The Underdogs: The Complete Series

by Stewart , Kate

  It’s a product review of her sex toy.

  #goodconsumer90

  I’m deducting a star for the name alone because nothing so pleasurable should come with such baggage. And that’s what being with a womanizer entails, baggage. So, what if this model is pretty to look at, has the build of a god and can pleasure you for hours on end? There are less glossy, lower-priced models just as capable of getting the job done without leaving you feeling like a used sack of hormones. I’m currently with the lower-priced, less risky model. And why shouldn’t I be? The womanizer must be kept in check constantly, so that future models have a clear path on how to treat a woman. This is about a pleasurable epiphany, and letting go, right? A safe and effective way of reaching one’s peak without any of the guilt or expectations. But how can one successfully do this if they’re continually being reminded that what brings them so much pleasure is attached to a name that is SO demeaning? A woman’s orgasm is 99% mental. 99%! So, what self-respecting woman wants to succumb to such demoralizing name-suck? In the end, the womanizer will fail as womanizers inevitably do, and it’s just going to be another thing to store away—>baggage. Note to manufacturer- If you’re going to make a woman’s toy capable of inducing such mind-bending results, name it something else.

  I can’t help but read the comments beneath.

  I get it. I do. I’m with you, good consumer. If you can find happiness elsewhere, why risk it?

  Girl, you’ve got it bad. You need to rip the band-aid and get it over with. Womanizer or not, you’re in deep. Do yourself a favor and see it through.

  She’s just trying to protect herself and her future model. Who can blame her? This model sounds like trouble.

  You ain’t getting any younger. Safe = sorry in my book. Take a chance.

  You’re right, Womanizer is a messed-up name. I’ll be returning mine until the name is changed.

  You can’t return a sex toy lickitysplito4. Gross.

  This is pathetic. You all are pathetic. You all need to get lives.

  Says the troll who just got on this thread and read the whole thing to make a judgmental comment.

  I was looking for honest reviews.

  Yeah, for a sex toy because you’re in the same “pathetic” boat.

  My purchase is for a gag gift.

  Sure, because spending over $200 on a gag gift makes perfect sense. At least we’re honest.

  This reviewer needs to be honest with herself. She’s falling for the womanizer.

  Staring down at her, I wrestle with the fact that she’s wary of me hurting her, and I’m not ignorant as to why, she’d explained it to me the day we had it out on the lawn. Her father was a player, and she sees me in his light. But my hesitancy to commit to anyone is no longer due to my insane schedule or my son.

  The truth becomes crystal-clear as I drink her in. She’s the only woman I want.

  And if I want any chance with her, I have a lot more to prove.

  Clarissa does nothing half-assed, that includes the handling of her heart. What I do know is the less pricey model is fucking going down. I’m going to make damn sure of it. Fingers itching to touch her, I try to reel in what I’m feeling. No matter what steps I take from here on out, if I want her, I have to put both of them first.

  Clarissa’s phone buzzes next to her on the bed, and I see it’s Regina Leighton, the mother of the boy hosting Dante’s sleepover. Ignoring the spectacle Kevin’s making outside with the horn, I swipe to answer, making a quick exit out of Clarissa’s bedroom softly shutting her door.

  “Hello?”

  “Troy?” Dante sniffs. “Where’s Mommy?”

  “She’s asleep.”

  “C-c-can you wake her up? I need her to come and get me. I don’t w-want to stay here anymore.”

  Kevin honks again, and I quickly walk to the front door giving him the finger.

  “Hurry the fuck up, man!” He shouts as the rest of the car raises hell.

  I turn my back, stepping into the house.

  “I’m coming to get you.”

  “What?”

  “Can you have them text Mommy the address?”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “Please hurry.”

  “I’m coming, bud. Don’t worry.” Once I’m armed with the address, I do a quick check around the house before locking Clarissa’s door, knowing Dante has a key in his backpack for emergencies. Kevin meets me as I bound down the porch.

