Page 29 of The Underdog

Wow, I didn’t notice. I internally roll my eyes.

“Besides, I have a feeling that Parker’s about to jump into the drill any second now and show the lads how it’s actually done. And that…thatI want to see.”

“What makes you say that?” He spikes my curiosity with that pending proposition. The visual of Warren dribbling with the ball replays through my mind.

Alf leans in close, lowering his voice as he speaks. “See how he’s tapping his foot in a repetitive motion?” he slyly points ahead. “Chewing on the corner of his pen, staring at the boys in sheer disarray?”

Frankly, how could I not have noticed? Warren has a way of manipulating his body that makes mine wallow in a fit of anguish. He’s ridiculously hot. The kind of hot where he doesn’t even know it, only making him that much hotter. I’d never admit it to anyone, though. I hardly want to admit it to myself.

“Mhm?” I realize that Alf still awaits my response, dissecting what I can only imagine to be the look of lust that I’m desperately trying to wash off my face.

“Careful, Delaney,” he scorns me like an unimpressed father. “From that look alone, I can only imagine what’s going on in that little mind of yours.” His words prompt the heat to rise to my cheeks, only he doesn’t notice and carries on anyway. “The look on Warren’s face means that at any second, he’s about to flip off and jump into the?—”

The whistle goes off, interrupting Alf mid-sentence and scaring me half to death.

“Alright, enough!” Warren shouts, trudging his way onto the field. “I’ve seen enough!”

Alf shoots me a look that is ridden with the words “I told you so” all over it. I can only playfully nudge him in return as Warren’s voice commands my attention back onto the field.

“Pass me the ball,” he demands in Hart’s direction. Hart fiddles with the ball beneath his feet for a moment before sending it Warren's way.

Warren accepts the ball, kicking it up into his hand the second it makes contact with his shoe. “Here’s how this drill works.” He walks the ball over to a series of pylons that line the green ahead of the net. “You lot need to be sharp with your movements. Picture the cones as players. You want to be able to go quickly around them. Keep the ball tight to you, then, once you’ve got a clear shot on net, take it! Put your keeper to work!”

“Yeah, show 'em’ how it’s done!” Alf stands up, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting onto the field. “Dust off those shoes, Parker!”

Warren shoots him a daunting glare, and it sends tingles through my spine. As to be expected, Alf’s request hypes up the team in response, each egging Warren on one by one.

“Let’s see it, Coach!”

“Yeah, show us how the professionals do it!”

“No,” he tells them firmly, but I could’ve sworn I heard a faltering tone in the way he said it. “I’m your coach, not your circus monkey!”

“Oh, he’s just afraid that the keeper will save his shot, that’s all.” I somehow find myself joining in on the action, and now, the entire team erupts in laughter.

Warren’s stare is all over me. If it was making me tingle before, it’s absolutely making me tremble now. He has no idea the sheer power he holds with those eyes.

“You’ve got to do it now, Coach!” Wilks cries out, making Warren look away. “C’mon, even Delaney’s asking!”

Warren purses his lips together, internally debating his next move before dropping the ball to his feet and sliding his jacket off.

“Woah!” the boys cheer, hyping him up. “Yeah, strip it down for us, Coach. Let’s see it!”

I can’t help but blush at their sexual remarks as I carefully watch Warren throw his coat off to the side. Still, he’s wearing a white button-down, but it’s enough to see that beneath those layers is an abundance of muscle that’s aching to break free.

Fuck, if I thought the chewing on the pen thing was hot, there is nothing quite like watching this man walk with the ball between his feet as he reaches the top of the drill. Perhaps I’m starting to understand why the thirst traps of the boys went so viral after all.

I could only imagine what the response to a video of Warren would be like—but I know I’d never post one. Not because he’d probably kill me, but because editing a video of him would likely do that anyway.

As Warren narrows his eyes, I can tell he’s focused and unlike in a way I’ve seen him before. I’ve seen Warren deep in the trenches of his work. He has an ability to tune out the world around him, myself included, when I pester him with ideas.

“Go!” Alf pierces my ears when he blows into the whistle around his neck, seemingly giving Warren a taste of his own medicine.

Without skipping a beat, magic happens. Unlike the players, Warren dribbles between the pylons at record speed. As I hone in on each intricate movement he seems to make, I’m reminded that Warren was made for this. It’s apparent all over him. As he approaches the end of the drill, the team's keeper sways from side to side. Arms out wide, bracing himself for the shot.

I can see it in his eyes. He knows he’s got no chance of saving it. Warren lines up his shot on net, and without wasting amoment, there it goes. The ball soars past the keeper as he leaps to his side, his fingertips hardly grazing the material as it whips into the upper-hand corner of the net.

Immediately, the boys cheer in delight, jumping around with one another as they race over to Warren, welcoming him in an embrace.

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