The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs, #2)(43)

“Yes?” I ask, pulling into our driveway.

“Why is Troy asleep on our steps?”

“What?” I turn to see Troy passed out halfway to our porch, catching flies, his hand tucked in the waistband of his sweatpants.

I look back at Dante. “Uhhhh, maybe he’s sick?”

“Sick?”

“Why don’t you go inside and pick out some soup while I check on him.”

“Okay.” He darts over to where Troy lays passed out.

“YOU SICK, TROY?” Troy jumps up from where he lays, cradling his head while Dante yells at him from where he hovers inches away. “MOMMY AND I ARE GOING TO MAKE YOU SOME SOUP!”

Troy winces with every word, cowering from the sun by placing one of his paws up to block it. It’s hysterical, and I can’t help my laugh as Dante puts his hand on Troy’s forehead. “Mommy, he don’t have a fever!”

“Doesn’t have. He doesn’t have a fever. Inside.” I round the SUV, and Troy glances up at me from where he sits, his expression sheepish.

“I’ll find you soup to make you better, Troy!” Dante bounds inside and slams the screen behind him.

When he’s at a safe distance, I lift an inquisitive brow to Troy, who’s now holding up both hands. “Before you decide to rip into me, I had a speech. A speech I carefully prepared and was waiting for you to come home to deliver. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“A text would’ve done just fine. Come on, it’s cold.” I hold out my hand, and Troy takes it, staggering to his feet. I catch him, barely, before we both misstep and topple into the yard with a thud. Laughing, he rolls us to where I’m trapped beneath him. I push at his chest to no avail.

“Oh, Cherie,” he murmurs down to me in a French accent. “I thought I would never get you alone.”

He bats long lashes down at me.

“Get off of me, Jenner,” I sputter breathlessly as his eyes rake over my face, stopping on my lips.

“You are a girrrl, and I am a boy, you see. Everyone has a hobby,” he slides his freezing hands up my sides, and I squeal as he leans in close. “Mine is making love.”

“Someone has been watching way too much Looney Tunes.”

“You may call me Street Car…because of my desire,” he leans in and places wet kisses on my neck as I struggle beneath him. “Muah, Muah, Muah.”

“Definitely drunk as a skunk. Alright, Mr. Le Pew, you’ve had your fun.”

“Not even close, Cherie.” He stares down at me, his eyes glazed, as my heart begins to pound.

“Get off of me, fool.”

“A fool for you, darling, may I call you darling? And finally, now that I have you right where I want you, the greedy little monster we created can step aside and let me have my own way with these love tassels.” He lowers his head as my eyes widen and begins blowing raspberries on my chest.

He’s motorboating me in the middle of my yard in broad daylight.

“Troy!” I gasp as he continues to murmur his devotion to my tits. “Dear God, would you stop! I’m going to pee my pants. Though I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t smell half as putrid as you do.”

“It is the smell of love,” he nuzzles my chest, and his lips drift up.

“Troy, it’s the middle of the day, why have you been drinking?”

He frowns, pulling away. “Oh, it’s been a horrible year for me, Cherie, but you knowww,” he drawls in suggestive French. “You could cheer me right up if you wanted to.”

“Troy, do you want chunky soup or stars?” Dante calls from the kitchen.

“Stars,” Troy answers without taking his gaze away. “So they match those in my eyes.”

“What?” Dante asks through a giggle.

“Stars, my good boy! All the stars!” He leans in again and smacks kisses down my chest. “Muah, muah, muah.”

Aside from the liquor seeping out of his pores, he smells fantastic, his rusty platinum hair tucked under a beanie as he suggestively gazes down at me with surreal blue and glossy eyes.

“Will you be my girlfriend, darling?”

“Absolutely not,” I snort.

“It’s a little too soon for marriage, but hey, if that’s what it takes. You set the date. I look fantastic in a tux.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Crazy about you,” he says before placing another full-lipped kiss to my cheek. When he pulls back, his eyes soften. “I get so jealous,” he says softly. “I don’t want him kissing you. I don’t want him touching you. These lips,” he runs a finger over my mouth. “I want them for me.”

“Troy,” I shake my head, still trapped beneath him. “We’re a train wreck.”

“So what? Our story is messy, unconventional. We can be messy together, that makes us perfect.”

“You’ve got to get up, Dante will see.”

“Just tell me you forgive me.”

“Fine, I forgive you.”

He leans down and gently takes my mouth in a soft kiss. It’s all too much, his warm lips coated in whiskey, his body covering mine.

“If only you meant it,” he whispers when he pulls away.

“I do. It was a nasty fight. You were upset. I know you didn’t mean to hurt Theo or take it out on me.”