The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs Book 2)

by Kate Stewart

  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 briefs 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.”

  “We are nothing alike.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I’m with someone.”

  “Break it off.”

  “I’m happy with him.”

  “Are you?”

  I narrow my eyes across the small expanse of yard between us.

  “Maybe he’s what you need, not what you want. What if I can give you both?”

  “You assume too much and know nothing of my relationship.”

  “Can’t be much of a relationship. He didn’t call or text once the whole time we were together tonight.”

  “He’s busy, and we’re not exclusive. Not yet.”

  “You know why guys don’t do exclusive at first, Clarissa? It’s because they aren’t at all serious about the relationship, but want all the benefits. You shouldn’t play into that. That’s fucking bullshit. You deserve so much better.”

  “Says the guy who escorts a different coed out of his house every week.”

  “It’s not all that often, and they aren’t you.”

  I snort. “You can run lines all night, Jenner, I’m well versed in bullshit. Pretty words don’t work on me. Never have. If something happens, it’s because I want it to.”

  “Believe it or not, I’m serious. If you were mine, I wouldn’t let an hour go b
y without proving it. Get back here and let me show you just how good we can be.”

  “Troy—”

  “Fine. Put the physical aside, it can wait. What if we do this right? Take our time. What if we work, what if we give Dante a real family?”

  “Stop, okay, just stop. I’m with Brett. I’m hanging up.”

  I end the call and see him hang his head before he disappears from the window. Gathering some clothes, I meet him at the door of my house. He’s angry, I can see it in the tick of his jaw as he takes them from me. “Thanks.”

  “Troy, I’m sorry. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “I get it. You don’t think I’m good enough. It’s fine.” He drops the towel, and I can clearly see he’s hard. My jaw goes slack as I drink him in. Long, thick, and fucking perfect. That’s the best way to describe him. His body is a solid wall of muscle, every part of him masculine and worthy of worship, but the pissed off expression on his face is the biggest turn on of all, no matter how wrong it is. And it’s because I can picture the sex with him, the grudge fucking, and it’s tempting.

  Following my line of sight, he glances down at his cock and smirks. “At least you know the attraction is mutual.” His tone is anything but playful. I’ve hurt him by shooting him down. He tugs on new boxers and then pulls up his sweats before gathering his costume from the floor. Breathless, I stand in the middle of the room as he glances at me with contempt before shaking his head.

  “And women wonder why I don’t jump into commitment. Why I make my intentions clear. It’s because of this look, it’s because of these looks I get. My mother looked at my dad the same way. Either they’re afraid I’ll hurt them or afraid I won’t ever measure up to the daydreams they have of happily fucking ever after. News flash, maybe I won’t, maybe I can’t. I’m not perfect, but neither are they, and neither are you. But it’s expected of me somehow. To do the right things, say the right things.” He pulls his shirt down over his taut abs and draws my eyes away with his tone. “You and I may not be going anywhere, but I’m staying put. I’m not leaving my son. And I hope you hear me.” He walks over to where I stand and commands my eyes. “You keep punishing me for something you won’t let me apologize for, for something you won’t ever let me make up to you.” He rakes his teeth across his bottom lip. “But I want to, Clarissa. Oh, how I want to.”

  Swallowing, I stand mute while his emotions fly around me. Emotions he’s hidden well. “Fuck it,” he says in a tone filled with ice. “I’m under enough pressure. Thanks for saving me from more.” And with that, he shuts the door softly behind him, and I realize I’m still holding my breath.

  Troy

  My supervisor, Steven, nudges me and I pull out my earbuds.

  “Sup?”

  “You going to work through your whole break?” I look at the clock and see I’ve missed half of my lunch hour. “Shit. Thanks, man.” I stop my place on the line and sub out.

  Making my way toward the break room, I check my phone to see a text from Clarissa.

  Clarissa: Okay, don’t ever tell him I showed this to you.

  It’s four in the morning and way too late to reply, but I take a seat at the table with a sandwich in hand and click play on the video she sent.

  I can clearly tell Clarissa recorded behind a crack in Dante’s door while he tried his best to follow along on a Fortnite dance. A few seconds in, I damn near spit out my sandwich, watching him jerk his body while my own body tenses because I’m embarrassed for him. It’s painful. My kid has absolutely no rhythm. He’s got no chance of winning any female over with those dance skills.

  Knowing she won’t see my text due to the late hour, I respond anyway. We’ve pretty much been avoiding each other since I made a total ass of myself on Halloween, and I consider the text an olive branch.

  Troy: OMG, that’s hilarious. I feel like a dick for laughing, but the poor kid has no rhythm. Sad emoji.

  To my surprise, she replies.

  Clarissa: I’m just as guilty. Can you dance?

  Troy: What are you doing awake?

  Clarissa: I usually wake up once or twice at night, it started when he was a baby, and I’ve never really gotten back to a regular sleep pattern. It’s a mother’s curse. So, can you dance?

