The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs Book 2)

by Kate Stewart

  She snorts out her disgust. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Right,” I nod and take a step back. “I’ll go.”

  With the door open an inch, she pauses, seeming to run through her thoughts. Hopeful, I step back into her space as she leans over in a whisper. “He could use some new shoes. Boys size seven and a half.”

  I chuckle. “Big feet, huh?”

  She glares at me.

  “Sorry. Okay, what else?”

  She bites her lips, and I know it’s her pride keeping her silent. “Nothing.”

  “Clarissa, please.”

  Her shoulders drop. “I wasn’t able to get him many new school clothes. I’ll text you his sizes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I should have known better.” She seems lost in her thoughts. “Speak, or even think of the devil, and he shows up at your door.”

  “So, you’ve been thinking about me?”

  My comment snaps her back into the present. “Get over yourself, Troy. This is for him.”

  “I know.”

  I have no fucking idea how I’m going to dress my son because I just gave the last few hundreds I had to my new roommate. Her voice cuts through my rambling thoughts.

  “I’ll never forgive you.”

  Lifting my eyes to hers, I see the hurt there. It’s residual. And it’s then I know she does remember that night, and exactly how good it was, and it strikes me hard just how badly I fumbled with her.

  “I don’t expect you to.”

  She hesitates briefly before she opens the door and shuts it soundly behind her.

  The ball lodged in my throat as I cross the grass is nothing compared to the voice screaming inside my head.

  Don’t fuck this up.

  Erica’s Crockpot Fiesta Chicken

  Forensic Scientist, Indiana

  Makes 6 servings

  45 minutes

  4 Boneless, Skinless Chicken Breasts

  1 Packet Fiesta Ranch Mix

  1 Can Black or Pinto Beans

  1 Can Rotel

  1 Can Corn (not drained)

  1 8 oz. Block Cream Cheese

  Place chicken in crockpot and pour Fiesta Ranch Mix evenly over chicken. Pour beans, Rotel, and corn into the crockpot but do not stir them together. Lay block of cream cheese on top of mixture.

  Cover and cook on low for 4 to 5 hours or until chicken is tender. Remove and shred chicken. Add chicken back into the crockpot and stir well to mix all other ingredients together.

  Great served over rice or may be eaten with tortillas.

  Clarissa

  Toweling Dante off, I peek out the bathroom window for the umpteenth time as he tells me about his day. The first day of kindergarten is a breeze, according to my little man.

  “Jase is not as smart as me. Neither is ugly Carly.”

  “Not nice,” I remind him as he puts his hands on my shoulders, and I pull up his underwear, studying his profile. After seeing Troy up close a few days ago, I realized just how much he favored his father. It had been so long that I’d almost forgotten how striking, fuck that, how ridiculously hot Troy is. Even more so now. My baby’s wet lashes are as thick and long as his. His eyes the same brilliant blue.

  “Mommmmy,” Dante draws out, “did you hear me?”

  “No, buddy, what did you say?”

  “I said that Carly is ugly.”

  “Even if that’s your opinion, you keep it to yourself. Do you hear me? She could turn out to be a good friend one day.” He shakes his head beneath the towel in protest as I scrub off the excess moisture. Once he’s dry, I study Dante carefully to try and distinguish which of his features are mine.

  Noticing my scrutiny, he widens his eyes and leans in with his nose pressed to mine, drawing out my laugh.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Just looking, Peanut.”

  “I’m not a peanut. I’m getting bigger.” He flexes, and I end up on my butt in hysterics as he exaggeratedly shows off his muscles while pinching his hands making twin beaks and animatedly moving them back and forth. “These swans are legit.”

  I agree through my laugh. “So big.”

  “Don’t say it like that. I know you’re just playing when you say it like that.”

  “You may be getting big, but you’ll always be my baby,” I say, gathering his dirty clothes as he struggles with his shirt before poking his head through the hole. “I’m going to be as big as Troy one day.”

