Chapter 4
KNOX
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I wipe the sweat from my brow. It’s hot as balls on the beach, and I’d give just about anything to be back in the shade of the bar. It’s got to be at least ten degrees cooler up there.
Jones nudges me with his elbow. “Don’t be a sore winner.”
“That’s rich coming from the guy who did a celebration dance not thirty seconds ago.”
“That was different. I had to defend my honor.” He crosses his arms, glaring at the uber-competitive brunette who’s become his nemesis in record time. “You heard her. She called me a cheater. I’m a lot of things, but a cheater isn’t one of them.”
I snort, and he has the good sense to backpedal.
“That was one time. And it was beer pong. Everyone cheats at beer pong.”
Not everyone. I sure as shit wouldn’t cheat at a drinking game.
“Don’t worry, boys. I’ve got this.” Bergeron strips off his shirt and tosses it in the sand. He flashes Jones a devious grin before adding, “And unlike Jones, I don’t need to cheat.”
“Something tells me I’m going to regret asking, but what the hell are you on about?”
“Back home, I was limbo champion at the ice rink.” He slings one arm around my shoulder and the other around Jones’. “I can limbo with my eyes closed and one arm tied behind my back.”
“Limbo champ, huh?” I shake my head in disbelief, not only because Bergeron has a tendency to exaggerate, but because it’s hard to imagine the hulking defender ducking and dipping just for kicks. “How come this is the first time we’re hearing about it?”
God knows the kid doesn’t have a humble bone in his body. Hell, his confidence is one of the things I like best about him.
“You think I was going to tell you assholes so you could spread it around campus?” He scoffs. “I don’t think so. But for this, I’ll do it.”
The man makes a point, but I’m not about to tell him that.
“You sure you’re up to this?” His breath smells like a bowl of party punch, and though I can’t see his pupils behind his dark shades, I’ve got to assume they’re dilated AF. “You look a little green around the gills, my guy.”
He straightens, indignation giving him what can only be a temporary boost. “I grew up in the Maritimes. I can hold my drink as well as anyone here.”
That’s not saying a whole lot given the audience, but I’m not about to argue.
“Better you than me.” I break away from our trio. “Good luck out there, boys. I’ll be cheering you on from the sideline.”
Jones throws up his hands. “You’re seriously just going to leave us hanging?”
Hell, yes. Coach will kick my ass if I get hurt.
“Have you seen the size of those girls? One of them is barely five feet tall, and those kids over there can probably twist themselves into pretzels without breaking a sweat.” I dig my phone out of my pocket.
“I’m not about to throw out my back trying to out-limbo them. ”
Jones shakes his head in mock disappointment. “And you call yourself our captain.”
“Hayes is your captain now,” I remind him, waving my cell. “I’ll be sure to take pics for him. They’ll look great in the locker room next season.”
Jones flips me off, and before I know it, Bergeron has convinced him to ditch his shirt too. Which I guess makes sense since it could get caught on the limbo bar. Hell, maybe they’ll get lucky and all those muscles will prove distracting to our pint-sized competition.
At this point, anything is possible.
The contestants form a line, and before I know it, Camila’s waving me over. “I need a helper to hold the other end of the bar.”
Not what I had in mind, but it’s probably a relief for Jones since I can’t take pics if I’m helping run the game.
She shows me how to hold the bar, and once we get it level, she pulls out her phone and taps the screen.
The opening chords of Limbo Rock play and our line of contestants starts shaking and grooving, led by a middle-aged woman who shimmies under the bar with ease. Her teammate follows behind her, doing a weird little hop-shuffle. They’re into it, and I can’t help but smile as they pass by.
The first team rejoins the line, and then my boys are up.
Bergeron glides right under the bar, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think the kid was wearing skates. Who knew he could move like that off the ice?
Not me, that’s for damn sure.
Jones is stiffer, but he clears the bar easily enough.
It’s unlikely anyone will be out this round, but since the contestants are required to lean back as they pass under, it won’t be long before they start dropping like flies.
That’s my assumption, anyway.
The tweens only have to tip their heads back to pass under the bar, which draws a round of razzing from the back of the line, but it’s all good-natured since Jones’ hyper-competitive nemesis is watching this round.
Her friends make their way to the front of the line, and the tall blond leans back to pass under the bar. She loses her balance and her arms flail, but she recovers and avoids touching the bar.
The smallest member of their team—the tiny brunette who evidently likes flamingos—curves her back gracefully as she slips under the bar, her dark curls blowing on the ocean breeze.
