Clarissa pauses with the phone halfway up, and our eyes lock at my near-fumble. “Hold still, Dante.”
Eyes still trained on each other, I harden my jaw in irritation and to keep my temper in check. It’s only been a few months. I have six years to make up for. Dante draws my eyes away, placing small hands on the side of my face. “What do you want a picture with me for?”
“How am I going to remember my favorite Halloween ever?” I can feel her eyes on us and wonder what she’s thinking. Is she dreading me being here next year? I brave a glance her way and see her eyes shining with something like hope. My anger subsides slightly, and I’m certain I don’t ever want to take that away. I’ll never let her be alone again in the way she described to me. Instead of useless words assuring her of it, I’ll prove that promise. And that’s going to take time. The more I become integrated into their lives, the more I feel like I can do anything, everything, for them both. She’s given me the chance without much of a fight these days, so why then the draft talk? Why the insistence on her stance when it comes to my leaving? And is any of her concern for my leaving for herself?
“Where did you get that costume?” She asks, eyeing it appreciatively. I’d caught her staring at me the other night and let her think I was still asleep. Attraction isn’t the issue and never has been. My wonder is if she feels what I do when I look at her. Even a tenth of it?
“From my Batcave, of course,” I answer her with a wink before addressing Dante. “Don’t tell anyone it’s me, okay? Think I can pass for the real thing?” I’m speaking to Dante, but the words are meant for Clarissa, who I haven’t looked away from.
“You look great, Troy, really.”
“That’s Bruce,” I correct, “but for you two only.”
“Who’s Bruce?” Dante asks, darting his eyes between us.
I gape at my son. “You haven’t seen Batman?”
“I don’t remember,” he says, wiggling out of my hold.
“Hold on, buddy, smile for Mommy.” On cue, Dante turns to his mother and shows all his teeth. Clarissa and I share a laugh before I set him free and retrieve my phone.
“Ready?” She nods, and I swear I see her eyes shining with tears. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just sentimental. Who knows how many of these we’ll have? He’s growing up so fast.”
“Nah,” I say, the we not missed on me. She’s letting me in for the moment, but I’m not about to gloat. “I trick-or-treated until I was twelve.”
“You’re right. This worry is premature. Let me grab my fanny pack.”
Shaking my head, I can’t help my smirk as she clasps the god-awful bag around her waist.
“What?” She shrugs, “they’re making a comeback.”
“They should have stayed where they came from.”
“Oh, yeah, smartass? Where are you going to put your phone in that skin-tight suit?”
Challenge accepted, I tuck my phone into the compartment on the top of my shoulder, and she shakes her head. “Of course.” Our gaze holds again, and I feel it. The same buzz from the night we met. It’s subtle, but it’s there, and it might as well be a gong to my chest. Her skin tints pink when she realizes she’s just as caught in the moment.
“Hey, Troy,” Dante squeaks from below me. “Can you be my dad, just for tonight?”
Clarissa’s eyes drop. Wordless, she ushers us all outside and locks the front door before kneeling down in front of Dante and adjusting his top hat. “No one gets to know Batman’s identity, baby. That’s why he’s Batman. Call him Batman.”
“Okay,” Dante agrees, nodding as my heart cracks. I’m furious, and it shows when her eyes lift to mine. Reasoning with myself, I rope that shit in. I have to be patient. Clarissa moves to whisper to me in condolence for taking a machete to my hopes, but I shake my head and grab Dante’s hand, tabling it for now.
After going door to door with a mere ‘ribbet’ from Dante for a majority of the night, on the way home when it was just the three of us, our passive frog bursts into an impressive two-song routine, singing at the top of his little lungs. I’d been waiting for the show all night, and even though I expected it, I’ve never laughed so hard in my life. It was the rest of the walk home that bothered me. Two kids Dante’s age passed us, pointing while calling him Weirdo McGeirdo as if it was the norm. Clarissa and Dante both had ignored them as if they hadn’t heard them, but I know they had. When I opened my mouth to speak up, Clarissa shook her head at me, and I had no choice but to let it go, for the moment.
