The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs, #2)(53)

“Cupid, draw back your bow, and let your arrow gooo, straight to my lover’s heart for meeee,” Dante belts offkey as a smile lights up Clarissa’s face and she sings along, dancing with him wrapped firmly around her as if they’ve been doing it for years. And it’s so obvious they have. The light in his mother’s eyes is unforgettable as she sings with him, swaying while he giggles with every exaggerated bounce of her hips.

And me? I’m so fucking gone, lost in the sight of them both.

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and my throat goes dry while I memorize every second of it. They’re completely in sync, as they lift hands in the air at the same time, imploring Cupid while singing their hearts out. My own heart expands unbearably in my chest when they rub noses as the song drifts to a close. Clarissa’s eyes catch mine over her son’s shoulder, and we just…stare. I have no idea what she sees, but I’m pretty sure if it’s anything like what I’m feeling, it’s heavy. She beams at me before she breaks the connection, gazing down at Dante.

“Did you have fun?”

“It was the best time I’ve ever had!”

“Really? That’s great. What did you two do?”

“I can’t tell you anything, sorry, man stuff.” Dante turns to me and winks both eyes.

I can’t help my chuckle. “That’s right, man stuff.”

Clarissa looks between us. “Man stuff, huh? Well, all right, go unload your pack and put all your dirty clothes in the hamper.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I’m thankful for the music playing in the background because the minute Dante disappears, I’m at a loss for words. All I can do is think about the way she kissed me back. It was more than a kiss, it was a declaration on my part, and I made damn sure she knew it.

I let impulse win yesterday, unable to handle another second without touching her, tasting her, showing her just how much I want her. And I can’t for one fucking second bring myself to regret it. Duffle still on my shoulder, I stuff my hands into my jeans. “So that’s your favorite song, huh?”

“Yeah,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. Her hair is curled, and she’s in a sweater dress, nails freshly painted, and the house is immaculate.

“You look beautiful.”

“Yeah, thanks, I gave myself a little TLC.”

“It shows. Smells good in here.”

“I’ve been baking.”

“Yeah?”

“I think Theo has company. You might want to wait a bit before returning home.”

“Oh yeah?” I chuckle. “Good for him.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Sure.”

“Stay for dinner?”

“That’d be great.”

She seems just as lost for the moment as I am, I decide to cut the bullshit. “Clarissa—”

She takes a tentative step toward me, keeping her voice low. “You know orgasms may be ninety-nine percent mental, but studies show that parts of a woman’s brain deactivate during an orgasm, especially those involved with emotion. This explains the ‘oh shit’ mentality women feel after.”

“You think I’m an ‘oh shit?’”

“I know you were before. I’m not sure what you are now.”

“Can I be a ‘hot damn!’ or a ‘hell yes!’ instead?”

We both laugh, and it dies just as quickly.

I close the space between us, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Take your time, Clarissa. I’m not going anywhere.”





“Favorite movie?” I ask, folding a pair of Dante’s jeans.

“When Harry Met Sally.”

Though I let impulse win yesterday, I’ve decided to embrace her ‘adult’ way of dating, using her dinner invite to my advantage to get to know her. She was nervous when we got home and dressed for me. I’m positive she’s thought plenty about it and I’m not about to fumble this chance. At this point, I know everything from the age she was when she got her first kiss to her favorite color—purple. Which I could have easily guessed because the bulk of the clothes I’m folding are a varying shade of it. She tugs the thong I’m fondling from my hands, just as I hold it up.

“Behave. And it’s a classic. Also, Sweet Home Alabama. It’s about a woman who’s torn between two different…” Her blush is unmistakable.

I lift a brow. “Go on.”

She hides behind the shirt she holds up. “I don’t think I will.”

“Then let’s watch it. After dinner.”

“I’ll pass. What about you, movies?”

“I’m more of an action movie guy. Mission Impossible, that kind of shit. And superhero movies.”

“I see. And music?”

“Rap, rock, whatever.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Just not old soul.”

“I like your favorite song.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say, lifting a purple bra which she snatches from my hand.

“Stop handling my delicates, Jenner.”

I exhale through my teeth, shaking my head.

“Yeah,” she smirks, “I know that was loaded. Look at you, growing up.”