The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs 2)

“Nothing, it’s hot in here. Did you turn the heat on?”

He shakes his head. “No. It’s seventy degrees outside.”

“Oh, well, I’m hot.” I begin to fan my face, and his smirk widens as he trails his eyes down my body.

“Are you?”

“Hmm. So, what’s your question?”

“I was hoping,” he takes off his glasses and folds them in his hand, “that maybe I could go trick-or-treating with both of you next week.”

“Sure. Y-yes. That would be okay.”

When he hears my stutter, he smiles so big it reaches his eyes, and I grip my purse at the strap so hard I think I’ll break it.

Get it together, woman. This is how you got pregnant.

Everything about him is huge, his presence, his smile—his fucking blinding white smile.

“Awesome.”

“Awesome?” I ask, confused.

“Yeah, you just said I can go trick-or-treating.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

He draws his brows. “You okay? Are you getting sick?”

“Sick, no?” I open my mouth a mile wide to fake a yawn, but it backfires because I’m no actress. Instead of looking tired, I look like I’m ready for a bite of something from a fork he’s not holding out.

“Tonsils look good,” he chuckles.

“I’m clearly tired!” His eyes widen, a full-on laugh escaping him when he hears the fight or flight in my tone. I used to be a lot better at this. I used to have game, but this man single-handedly ruined it by way of a stretched-out vagina and sand dollar sized nipples.

“Thank you for taking care of the yard.”

“So polite,” he taunts, taking another step forward and playfully tapping my nose. “Dante has impeccable manners, just like his mother.”

He smells heavenly, like man soap and fresh cologne. I gather my wits from the hit of it and remove myself from arm’s reach. “Thanks.”

“He’s so well mannered, half the time I forget I’m talking to a kid.”

“Yeah, he’s got a way about him.”

“So does his mother.”

I ignore the compliment and head for my kitchen. “Maybe I’m not feeling well. I’ll make some tea. Would you like some?”

“No, thanks, I need to get ready for work.”

I look at the clock and see it’s close to midnight. “Sorry, I didn’t expect to be out so late.”

“You know I’m good with it.”

“You didn’t get nearly enough sleep.”

He shrugs. “I got a nap after class before I came over, and I’ll grab another hour at home.”