  “I’m not going. Take off. I might catch up later.”

  His demeanor shifts. “What the hell, man? We were counting on you to help pay for the hotel.”

  Annoyed, I pull some twenties from my wallet and hand them to him. “There, that’s enough for one night.”

  “You’re hard up for her, aren’t you?”

  “Kevin, I don’t have time for this shit.” I pull out my keys and start toward my truck when he blocks me. “I have to go pick up Dante.”

  “This, this, is why you’re bailing on everything? You’ve fallen for her?”

  “I’ll explain later, okay?” I move around him, and he blocks me again.

  “No, not okay, we’ve been planning this trip for a hot minute. What the fuck is going on?”

  Kevin, though clueless most of the time, has been my wingman for four years. I get why he’s pissed, but Dante’s cries have my heart seizing.

  “Get the fuck out of my way!”

  “Fuck that,” he slaps my shoulder, and in a flash, we’re toe to toe.

  “It’s not that fucking serious,” I say, pushing at his chest. “But it’s about to be.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “He’s mine!”

  “What?”

  “Dante is my son.”

  Kevin rolls his eyes. “Dream on.”

  “He’s mine,” I repeat as Kevin swallows, his expression turning to disbelief.

  “You’re serious?”

  “Yeah. It’s a long story. But Dante needs me like right now.”

  “Y-yeah,” he says, stepping out of my way. “Yeah, you gotta go.”

  “Don’t tell a fucking soul, Kevin. No one.”

  “You need me to stay back and help?” And that’s Kevin, that’s the kind of friend he is.

  “Nope. Go. Have fun. Just tell no one, I mean it.”

  “Yeah. No problem. But why?”

  “Kevin!”

  “Got it, hold up.” He jogs over to the SUV and grabs my duffle, handing it to me, along with the cash I had just given him. “Spend it on him.”

  “Thanks, man. You’re a good friend.”

  “Hit me up and let me know it’s all good.”

  “Will do.”

  I manage to make it to the address in minutes because it’s only a neighborhood over. Pulling up, I see Dante on the front porch, his chest bouncing with his cries. My heart cracks at the sight of him dressed in the jeans and Grand hoodie I bought him. I’d even gelled his hair like mine because he’d asked me to. I should have spoken up this morning and told Clarissa my fears, but I wanted, more than anything, for him to have a good time tonight, for those fears to be unfounded and for him to find some friends. The mother approaches me, confused as Dante leaps to my side.

  “Where’s Clarissa?”

  “She got tied up. I’m the neighbor.”

  She looks me up and down. “Lucky Clarissa.”

  I don’t bother acknowledging her. “What happened?” Dante clings to my leg as she stares over at me in a way that has my stomach turning.

  “Not sure, they were playing upstairs, and Dante came down not long after asking to call his mother.”

  “Do you know what was said?”

  A little boy Dante’s age and much bigger is watching behind the cracked front door with a smirk on his face.

  “What did you say to him?” I ask the boy.

  “Now, now, let’s not go accusing anyone of any wrongdoing. Sometimes kids get scared at these things, being away from home and all.”
>
  I pull Dante closer to me. “You’re raising a bully. This isn’t the first time that kid has messed with Dante. Do yourself a favor and nip that crap in the bud before he permanently screws some kid up. But I can guarantee you, it won’t be this one.”

  “You know, Chris wasn’t even going to invite Dante. I’m the one who insisted on the invite.”

  “Yeah, well, you can see how well that worked out.”

  “You can go now,” she says, dismissing me in a huff.

  “Happy to. This is your future problem, not mine, mark my words, you’re going to wish you had paid more attention.” I lift Dante into my arms. His chest pumps with his cries as I run a soothing hand down his back. “It’s okay, bud. It’s okay.” He hugs me tightly to him, his tears soaking my face, as I bend down and grab his backpack. I make sure to narrow my eyes at the little shit still staring at us before making my way back to my truck.

