The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs 2)

Clarissa: Fine. I’ll be back at 8:30.

I just lost any leverage I had in feeling angry. I’ll have to choose another day to plead my case. He should know of me. What I did was wrong, but what she’s doing right now isn’t right, either.

Clarissa retrieves him an hour later, and as I carry a sleeping Dante home, I notice her lips are swollen from kissing, there’s a bounce in her step and a light in her eyes. It’s then I know she’s hopeful. Hopeful that tonight was the start of something. A something she could never picture with me. For years I’ve watched her and feel in a way I know her, but in truth, I don’t. I’ve had a lot of time to conjure her up in my imagination, but that’s the extent of it. She could never look at me the way she did that night, and I’ve long since moved on from my selfish fantasies.

I lay him down in his bed and pull his covers up before lingering at his bedroom door. It’s another parent thing I haven’t had a chance to enjoy, and I take my time, watching him settle into position. I push down the resentment, because keeping the peace is more important for now, for him. Everything I do and will do from this moment forward will be for him.

“How did it go?” Clarissa asks on a whisper.

“He had an upset stomach most of the night, but pretty well.” I shut his door.

“Keep it cracked.”

I follow her instructions and turn to look at her. “So, I’m guessing the date went well.”

Her crystalline blue eyes narrow. “None of your business.”

I try and disguise the tick of my jaw. “You’re right. Goodnight.”

She sighs as if drawing her patience. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m not being fair. Thank you, sincerely, for the clothes and shoes.”

“Don’t thank me. It’s part of my job.”

She nods. “Right. Well, it was a relief for me, so can I thank you for that?”

I grin. “Sure. And the date? Or are we not sharing yet?”

“It went very well. For the first time in a long time, I agreed to another.”

I tap my temple. “Yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? What was the last guy’s name? He was a total douche.”

She frowns. “Paul was not a douche. We just didn’t have a lot in common. And it’s weird you know these things.”

“You refused to let me in. But you let me watch.”

Her cheeks redden, and she turns and walks down the hall leading toward the front door. I can’t help but study her wavy crimson hair and skin—though sun-kissed—that’s pale in comparison. She’s incredibly beautiful and although only a foot away, entirely out of reach. “I felt safer.”

I’m distracted, but I catch her whisper.

“What?”

She turns to me when she reaches the door and lets out a breath. “I felt safer knowing you were out there. He was so small then, and the lock was flimsy.”

“Really?” It’s an olive branch, and I eagerly take it.

“Yeah. When I saw your truck in the parking lot, I was able to sleep better.”

She looks at me, curious. “You were always reading. Had your cabin light on. What were you reading?”

“Studying, mostly.”

“Ah, right.” Her expression changes with my confession, and I feel some of the tension return. We reach the front door, and she gives me a look that tells me she’s about to level with me. “Look, for Dante’s sake, I really want to try this, at least for civility, but it’s going to take me a little time to get used to it.”

“I get that.”

“And I can’t promise friendship.”

Slowly, I nod. “All right.”