  I bite my lip, doing my best to hide my reaction. Hearing Troy’s name from his lips is earth-shattering. “There’s a really good chance you will be.”

  “I’ll be so big. You’ll see. Then I can tell Carly she’s ugly.”

  “No, son. You can never ever tell Carly she’s ugly. Ever. Being bigger doesn’t mean you can pop off at the mouth and hurt people’s feelings.”

  “I heard you tell Parker that Mr. Brown was destined for shit city.”

  “BOY!” I turn him to face me, eyes bulging.

  “Sorry, just saying it the way you said it.”

  “Do as I say, not as I do. I wasn’t insulting him, and I said he was destined to float shit creek. If you’re going to quote someone, do it correctly.”

  “K.” He looks up at me, confused. “Mommy, what’s a shit creek?”

  “Dante, let’s breathe for a second here. It’s been a long day. Let’s save the rest of the Spanish Inquisition for later. Don’t you have a video to make?”

  His face lights up. “Yes! I’m doing a review today!”

  “Awesome. Go ahead and make it while I get your dinner ready, and I’ll approve it after.”

  “K.” He runs off just after I get his sock on. In the kitchen, I unwrap some leftover Fiesta Chicken and slide it in the oven. Moving to the living room, I take my syllabus out from my leather brief and grab my red pen before getting cozy in my recliner. Teaching high school is challenging. Finding a way to keep kids interested in more than Instagram or Snapchat these days is damn near impossible.

  Last year was by far the hardest of my career, and I’m determined to turn things around this year and find new and creative ways to get them to interact during class. I’m a few days into my lesson plans when voices outside my window grab my attention. At the blinds, I curse my curiosity. Troy admitted he watched, and that he saw me watch. I did know he was watching. Of course I knew. I’d been aware of him since he left the present on my porch along with the envelope full of cash. Truth be told, I’d spotted him before that but refused to acknowledge it. When he left the gift, he gave me no choice but to recognize his lingering presence. But, no matter how many times our eyes met over the crown of his son’s head while I walked him into my apartment, or how remorseful or pitiful his expression, especially in my weakest moments, I’d always slammed the door behind us. And still, he’d refused to stay away. His truck parked facing my apartment, on guard.

  My disgust and contempt for what he did was by far the easiest grudge I’ve ever held. Living through labor alone had sealed my anger. He’d robbed me of the chance to experience it with someone capable of feeling the same type of emotion. Not a kid who had a curfew and a prom date waiting. I had no intention of letting him back into my headspace. But one long look at him on my doorstep had made it impossible not to. Of the words he spoke, he seemed so sincere in his apology, in his eagerness to prove himself, at least concerning Dante. But he’d also seemed sincere the night he talked my panties off. Years ago, with anger being my motivator, I swore what I said was true. I would never get over what he did. The way he manipulated his way between my legs.

  I could never trust him for myself, but for Dante?

  He’s been more persistent in the last few years with his gentle stalking. He’d respected my wishes from afar trying to be a silent support. I’d torn up his checks and, even in the most desperate of times, refused to cash one.

  Over the years, I’ve tried to rationalize what he did, tempted at times to open the door and wave hi
m in to get temporary relief from the hellacious days, but I never did. Because deep down there was still that voice of pre-baby Clarissa, who held too much resentment for his disrespect for my life, my career, for my plans.

  And what would happen if he got a pro ball contract? Was his son a hobby?

  Still, if he took measures to move so close just for the chance, who am I to deny him a relationship he could very well legally fight for? He’s given me all the power, though I was forced to make the decision on the spot. Troy might not be able to afford an attorney now, but the minute he signs a pro contract, he will be able to afford the best. An unethical decision is not illegal. Lying doesn’t make him an unfit parent. He does have rights.