  It’s the same kid who called him a weirdo on Halloween, and a kid with no conscience is the most dangerous thing on earth.

  Safely inside the cab, I hold Dante to me until I feel his breathing even out. Once I’ve got him strapped in, I finally take a breath, feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders.

  “What happened?”

  “I was trying to show them what Harper taught me.”

  I physically flinch feeling Clarissa’s and my efforts backfire in a big fucking way.

  “You tried to teach them how to dance?”

  Dante nods.

  Fuck. Fuckity fuck!

  “You said it was cool.”

  “I did, bud, for us. Most little boys don’t go around teaching other boys how to dance.”

  “I didn’t know how to play what they were playing.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I’m not like them. They make fun of my videos.” His breath hitches from his crying stint, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything so painful in my life. Seeing the sign, I pull into Sonic and park at the drive-in before pulling Dante out of his seat to join me up front. He looks so small, so upset, that I have to look away to keep him from seeing the emotion in my face. They hurt my kid, and I want to go back and level that fucking house.

  “Does Mommy tell you to ignore them when they call you names?”

  “Yes.”

  I can feel the cracks starting to separate me in half, terrified of his next answer. “Do they hit you?”

  “No. They wouldn’t let me play after I tried to show them how to dance.”

  “It’s okay. You know that, right?” I ruffle his hair. “You were just being nice.”

  Dante nods. “Why are we at Sonic?”

  “Slushy, then home.”

  “Okay.” He’s tired, and I can tell, but I refuse to let this wait any longer.

  Once we’ve ordered I turn to him. “Do you like adults more than kids? Is this why you didn’t invite anyone from class to your birthday party?

  Dante’s lip quivers. “Uh huh.”

  “Is that why you like Michigan J. Frog so much? Because you’re just like him?”

  Another nod. I wrack my brain, trying to figure out a way to make my mistake up to him when I see my packed duffle in the back seat.

  “What do you think about hanging with me this weekend. Just us?”

  Angela’s Stuffed Bell Peppers

  Lawyer, Ohio

  Makes 6 servings

  1 hour

  6 Large Bell Peppers

  2 Lbs. Hamburger Meat

  1 Onion – Chopped

  1 Tsp. Salt

  1 Tsp. Pepper

  1 Can Stewed Tomatoes

  1 8 Oz. Can Tomato Sauce

  1 Cup Uncooked Rice

  1 Cup Water

  8 Oz. Grated Cheese

  Cut top off bell peppers. Scrape seeds out and rinse with water. Place peppers in large pan and completely cover with water. Boil for 5 minutes. Drain and set aside.

  Brown hamburger, onion, salt, and pepper. Add stewed tomatoes, tomato sauce, rice and water. Bring to boil. Lower heat and simmer for 15 minutes. Stir in grated cheese. Stuff hamburger mixture into peppers. Top with cheese.

  Bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes.

  Clarissa

  “Mommy, wake up, sleepyhead.”

  Dante’s voice jerks me out of a dream. Dante?

  Stunned at his sudden appearance, I pull my sheet up to my neck, darting my gaze around the bed. “W-what are you doing here?”

  I feel around on the mattress for my Womanizer and begin to panic when it’s not beneath the sheet where I left it.

  My panic escalates when behind my son, I see a set of electric blue eyes.

  Please, God, get me out of this.

  But you probably shouldn’t ask God for a solid when you’ve been caught with your hand in your pants.

  “We got home last night.”

  “Huh?” I fumble beneath my bedspread, trying to subtly search for the evidence. “I n-need to get dressed. Some privacy, please.”

  “What’s wrong?” Troy asks. “You look a little pale. Didn’t you sleep well?” His feigned innocence has me on high alert.

  “Mommy, we have something very important to ask you.”

  Managing to find my voice, I look over at Dante. “Why aren’t you at the Leightons? Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Troy came to pick me up.”

  “What?”

