The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs, #2)(34)

“What’s wrong?” Clarissa asks, padding back into the living room.

“I don’t know…s-something’s wrong.” It feels like my skin has caught fire. I begin to rip at the latex and struggle with the zipper as she giggles while watching me.

“Shit, don’t just stand there laughing, Clarissa, help me!”

“Calm down,” she says, circling me to grip the zipper, “let me at it,” she instructs through residual laughter. “Stop struggling.”

“It burns!” I whisper-yell. “Hurry.”

“Oh no, are you allergic to latex?”

“I don’t think so, I don’t know. Please,” I plead. “Stop laughing. It’s not funny, it feels like my nuts are cooking.”

She’s full-on laughing while I rip at the collar, not giving a shit about the integrity of the suit. “I’m serious. Please, please,” I beg as she finally gets my cape off and fumbles with the zipper. Once it’s down, I rip at the costume until it’s at my feet.

Clarissa steps back. “Oh, my God.” The look on her face paralyzes me with fear.

“Is it bad?”

“Go, g-get in a cold shower right now. You’re having an allergic reaction of some sort.

“I wore this the other night for a few hours,” I shriek as I haul ass down the hall. She’s hot on my heels. “It’s probably the heat.” I shut the bathroom door behind me for a quick nut check and am relieved when I see they’re angry red but still intact along with the grand commander. Upon further inspection, I notice I’m covered in tiny bumps, the boiling rash going from my neck to my groin and starting to erupt on my thighs. The upside is, I may never have to shave my balls again. “What in the hell!?”

A sharp knock on the door has me cracking it open.

“Here, in case it’s not a heat rash,” she thrusts a tiny cup at me. “Children’s Benadryl, it may help some.”

“It burns,” I whimper, taking the cup and tossing the contents back like a shot.

She bites back a smile, retrieving the cup as she barks orders. “Get in a cold shower, use the kid soap because it’s got no perfumes or dyes. Gently rub, don’t scrape. I’ll run next door and get you some clothes, don’t put your underwear back on.”

I lift a brow. “Because?”

“Because if—” She rolls her eyes. “Yep, my boy definitely has too much of your DNA. Just do what I say.”

I grunt, the urge to rake my sack unbearable. “Fine.”

“P-poor Batman’s got a rash,” she snorts before belly laughter erupts from her. Narrowing my eyes, I shut the door on her as her amusement echoes down the hall. “Guess, G-g-Gotham isn’t safe tonight.”





Jenny’s Cream Cheese and Picante Dip

Intoxicologist/Bartender, Dallas



Makes 2 Cups





5 minutes


2 8 Oz. Packages Cream Cheese – softened

1 1/2 Cup Picante Sauce (hot, medium or mild)

2 Tbsp. Lemon Juice – optional



Beat cream cheese and picante with hand mixer until smooth and creamy. Add lemon juice and stir well. Serve with tortilla chips or fresh vegetables.



Note: May blend in a food processor instead of using hand mixer.





Clarissa



Thankfully Theo was home because I forgot to grab Troy’s keys. Once I explained the situation, he led me to Troy’s bedroom. Inside, I can’t help but notice the view he has from his window into Dante’s bedroom. I wonder how often he watches us. But in truth, I know. Troy has always been diligent with his stalking. But can it really be considered stalking when it’s your own child you’re watching over? I decide it can’t.

I’ve been just as diligent in making him pay. And pay he has. It’s clear with every pleading look he gives me when I retrieve Dante that he wants back into my good graces. And I’m still trying to let it happen.

Since our arrangement started and due to Troy’s best behavior, guilt has been building within me for the years Dante’s missed without his father. But a part of me still stands firm in my conviction that he’d committed the worst wrong of all wrongs, threatening my livelihood, all I worked for, purposefully, with his lie. And in all truth, I never once thought as a teenager, Troy would be as eager to be in his son’s life as he’s proven to be. It was a duplicitous lie, one that could have cost me dearly, but it didn’t. And maybe I just need to take that fact at face value.

With my demand that he stay away, I gave him an out. A way of living his life carefree and without consequence. Sure, I did it out of anger and outrage, but I’ve never really understood why he kept coming back. Those early years, I could not, for the life of me, let it go, I couldn’t let him in.

Now, I hate that Troy has me questioning myself and my decisions, but I can’t imagine the last six years without Dante. Have I committed the same sin with Troy by deeming him unforgivable? I’ve taken years away he will never get back.

Deciding to table my struggle for the moment, I get back to business and glance around Troy’s room, mildly surprised how tidy he is. Then again, I know he’s been raised by his mother. He reminded me on the porch when he’d confronted me and must’ve forgotten some of our conversation the night we met.