  “Damn you,” I whimper as I watch Troy and a few of his friends unload his king cab. “Must be nice,” I stare at his truck with longing before darting my gaze to my ancient SUV, which only has one AC setting. Freezing. Which is helpful on sweaty ass-to-leather days, which Texas is notorious for. Still, I can’t deny my little man and I have come a long way from the one-bedroom apartment with the broken dishwasher. Admiring Troy’s physique as he lifts a table from the bed of the truck, I sigh, resting my temple against the window. I’ve got an annoyingly clear view of him due to the last of the sun setting behind him.

  “Why can’t you be ugly like Carly?” Bright blue eyes blaze my way and pin me where I stand. He knows. He knows I’m watching him. His intrusive, penetrating stare followed by the twist of his lips and flash of teeth are enough to have me jumping back.

  Busted.

  “Shit,” I mumble, mortified, just as my table lamp goes down. I know, without a doubt, he saw the room go dark.

  “Mommy?! What did you break?” Dante shouts from his bedroom like he’s scolding a child. Thanking God for my son’s laziness in seeing for himself, I move to grab the broom and dustpan.

  “Just a light bulb. It was hot.”

  “You owe me three dollars for today! Five dollars from last week! Curse monster!”

  “Yes, son. But you said shit twice today, so we’re even!”

  “Give me a dollar and we’re even. Now be quiet, I’m recording!”

  Yeah, well, your ‘hot as hell athlete daddy’ just moved in next door, and your ‘haven’t had a proper penis in ages’ mommy is hard up. How about a little grace?

  “Don’t talk to me like that, buddy, or I’ll soap your tongue!”

  “Mommmmy. I’m on take three now because you can’t be quiet!”

  “Sorry!”

  “Gah, now take four!”

  I sigh and try my best to keep my laugh quiet. The boy is serious about his videos on his YouTube channel, which he titled The Legit Life. In a way, it scares me, but he has enough personality for the two of us, it keeps him busy, and none of his info—including his name—is public, which gives me a little relief. I’m letting him have his outlet while monitoring it like a hawk. There’s a whole hell of a lot more he could be discovering instead of reviewing games, and other vlogger’s videos. So, like the old married couple we are, I’ve compromised. My son, though not quite six, is very much the man of the house.

  Due to his arrival and unbelievably early skill set, I’ve never been in much need of a handyman. And I have no idea where he got it, but the boy is my own personal superhero. He can hook up anything with the word ‘smart’ attached to it in a matter of minutes. He’s taught me more in his near six short years than any other human I’ve ever met. He’s smart in a way that scares me and far more advanced than I can grapple with.

  Once I’ve swept up my lamp, I resume my seat in the chair just as a soft tap sounds on my front door. I know exactly who it is.

  I open it with my hip hitched and both hands on my side.

  “Troy.” My greeting is anything but friendly.

  Towering over me, his ‘I just ate the canary’ smile is dazzling, and I want nothing more than to wipe it off his face. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay. I saw your spill from the street.”

  “I’m fine, unannounced neighbor.”

  He leans in, all six-foot-four inches of man steel, his coppery blond hair soaked in sweat, his T-shirt riding high on his bicep.

  “Haven’t had a girl fall for me that fast in some time. I’m flatt—”

  The door is shut and locked before he can finish his sentence, but I hear his muted chuckle on the other side just as Dante comes out from his bedroom. “Who was that?”

  Satan? My arch-nemesis? The living, breathing reason women stereotype?

  “Just the mailman.”

  “No, it wasn’t. It was Troy.”

  “Fine, it was Troy. He heard the lamp break, and he was checking on me. Ready to eat?”

  Dante walks past me and opens the door.

  “Hey, Troy!”

  “Dante, no!”

  Troy turns back, amused by the address of his son and jogs over to where Dante stands, his arms crossed. Out of breath, Troy leans in close, his hands on his knees to lessen the difference in height. “Yeah, buddy, what’s up?”

  “I’m the man of this house. If you want to know if my Mommy’s okay, you ask me.” Troy’s smile slips, just as Dante slams the door in his face for the second time.

  I widen my eyes, mortified. “Dante!”

  “You always whisper to Parker, ‘monkey see, monkey do.’ Well, I’m your monkey.”

