The Guy on the Right (The Underdogs 1)

More silence.

“Okay, that’s one word. Here’s another, clitoris, learn how to find it and then worship it, because it may save you some relationship miles.” I can hear the aggravation on the other side of the line. She’s close, maybe three feet away and has no idea I’m sitting here, but I’m way too entertained to speak up.

“Because I’m bored. And I don’t like your friends. They all stare at me. And who in the hell asks a woman for a rain check to play Fortnite? I will not play second-fiddle to a video game.”

My lips turn up due to the twang in her accent as she rants about his treatment of her. She feels overlooked and undervalued. It’s the same shit I’ve heard day in and day out since my sisters started dating. Their collective complaints were the first to give me the heads-up on how to treat my ex, Nora. As much good as that did me. The stranger’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

“How dare you! Fine. Nope. Nope. Eat shit, Patrick, you’re disgusting. I knew better. Yeah, well, I loved you too until about five minutes ago. Bye.”

The sound of a phone hitting the fence a few yards away jars me out of my thoughts. “Two months!” She says, pacing the yard. “Lort, I just lost two months to a guy I had to lend gas money to! Damnit,” erupts out of her right before vomit hits my shoe.

“This night just keeps getting better and better,” I laugh at the shadowy figure of the girl who just shit on her boyfriend, only to turn and spew on my favorite chucks.

“Er mah globd!” She manages through the acid barreling out of her mouth.

“Don’t speak, this can only get worse,” I order, before standing and sliding my shoe against the grass while I pull her hair back. She jumps at my touch but relaxes when she senses I’m not a threat. The smell of sickly-sweet regurgitated fruit permeates the air making my nostrils flare. It’s all I can do to keep from gagging with her.

“Awesome,” I mutter as she wretches an ungodly amount of liquid from her body. “If this were a sport, you would take gold.”

Her back jumps as if she’s trying to laugh. When her tank is finally empty, she wipes her mouth and turns to me, keeping her head down to spare me her breath. “What were you doing eavesdropping?”

“Eavesdropping? Are you kidding? The neighbors two streets over heard that.”

“Did I get anything on you?”

“Just my shoe, I think. I’ll survive. Hold on a second, I felt a hose somewhere near where I was sitting.” I let go of her hair and step back. “And since I have absolutely no desire to go back into that house and you’re sure to be thirsty after depleting the liquid in your body, I say we multi-task.”

“K,” she says, her hair shielding the majority of her face. It’s not like I can see her anyway, it’s so pitch-black in this part of the yard we can barely make out each other’s silhouettes.

I search through the prickly bushes and twist the knob earning myself a few pricks along the way. “Why in the hell would anyone plant prickly bushes around a hose?”

“Can’t find the spicket?”

I chuckle. “You mean spigot? Who says spicket anyway?”

“Me, because that’s what it is.”

Turning the knob, I let the water run briefly over my shoe before offering her the hose. She takes it and eagerly drinks.

“Take it easy, we don’t want a repeat of your impression of a fountain.”

“Har, har. To hell with this night,” she says between long gulps. “How long were you sitting there listening to me?”

“Uhhhhh,” I run a hand through my hair. “Like right before DICK, DICK, DICK?”

“You should’ve said something.”

“And interrupted that rant? No, thanks. I prefer to keep my limbs. Besides, I was here first before you came walking up with your drama.”

She ignores that statement. “Well, he is a dick.”

“I believe you.” Head still spinning, I reclaim my seat a safe distance from the newly-drunken bush.

“Why?” She asks, turning off

the faucet and jumps back when the bush bites her hand. “Ouch.”

“Told you.”