The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs, #2)(59)

“I can call him back.”

“Answer it.”

“I said, I’ll call him back.”

He shrugs, indifferent.

Maybe he regrets his declaration now that things got heavy, and a part of me hates him for it. I was doing just fine before he forced his way into my daydreams with his intoxicating kiss and words. His perfect words.

And I believed him, and for a moment, I took them seriously. And everything about his demeanor now tells me I’m a fool. But that’s what words are, a fool’s gold.

Pretty promises make liars out of men and suckers out of the women who believe them. It was the kiss I believed most, and now that feels like a lifetime ago.

The man in my kitchen is not the man who kissed me. He’s jaded by my lack of belief in him, which I understand all too well. I’m not jaded by the first guy I kissed, or the man who took my virginity, nor the short line of boyfriends that followed.

I was raised by the Machiavelli.

Joseph Arden was just as handsome, just as dazzling, just as charming, equally disarming, and exploited his affect whenever it suited him.

But Dad had my devotion, and I was the only lady he couldn’t leave. That was my leverage. And I’m sure as hell not going to, nor will I ever, use my son as leverage for any man, especially his own father.

Troy pulls a five-dollar bill and a printed gift card from his pocket.

“I was thinking this code, and some cash would be cool. You know so he has some game money?”

“Oh? That’s perfect,” I say, grabbing him a water.

“Thanks,” he says, taking the bottle and standing wordlessly in the kitchen, staring at one of Dante’s drawings on the fridge.

“Troy, I’m sorry. I truly am.”

“It’s fine,” he says, eyes drifting over me before he darts them away. “Just so you know, I’m going to be working a lot, I’ve picked up more shifts to get Dante’s Christmas presents, and I’ve got my games.”

I cross my arms and nod. “Okay.”

“So, I won’t be able to watch him as often as I’d like. You might want to make other arrangements for Mr. BMW. The next few months are going to be grueling.”

“It’s fine. I understand. So, I was saying before that I’m sorry—”

“I heard you. You think he’s out enough for me to sneak in?”

I exhale the last of my hopes to rid the tension between us.

“I would give it a few more minutes just to make sure. He still believes in this stuff for the moment. I don’t want to take that away just yet.”

“Cool.” He leaves me in the kitchen, taking a seat in my recliner. “Mind if I watch Sports Center?”

“Uh, sure, yeah, go ahead.”

After a few minutes of amiable silence, I finally speak up.

“Tell me how this works.”

“What?”

“The draft.”

“If I draw enough interest, I get invited to the NFL Combine. It’s a four-day camp where reps from all thirty-two teams observe the potentials to see who’s the best fit for their franchise.”

“When will you know if you’re invited?”

“By the first of January.”

“That’s got to be nerve-wracking.”

“I have to make sure I’m ready. Push myself harder. No time for bullshit.”

I swallow his comment. “I’m sure you will. You look,” he turns to me, his lifeless stare making it hard for me to breathe. I’m not a fan of this version of Troy, and it stings me that he’s become so closed off. A complete one-eighty from the man who assured me he wasn’t going anywhere. It strikes me then just how much I wanted to believe him. “You look like you’ve been working out a lot.”

“Yeah.” He turns his attention back to the TV.

“And then what?”

Eyes still trained on the screen, he shrugs. “And then I may or may not get a letter to attend the draft. If I do, I’ll have the choice of showing up or watching from home.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ll bring my mother. This is both our dream.”

“That’s really something. I love that you’re so close to her.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry I caused a rift between you. I’ve been meaning to apologize in person, but Dante has been around and—”

“Yeah, me too.” He stands, and I stop him with a hand on his chest, which he promptly removes. “Clarissa, I’m tired, okay? Too tired to fight.”

I step back, feeling slapped. “It’s okay, I think you’ve made yourself pretty clear.”

He lets out a heavy exhale. “Sorry, I’m not acting the way you need me to.”

“It’s not that, I just thought maybe—”

“Maybe what?”

His icy demeanor contradicts his statement. This man is itching for a fight.

“Nothing, let’s do this.”

“I’ve got it.” He heads toward Dante’s room. Standing at the door, I look on as he tucks the money inside his pillow after retrieving the tooth. Just as he starts to step away, Dante jackknifes in the bed mumbling something about a truck. Troy jumps back as I signal him from the door not to speak. Troy glances back to where Dante sits, his eyes still closed before he falls back into his bed, none the wiser. Troy steps outside the door. “That was close.”