The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs 2)

“Yeah. I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick lately.”

“I can’t stop thinking about the look on your mother’s face. I’m…I feel terrible.”

“It’s time to move on.”

“I would love that,” I place my hand over his where it rests on my face. “Are we okay?”

“We’re okay,” he murmurs, sliding his hand down to push the hair off my shoulders.

“He was a gift. You know? I never saw more for my life than being a teacher. I had no fancy plans other than that. I’m living my dream, Troy. It might not seem like much of one, but I’ve wanted to teach since I was a little girl and having our son, I think it made me a better pupil, and hopefully a better teacher. You deserve to live your dream too,” I say as he traces my jaw with a finger. “You’re so insanely talented. You’ll make it, I know you will.”

“Now, I’ve got an even better reason to make it happen.” He runs a hand down my arm, and I visibly shiver. His brow lifts.

“Like that, did you?”

“Maybe.”

He moves his hand back up before gently brushing his fingertips along my collar bone, and I shiver again.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, watching me intently. “You’re so responsive.”

“I remember that night,” I blurt. “When you asked me if I ever thought about it, I was embarrassed to tell you just how often I did. I still do.”

“Me too.”

“I think in a way, I hurt myself the day I showed up to your school. I built it up in my mind, the idea of you and me. I’d hoped that maybe you would be happy about the baby. About seeing me and…”

“It didn’t go down like that at all.”

“Not at all. But I do remember, Troy. And that night was…”

“Fucking amazing,” his voice drops as he cups the back of my head, and we both draw closer.

“Back then, we were a news at eleven headline waiting to happen.”

“But we aren’t now.”

“Not now, no,” I say breathlessly.

We’re close. My nipples draw tight beneath my sweater as his eyes rake over my face. “No more Brett?”

I bite my lip and turn my head back and forth.

“Why?”

“He wasn’t for me.”

“Any particular reason?” We’re a breath apart, my body completely alive, wired, the pull too much to ignore.

Parker’s voice has us both jumping back.

“Sausages. I bought them.” The condiments clink together as sh

e jerks open the fridge. “I bought Summer Sausage. Who ate it?” A second later, Parker enters the living room in nothing but slippers and a long T-shirt, her phone in her hand. “Why is it so dark in here? Are y’all watching Love Island?”

“Oh, Lord. It’s an Ambien sleepwalk.” I hang my head and stand before I make my way toward her. “Come on, babe, let’s get you back to bed.”

Parker turns to me speaking as if she’s not in a prescription-induced coma. “Do you smell pickles? Ohhhh, let’s go to Target.”