“Bruce Wayne, I get it,” Dante says in a sleep-filled voice, shoveling in the last of his Kit Kat. Clarissa had replaced every piece of his candy with a stash she bought while he changed into his pajamas. She told me that you never really know what sickos were passing out, and I agreed with that. She really is an amazing mother. I couldn’t ask for better, for more. But I want to, and that’s the part that I have to move past. And I’ve been trying.
Last weekend I’d run into my country girl at the Hero party—an annual gathering the weekend before Halloween where you dress up as your hero—and I was shot down, again. This time she was dressed like a senior citizen, but I’d managed to pick her out of a crowd by her accent alone. There was something about her that appealed to me, and I still have no idea who she is. She’d refused to give me her name or the time of day. It’s a challenge, and I was all too up for it, but my mystery girl seemed adamant about keeping me at arm’s length. As of now, I’m not batting for shit, even when I’m trying to take my dating game seriously. I just keep reminding myself that all my sweetest victories have been hard-earned. Time and patience are my friends, my impulsivity problem, my worst enemy.
Dante lays tucked at my side while Clarissa sits opposite me with his feet in her lap. The itch from earlier beneath the latex comes back with a vengeance, and I become increasingly more uncomfortable in my suit, my arm draped casually around the back of the couch as I fight to keep idle and stay in the moment.
I tell myself it’s an illusion of family as I glance over at Clarissa and catch her studying us both, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t bother looking away when I bust her. Clarissa reaches between us as Dante’s eyes start to droop, running her fingers through his fair hair. “Have fun tonight, buddy?”
“Yeah, thank you, Mommy,” he says, exhausted, his eyes half-mast. He looks up at me and grips the hand I have resting on his chest. “Thank you, Troy.”
“Welcome, bud.”
He goes out like a light a few minutes later as the itch rears its ugly head. When Clarissa lifts him from the couch, Dante stirs and looks up at her, “Can I sleep with you tonight, Mommy?”
“You’re getting too old for that.”
“Please?”
“Okay, but just for tonight.”
While she deposits him in her bed, I stand like my ass is on fire. She returns a minute later, catching me as I began to rip at my suit. “Shit.”
“What’s wrong?” Clarissa asks, padding back into the living room.
“I don’t know…s-something’s wrong.” It feels like my skin has caught fire. I begin to rip at the latex and struggle with the zipper as she giggles while watching me.
“Shit, don’t just stand there laughing, Clarissa, help me!”
“Calm down,” she says, circling me to grip the zipper, “let me at it,” she instructs through residual laughter. “Stop struggling.”
“It burns!” I whisper-yell. “Hurry.”
“Oh no, are you allergic to latex?”
“I don’t think so, I don’t know. Please,” I plead. “Stop laughing. It’s not funny, it feels like my nuts are cooking.”
She’s full-on laughing while I rip at the collar, not giving a shit about the integrity of the suit. “I’m serious. Please, please,” I beg as she finally gets my cape off and fumbles with the zipper. Once it’s down, I rip at the costume until it’s at my feet.
Clarissa steps back. “Oh, my God.” The look on her face paralyzes me with fea
r.
“Is it bad?”
“Go, g-get in a cold shower right now. You’re having an allergic reaction of some sort.
“I wore this the other night for a few hours,” I shriek as I haul ass down the hall. She’s hot on my heels. “It’s probably the heat.” I shut the bathroom door behind me for a quick nut check and am relieved when I see they’re angry red but still intact along with the grand commander. Upon further inspection, I notice I’m covered in tiny bumps, the boiling rash going from my neck to my groin and starting to erupt on my thighs. The upside is, I may never have to shave my balls again. “What in the hell!?”
A sharp knock on the door has me cracking it open.
“Here, in case it’s not a heat rash,” she thrusts a tiny cup at me. “Children’s Benadryl, it may help some.”
“It burns,” I whimper, taking the cup and tossing the contents back like a shot.
