muscular shoulder. “But if you take good care of this heavenly body you have, you’ll be fine at any age.”

“What are you talking about?” “Oh, baby. You are so blind sometimes. Sigh.” “You don’t say sigh, you text sigh, or you actually sigh, and don’t you dare walk out that door!”

“I think what mattered to me most about coming here is that I never got a chance to say I love you. And I do, I love you, Harper.”

“Oh, well, you went BIG in New York,” she turns back and winks at the guys, “quite often.” She lifts a glove mimicking a puppet, “Commit to me now. I know I haven’t seen you in over seven hundred days, but if you don’t say exactly the right thing in my time frame, I’m leaving, and I’m taking my big dick with me.” She winces, tossing a look over her shoulder, “Sorry, Trevor.” “Don’t be,” he quips, “just so you know, that runs in the family.” “What the hell?” I protest as my entire corner snickers.

“It can’t be all that bad. Show me this cow ranch.” I lift the phone and scan the ranch from one side to the other. “Lower,” I move the phone lower. “Ah, no wonder you’re depressed. Oh wait, I see, lower, to the right. There, much better view.” It’s then I see what he’s fixated on. Lance has his shirt off and is rinsing some mud from his chest. I turn the phone back over to see several notifications that René has taken a photo. “René!” “What?” “I can see you taking screenshots!” “I’m not.” “You so are.” “Fine, I’ll erase them.” “No, you won’t.” “We can fight about this later. In the meantime, why are you not snooping in his room?”

“She told me, ‘Harper, you aren’t going to get everywhere at once. You need to stop living for the what ifs and start living in the what is, one breath, one step at a time.’