  Troy: I’m no Fred Astaire, but I’ve definitely got rhythm. Especially when it’s important. Winky face emoji

  Clarissa: Ugh. Leave it to you to go there. Rolling eyes emoji.

  Troy: My bad. Thanks for sharing the video. Our poor kid.

  Clarissa: It’s so sad. I hate laughing at him, but it’s hysterical. Have you watched his others?

  Troy: Yeah, it’s crazy how outspoken he is and totally different when he’s not on camera.

  Clarissa: You think that’s something to be concerned about?

  It hits me. She’s asking for advice or at least asking for my say about his well-being. It’s something.

  Troy: Maybe he’s just more comfortable expressing himself on camera. I was shy when I was his age up until high school.

  Clarissa: I can’t imagine that. Like at all.

  Troy: It’s the truth. It might surprise you to know I had confidence issues. What about you?

  Clarissa: I’m a pretty good dancer. I was on the drill team for a few years and then got bored. I had a healthy confidence growing up.

  Clarissa: You there?

  Troy: Trying not to picture you in tiny shorts kicking your legs up.

  Clarissa: How’s that going?

  Troy: I’m sporting a semi in the UPS break room, and I’m not alone.

  Clarissa: You’re such a man.

  Troy: Thank you. Want to send me a video of an old routine?

  Clarissa: Goodnight.

  Troy: Don’t go. I’ll behave.

  Clarissa: I have to be up in three hours to teach American youth.

  Troy: Do you like teaching?

  Clarissa: Love it, but this level is hard. Hard to keep them interested.

  Troy: I bet you’re a fantastic teacher. If I were your student, I’d sit up front.

  Clarissa: Uh huh.

  Troy: I would sharpen all your pencils for you.

  Clarissa: Bang my erasers too?

  Troy: Yep. Bring you an apple a day.

  Clarissa: I hate apples.

  Troy: How un-American.

  Clarissa: Deal with it.

  Troy: So, do you want me to try and teach him?

  Clarissa: He won’t dance with me. Wouldn’t hurt to try.

  Troy: That’s because you don’t listen to anything but old shit.

  Clarissa: Don’t insult my tastes. I get my love for R&B and old soul from my mother.

  Troy: How did she die? You never said.

  When she doesn’t answer for a full minute, I know I’ve overstepped.

  Troy: You don’t have to tell me.

  Clarissa: Heroin overdose. I wasn’t there.

  I read her text twice. It’s nothing I expected.

  Troy: Jesus. I’m so sorry.

  Clarissa: It was a long time ago.

  Troy: Still, that had to suck growing up without a mom. I can’t imagine life without mine.

  Clarissa: That’s why I’m so careful about my choices with Dante. I can’t help but be overly cautious. I won’t mix over the counter meds. I’ve never even hit a joint.

  Troy: I get it.

  Clarissa: Gross. Let’s change the subject before I look like more of a square.

  Troy: You’re a square for saying square. And no one can fault you for being cautious.

  Clarissa: I rarely tell anyone that’s how she died. I usually say heart attack.

  Troy: What did you tell Brett?

  Clarissa: Heart attack. I’ll be honest with him at some point, but he comes from a well-to-do family. I don’t know why I lied. It wasn’t my habit. I shouldn’t be ashamed.

  Troy: No, you shouldn’t.

  Clarissa: I better go to bed.

  Troy: Yeah. I’ve still got four hours left and then sc
hool and practice.

  Clarissa: You shouldn’t have been Batman for Halloween. You’re living more of a Superman kind of life.

  Troy: From you, that’s one hell of a compliment.

  Clarissa: Don’t run with it.

  Troy: It’s late, and I’ve caught you slipping when you’re vulnerable. I won’t read too much into it.

  Clarissa: Don’t go thinking I admire you.

  Troy: I wouldn’t dare. Sweet dreams.

  Clarissa: Goodnight.

  I can’t help myself, I smile for the full four hours of the rest of my shift for two reasons, the first being my baby mama thinks I’m Superman, the other is the fact that she’s not telling her boyfriend the truth about her past, but she’s revealing it to me. Maybe I need to try harder for something between us. For years I’ve watched with longing to hold my son the way she holds him in her arms, but now, now I’m imagining holding them both in the same possessive way. I went off on her without ever giving her a chance to grasp anything I was trying to convey. How could she have taken any words I said seriously with my hard dick swinging between us? I let impulse win. It was an immature way of revealing how I feel, what I want, by trying to seduce her instead of showing her what I am truly hoping for, not another shot between her legs, but at her heart. She is exactly the type of woman I should invest myself in. I need not look any further.

  Lisa’s Luscious Lemon Cream

  Vet Tech, Pennsylvania

  Makes 3 cups

  20 minutes

  2 Eggs

  1 Cup Sugar

  1/3 Cup Real Lemon Juice from Concentrate