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 intopretzels 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 thecontestants 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, andfuck 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 theback 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.