She bites back a smile, retrieving the cup as she barks orders. “Get in a cold shower, use the kid soap because it’s got no perfumes or dyes. Gently rub, don’t scrape. I’ll run next door and get you some clothes, don’t put your underwear back on.”
I lift a brow. “Because?”
“Because if—” She rolls her eyes. “Yep, my boy definitely has too much of your DNA. Just do what I say.”
I grunt, the urge to rake my sack unbearable. “Fine.”
“P-poor Batman’s got a rash,” she snorts before belly laughter erupts from her. Narrowing my eyes, I shut the door on her as her amusement echoes down the hall. “Guess, G-g-Gotham isn’t safe tonight.”
Jenny’s Cream Cheese and Picante Dip
Intoxicologist/Bartender, Dallas
Makes 2 Cups
5 minutes
2 8 Oz. Packages Cream Cheese – softened
1 1/2 Cup Picante Sauce (hot, medium or mild)
2 Tbsp. Lemon Juice – optional
Beat cream cheese and picante with hand mixer until smooth and creamy. Add lemon juice and stir well. Serve with tortilla chips or fresh vegetables.
Note: May blend in a food processor instead of using hand mixer.
Clarissa
Thankfully Theo was home because I forgot to grab Troy’s keys. Once I explained the situation, he led me to Troy’s bedroom. Inside, I can’t help but notice the view he has from his window into Dante’s bedroom. I wonder how often he watches us. But in truth, I know. Troy has always been diligent with his stalking. But can it really be considered stalking when it’s your own child you’re watching over? I decide it can’t.
I’ve been just as diligent in making him pay. And pay he has. It’s clear with every pleading look he gives me when I retrieve Dante that he wants back into my good graces. And I’m still trying to let it happen.
Since our arrangement started and due to Troy’s best behavior, guilt has been building within me for the years Dante’s missed without his father. But a part of me still stands firm in my conviction that he’d committed the worst wrong of all wrongs, threatening my livelihood, all I worked for, purposefully, with his lie. And in all truth, I never once thought as a teenager, Troy would be as eager to be in his son’s life as he’s proven to be. It was a duplicitous lie, one that could have cost me dearly, but it didn’t. And maybe I just need to take that fact at face value.
With my demand that he stay away, I gave him an out. A way of living his life carefree and without consequence. Sure, I did it out of anger and outrage, but I’ve never really understood why he kept coming back. Those early years, I could not, for the life of me, let it go, I couldn’t let him in.
Now, I hate that Troy has me questioning myself and my decisions, but I can’t imagine the last six years without Dante. Have I committed the same sin with Troy by deeming him unforgivable? I’ve taken years away he will never get back.
Deciding to table my struggle for the moment, I get back to business and glance around Troy’s room, mildly surprised how tidy he is. Then again, I know he’s been raised by his mother. He reminded me on the porch when he’d confronted me and must’ve forgotten some of our conversation the night we met.
“It’s pretty much always been just Mom and me. She’s a hardass. Doesn’t let me get away with shit.”
“Are you close?”
“Thick as thieves.”
We’ve been in his truck, making out heavily for the better part of an hour.
He works his lips against my neck.
“So, you’re still close with your mom?”
He pauses, his breath warm in my ear. “Let’s change the subject, not really in the mood to talk about Mom.”
Nerves still firing off, I stutter out more conversation as his lips glide over my skin.
“You,” I sputter as his tongue traces the shell of my ear, “oh damn,” I murmur, clutching him to me as his teeth sink into my flesh, “have a better subject in mind?”
“Fuck yes, I do,” he inches my skirt up, his warm hands covering my thighs in a gentle caress. “This okay?”
“I never do this,” I moan into his mouth.
“Uh huh, you’ve said. Is that a yes?”
“Yes.” With permission, he begins to explore.
“Clarissa,” he whispers so heatedly, my panties flood. “I need words.”
