The Guy on the Right (The Underdogs 1)

I glare at him through my tears. “You’re not who I thought you were.”

“Funny, you’re exactly who I thought you were.”

“Go straight to hell, Houseman.”

Chin quivering, I try and pull myself together from all sides as he climbs the steps to his porch. At the door, he glances at me over his shoulder, his eyes swimming with hurt.

“How could you—” he shakes his head as tears slide down his jaw and my heart stops beating.

“Theo—”

“I always knew—” he says hoarsely before swallowing, another tear sliding down his cheek. “I knew if you saw him, that would be the end of us.”

“Well, that only proves how much you know,” I cry with an identical tear running down my own face, “because I chose you over him months ago.”

I leave him there, because nothing I say at this point will matter as much as if I’d said it before. My hesitance cost me dearly, my past caught up with me. And my words came much, much too late.

Grannism—You aren’t hungry, you’re bored.

Laney

“Where is she?” I hear Devin say from the porch.

Great, an intervention. It’s not like I’ve emptied two cans of Cheez Whiz in my mouth today. I’ve cut back to one. I push the empty box of Famous Amos away with my foot and bury my head under a couch pillow just as the screen door slams.

“Shit, it’s worse than I thought.”

I groan through the fabric. “Don’t you dare. I’m just having a moment.”

“You’ve been having a moment for the last two weeks.”

“Lookie here,” I say, sitting and pulling the pillow to shield the carb bulge of my belly, “I’m just bored.”

Devin pushes at my feet to make room for her on the couch as I retreat to my corner. “He’s hurting too, I assure you.” She surveys the coffee table. “I see we’re still on a strict diet of whiskey and carbs.”

“And it’s of no consequence to you.”

“No, but your ass is going to pay the price.”

Letting out a harsh breath, I give her a dead stare. “Always a pleasure, buddy, it’s naptime. Kindly see yourself out.”

“Nope, we’re getting out of here. I’ve gotten clearance from the hubs for a girls’ night, and you need it.”

“I need no such thing, I’m happy here.”

“Yes, I can tell by the crumbs collecting in your cleavage you’re living life to the fullest. You plannin’ on feastin’ on that half a cookie later?”

I pull a stray piece of cookie from my chest. “Okay, maybe I could use a shower.”

My mother joins us, busying herself in the kitchen, aka eavesdropping.

“You’re eating your feelings. It’s not healthy.”

“I’m eating because these things are delicious!”

She eyes me skeptically.

“Fine,” I say, clearing the contents of the table in my arms and walking them over to the trash before resting my hands on my hips. “Happy?”