I watch her go, and I can’t help but notice the way her ass cheeks peek out of her swimsuit coverup before she tugs it back down. She’s petite, but fit, every visible inch of her fair skin defined by sculpted muscle.
Maybe she’s a dancer. She’s got the right body type. Now that I’m paying attention, it’s hard not to notice the graceful way she moves, back straight, limbs extended.
As if sensing my interest, she glances over her shoulder. Our eyes meet, and I smile. To my relief, she returns the gesture, and fuck me. She has a gorgeous smile, her pretty pink lips forming a sloping cupid’s bow.
Our teams may be in competition, but that doesn’t mean we have to be enemies, right?
After all, the stakes are pretty low. I’m not about to start beef with a woman over bragging rights and a plastic medal.
“Alright, let’s take it down,” Camila prompts, pulling my attention back to the game.
We lower the bar, and I watch as Tinker Bell—that’s what I’ve decided to call her until I learn her real name—joins the back of the line. She may not look exactly like the tiny fairy, but she’s certainly got the grace.
The line moves swiftly this time, and when Tink gets to the front, I can’t tear my eyes off of her.
She approaches slowly, her hips swaying to the rhythm of the music. It’s the fucking Limbo Rock. There’s nothing sexy about it, but tell that to my body. Desire stirs low in my gut, and my cock begins to swell.
I shift my weight, but there isn’t much I can do but turn my gaze skyward and pray. Thank Christ I’m wearing spandex under my swim trunks, otherwise things might get hella awkward.
We lower the bar, and the line restarts. This time, one of the older guys hits the bar with his belly, and Camila calls him out.
Bergeron slips under next, and he’s surprisingly bendy. Hockey players are known for being limber as hell, but it’s not often you see one bent over backward.
The tweens continue to pass under the bar easily. I’ll be shocked if one of them doesn’t win, which means my boys will have to take the next round—whatever it is—to get the W.
Tink’s blond friend approaches the bar, and their third teammate, the insanely competitive one, is shouting directions from the sideline like it’s the title game. The blond curves her spine, but she comes up too soon and her chin scrapes the bar.
Camila calls her out, and she exits the makeshift dance floor.
During the next round, Jones falls on his back, and two of the older players tap out, unwilling to risk a slipped disk. I can’t say I blame them. Who wants to spend their vacation laid up?
We lower the bar again, and I chance a look at Tink. She’s practicing in the line, maybe trying to work out her balance, and it’s cute as hell.
Bergeron shimmies under the bar, inching forward painfully slow. When he finally comes up, a triumphant grin on his face, he kicks sand back under the bar, filling the grooves he made.
One of the younger girls loses her balance and grabs the bar, but her teammate and Tink pass under with no trouble.
We lower the bar two more times. The last tweener goes down, leaving only Bergeron and Tink. I’d never admit it to my teammates, but I’m pulling for her. She makes it look so damn easy.
Granted, she’s small, but it takes a hell of a lot of strength and balance to get that low and not end up on your ass.
Bergeron inches forward, fighting gravity.
His upper lip is coated in sweat, and if he bites it any harder, he’s going to draw blood.
I hold my breath as his chest passes under the bar.
He’s almost in the clear when his right leg buckles.
He drops onto his back with a muttered “fuck” and thumps his fist in the sand.
So much for a clean sweep. Still, I can’t deny the thrill of excitement knowing Tink will take the round.
“You gave it your best shot.” I extend my free hand and help Bergie up. “And you did a damn good job.”
“Not good enough, apparently.” He turns to Tink with what can only be described as grudging—and drunken—respect. “Let’s see what you’ve got, ma chérie.”
She flashes him a dazzling smile, and we watch as she arches her back, bends her knees, and shimmies right under the damn pole with inches to spare.
“We have a winner,” Camila shouts, as Tink straightens.
She bounces on her toes and claps her hands together, her dark eyes sparkling.
It’s fucking adorable, and for an instant, I want nothing more than to crush my lips to hers.
To taste the salt on her skin, and to cup that gorgeous ass in the palm of my hand.
I don’t know what it is about Tink—her smile, her grace, her killer body—but I can’t remember the last time I was this attracted to a complete stranger.
Tink celebrates with her friends, and they exchange high fives as they pile praise upon her. That’s when it hits me. It’s anyone’s game now.
I scrub a hand over my face. As much as I enjoyed watching Tink destroy the limbo, I can’t sell my boys out for a pretty girl…can I?