The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs 2)

“Wax you?”

“The only thing worse than being the old lady who talks to her shoes is the old lady with a unibrow and a mustache that talks to her shoes. Don’t let that be me, buddy. Please, don’t. I’ll set up a fund specifically for waxing. Promise me.”

“First,” I say taking a right that leads us toward home, “you won’t end up in a home because you’ve got me.”

“You’ll be married.”

“I’ll outlive him.”

“Great. You’ll be mopey, and I’ll be hairy.”

“Hush. When are you coming home?”

“Not for another three weeks at the least.”

“Gah, this sucks. I miss you.”

“Same here.”

“Sorry about your date.”

“I have a chest full of tartar sauce to clean up. I swear these tits are a shelf.”

“You’re nuts,” I giggle.

“Well, dinner was on him, so I went bananas with the fish and chips. It was the least he could do for orgasm denial.”

“Agreed.”

“Clarissa?”

Her tone turns serious, and instantly, I wish she were in front of me. I hate that her job requires so m

uch travel. We’ve been inseparable since our freshman year at Grand, more so after I gave birth to the love of her life.

“Yeah, babe?”

“He’s out there, right?”

“Yes, and he’ll love you like crazy.”

“Swear?”

“Swear.”

“Sorry to be needy.”

“It was a bad date. You’re not needy. And starting something there would be pointless anyway, your home is here.”

“True. Kiss that kid for me.”

“Will do. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“Now, chin up and go clean that tartar off those hooters.”

“On it.”