I decide on action instead and bring his hand to my center. He pushes my panties to the side and circles my entrance with the pad of his finger. He groans when he feels me soaked at his fingertips, the rumble in his chest spurring me on as I buck into his touch. It’s been so long. I need relief, I need to feel. I need something more than dark chocolate and my vibrator to get me through. I’ve been good. I’ve been better than good. I’ve been a saint since my last breakup. Looking up at Troy, I watch as he expertly plays me, his touch intoxicating, his voice pure temptation. He’s golden and beautiful and the perfect way to end months of celibacy.
“Feels so good,” I murmur to his lips as his eyes gleam brightly from where he hovers above me in the back of his severely mistreated Dodge. He’d offered to take me somewhere else, but I’d insisted we keep it at the bar parking lot until I was sure I could trust him. Until I was sure of what I wanted.
With his next kiss, the next deep thrust of his tongue, he slips a finger inside me, and I bow off the seat as he starts fucking me with it, adding another until I’m a puddle of ‘please’ beneath him.
“Troy, I need more.” I breathe out, on the verge as he brushes my clit in time with the glide of his fingers. My body shudders with the tidal wave as I come while he kisses me, his tongue and fingers working me while I convulse with pleasure beneath him. When we break apart, my forehead is covered in sweat. He studies me from above, chest heaving. It’s become abundantly clear what I want. Admiring him in the dim cabin, I grip his neck and pull his mouth to mine, kissing him with pure desire. He is by far the most beautiful man to ever touch me, and I don’t want it to end. He pulls away, satisfaction covering his lips, his beautiful bright blue eyes hooded by alcohol and desire.
“You okay?”
“Perfect.”
“Good, because I’m just getting started.”
In his room, I cross my legs to stifle the throb between them and stare at his bed. His sheets rumpled from the night before. Briefly, I wonder about his type. He could have any pick of women, and from the few I’ve seen him escort out, it’s clear that’s the truth. I have to admit I expected to argue a lot more about his timeliness, about his repertoire with his son, but none of those fears have ever come to light. If he says he’ll be somewhere, he’s on time. If he offers to do something, he follows through. I wonder if he’s still as giving in the sack. If memory serves me, he’s overly generous.
Curiosity gets the best of me as I snoop through a stack of books in the corner of his room. He’s well-read, which doesn’t surprise me. The night we met, not only was he a feast for the eyes, he could hold a decent conversation, slipping past the superficial and putting me at ease. Searching through his underwear drawer, I pull out some brie
fs and see his half-empty cologne bottle. I pick it up and sniff, inhaling the heavenly scent before my phone buzzes in my fanny pack.
Troy: Are you sniffing my cologne?
Caught red-handed, I drop the bottle and turn to see him in Dante’s empty bedroom, the phone to his ear, wearing a towel and nothing else.
I had no time to admire him when he was stripping, the two of us were much too frantic. The phone rings in my hand, and I see his name pop up. Even with him so far away, I can see the dare in his posture to answer it.
I’m not supposed to want to, but I do.
“I’m just grabbing a T-shirt.”
“Do you think about that night?” His voice is low, gravelly, and sexy as hell. My mouth goes dry as I stand at his window, my breaths coming faster. When I don’t answer, he prompts me again.
“Be honest. Do you think about it?”
“D-d-do you?” my voice is just as affected. “Do you even remember it?”
“It was the hottest fucking night of my life. Of course, I remember it. And I remember how good it felt with you stretched around me. Even after all these years.”
“Troy, we can’t—”
“You tasted sweet, and I loved the way you let out those moans of yours, the way your breath caught when you came. The way you kissed me back. Fuck, the way you kissed me back. You didn’t hold back with me. I remember that the most.”
“Troy, I can’t go down this road with you.”
“Why not?” He whispers hoarsely. “You could forgive me. We could start over. We could have something real this time.”
Slowly I exhale, remembering the woman who drove toward his school with all the hopes in the world of starting something real.
“You can come back here and let me in. I’ll start with your lips, and then drop to your ankles. Work my way up—spread you, lick you, suck you, fuck you—make you come so hard. All you have to do is just let go, Clarissa, let me try. Give us a chance. I won’t touch you unless you agree.”
The Underdogs: The Complete Series Page 37