  “He took me to get a slushy, made me brush my teeth, and read me a story. He slept in my room to give you some rest.”

  “You slept here?” I ask, sinking further into the bed, my hand still searching and coming up empty.

  “Missing something?” Troy asks, his smirk now a full-on grin.

  “What’s wrong with your hair?” Dante asks, tilting his head.

  “Ah, yeah,” Troy adds, “it does look a little bunched in the back, doesn’t it?” You know that moment in Forrest Gump where Forrest and little Forrest both tilt their heads while watching TV and Jenny finds it endearing? This is NOT that moment.

  “Get out! Get out both of you. I’ll talk to you in a minute.”

  “It’s okay, Mommy,” Troy snickers, “It’s perfectly healthy to want some me time.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Go.”

  “But we need to ask you a question,” Dante whines.

  “Give me a minute, son, to p-put on some clothes.” And find my sex toy. “Go on.”

  Troy ushers him out of the room but not before mouthing the words “top drawer.”

  I waste no time racing to my dresser and seeing that the toy was strategically hidden beneath my underwear.

  He knows I used it.

  He knows I used it!

  Then it hits me. The review! Praying I didn’t post it, I scramble to my laptop and see not only is it published, but there are seventeen comments. The last one made by an unmistakable culprit.

  Pleasure-Ranger12

  Did it ever occur to any of you that it’s not the womanizer’s fault he’s got such a bad rep? That the title was slapped on him because of his performance alone and not the totality of his makeup? What if the womanizer has the best of intentions for his future model and thinks the less risky model is a douche who can’t give the woman what she needs? Contrary to popular belief, not all models are made the same. Take a chance, goodconsumer90.

  Covering my mouth with my hand, I read the comment over and over. Troy not only knows I masturbated, but that I then debated with trolls on the internet about my attraction to him.

  I want to slice open my mattress and crawl inside.

  It’s worse than being picture of the week in the People of Walmart.

  Standing in a scalding shower, I bury my face in my hands as R&B drifts through the house, and I hear the rustling of pans.

  How can I face him?

  And why is Dante here? The woman in me is mortified, but the mother in me overrules as I quickly towel off to see why Dante came home early.

  Avoiding Troy’s eyes, I pour some juice for Dante while Troy wh
isks some eggs.

  “Okay, what happened?”

  “They were mean to me, so Troy came and picked me up.”

  I pull him to stand in front of me, kneeling down, my heart breaking.

  “They were mean to you, baby?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t care because I’m going to find some friends who get me. I have to find my tribe.”

  I look over to Troy, who smiles down at Dante.

  “That’s…good advice.”

  “Troy wants to take me someplace special and spend the night. Is that okay?”

  I look over to Troy and see he’s watching me carefully as he cracks another egg.

  “Yes. I guess that would be fine. But after breakfast. How about pancakes?”

  “Troy’s making French toast.”

  “But your favorite is pancakes.”

  “Nothing wrong with French toast,” Troy taunts. “Some people would say it’s a better breakfast model.”

  “Pancakes are just as delicious,” I argue.

  “I disagree.” He bites his lips as he flips a piece of toast in the pan.

  “Are you really going to do this?” I ask him, standing, as Dante takes his seat.

  Troy turns to me, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why don’t we let Dante decide?”

  “Don’t bring him into this, you weirdo.”

  “Weird is good,” Dante speaks up in his defense. “Weirdo means you won’t ever be boring.”

  This he’s just learned, no doubt from the man whose mouth is lifting at the stove.

  “Yes, it is, I was paying your fa-” Troy’s eyes widen, and his smile blinds me. I’m so flustered I’ve almost outed him myself.

  “It was a compliment.”

  Dante tilts his head. “Are you okay, Mommy?”

  “I’m fine, I would just prefer pancakes!”

  “Not what I read,” Troy mumbles.

  I can feel the blush creep up my neck. I’ve hit my limit. “Troy, a word.”