  Shit. Round one million, point Dante.

  Troy

  Scrubbing my jaw, I step back from the front door as Kevin howls with laughter behind me.

  “Damn, dude! That kid is off the chain!”

  “Tell me ‘bout it,” I mutter as I take the steps down from the porch, defeated.

  “Is she as hot up close as she looked standing from here?”

  I glare at him as he lifts the bulk of my mattress from the yard.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  “That has to be the hottest fucking MILF in the state of Texas.”

  Kevin drops my mattress choking just as I withdraw my hand from a swift blow to his throat.

  I’m an impulsive man by nature, but that nature has to change if I’m going to stick in the mind and heart of my son. It’s my first order of business as a new father to keep those impulses in check. Kevin is my first fail.

  Oops.

  “What the,” he coughs out, trying to regain his breath as I lift my mattress and leave him kneeling on the grass.

  I know I don’t have a chance in hell of a repeat of the night my son was conceived, but I have to admit it’s been hard watching her over the years and wondering what if I hadn’t fucked up. The truth is, she was out of my league then, and even if I hadn’t lied, I wouldn’t have had a shot due to her job and the age difference. She was a teacher, and I was a teenager. If I’d started with the truth, she would have laughed me out of the bar, not to mention blown my cover. I’d been tossing back suds after hard days for a year at that place. I had the calloused hands of a hard-working man and the bills and responsibilities to go with it, so I had absolutely no issues bending the law or the rules to take the edge off. The edge of a life my mother had so tirelessly tried to pave smooth for the both of us.

  My looks were deceiving then, and I’d used them to my advantage. Life never really had been fair to the Jenners, so my ‘fuck it’ mentality was par for the course. It seemed a harmless lie that night. Clarissa had been on the prowl. It’d been easy to tell the minute she stepped up to the bar and ordered a martini in her little black skirt. Once our eyes met and she took the seat next to me with a knowing smirk, there was no turning back, at least not for me. We were both clear it was a hookup. Never in a million years did I think it would bring us to this point, and neither did she. But the truth is, ‘all in good fun’ sometimes comes with serious consequences, and I’ve been careful since not to let any of my hookups go too far without making myself crystal fucking clear.

  I know that my verbiage at times may be a bit harsh with the ladies, I can see it in the faces of the women
I bed. That, in and of itself, has given me my reputation. But I live with my guilt, and my regret daily, so the words tend to come easy when it’s time to speak up.

  I fuck like there is no tomorrow because there isn’t. My plans are ball and making a connection with my boy. That’s my future. That and making sure my mother never has to work again. Pamela Jenner gave me a life, the best life she could having had me at age seventeen, and marrying my piece of shit father on a whim a few years later to make her family seem legitimate. The only relief she got out of that union was the day Dad slammed the door shut with his departure.

  So far, the love of my life has been an inanimate object, a pigskin ball, and the feel of it in my hands as I fly toward the end zone. Clarissa is right to be leery of me for what I’ve done, though I’m capable of more. But since that day at school, I’ve been hard-pressed to aim for more than playing pro ball.

  That day changed my life in more ways than one. It was my wake-up call. The first lesson that Clarissa unknowingly taught me was that no one with a hard life has a free pass to be reckless, careless, or heartless in any situation.

  And even though I’m here by the skin of my teeth, I can’t resist egging her on. She’d been watching me for a good five minutes before I called her on it. That’s been our game for six years. Old habits die hard, and the only reason I caught her is because I’d been looking her way myself. I can’t think, for one second, this is a mistake. I won’t. But every move I make has to be the right one.

  After lugging the mattress up to my bedroom, Kevin and I stick it on the frame before he leaves me to unpack. After sorting half my shit, I sneak a look through my blinds to see Dante playing in his room. In about five minutes, Clarissa is going to walk in and have him read her a story. Last year it was just the opposite. My son reads now. I’m not sure on what level, but he’s getting pretty good at it because he finishes the books in record time compared to how long it used to take him. He’s so smart, my son.