The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs, #2)(63)

“So, what are we having tonight?” I ask.

“Carol’s Goulash. She was an ex-con turned church secretary from Jersey, who gave up her criminal ways for Jesus and was determined to save my father and me from eternal damnation.”

“What’s eternal damnation?” Dante asks.

“Parker’s cooking,” Clarissa jokes.

“Oh, shut it,” Parker says through a hiccup.

“Sorry, it’s the truth. When we lived together, you burnt broth.”

“That was a ploy to get you to cook for me, sucker!”

“Goulash, huh? Never had it.”

“It’s sooo good.” Dante gives me big eyes. “You will love it.”

“Can’t wait.” I lift the lid off a new box, my chest tightening when I see it’s a mix of Dante’s baby ornaments. I pull them out, studying them carefully, sensing Clarissa’s eyes on me.

“That was last year.” She lifts an ornament, unwrapping it from the tissue. “And this one was his first.”

We both chuckle as I hold it up.

“Jesus, that breast milk did him good.”

“And now he’s so small,” she whispers.

“I’m not small!” Dante yells, offended. “I’m bigger.”

“Don’t worry, I was small too, bud.”

“How did you get big?”

I chuckle. “Big boy breast milk.”

“Mommy, can I have some of that?”

“In twenty years,” Parker answers.

“I’m going to tear your little elf off,” Clarissa grumbles as I open another box, and she moves to take it from me. “Not that one.”

“No way,” I slap her hand. When I open it, I see the contents of what I know is Clarissa’s childhood.

Parker passes me my refreshed cup of eggnog while I sort through pictures. In the one I hold, Clarissa’s smiling, toothless, and wearing an NSYNC T-shirt.

“Awesome,” I say, chuckling as she rips it from my hand, trying to steal the box back. I swat her hand again.

“Ouch,” she says, withdrawing.

“Then leave me alone.”

“You two play nice,” Dante scolds, hanging a wreath ornament. “Santa is watching.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, studying the pictures. I flip through them, stilling on one of Clarissa and a beautiful woman, who is, without a doubt, her mother. They’re doing dishes.

“That’s the only one I have of the two of us.”

I flip it over and read the scribbling on the back.

My baby & me, AG 5

She lifts another picture from the box.

“This was her headshot. She’s like Julia Roberts beautiful, right?”

“Yeah,” I agree readily. “So are you. You look just like her.”

“Aww, well damn, now I feel guilty,” Parker says as I lift my mug. “Uh, Troy, I may or may not have slipped an Ambien into your eggnog. The buzz choice is up to you from here on, my friend.”

“Parker!”

“Sorry. You said he never gets any sleep. I was just trying to be helpful.”

“You worry about my sleep too?” I ask Clarissa, who casts her eyes down, grabbing the box from my hands.

“I just don’t see how you do it.”

I lean in with a “Hey,” and she finally looks up at me through her lashes. “Don’t worry about me, pretty woman.”

“You’re pushing so hard.”

“I’ve got this,” I say softly. “And thanks for having my back. You too, Parker, but I think I’ll toss this out.”

“Good thinking.” Clarissa glares at Parker over her shoulder. “Not cool.”

“Sorry, babe. I thought it would be funny to watch him faceplant in your goulash.” She sheepishly flashes all her teeth. “Are we not in revenge mode anymore? I must have missed the memo.”

Dante speaks up next. “What’s a memo?”





“Do you want to read his Christmas story tonight?” Clarissa asks as I shovel in my third bowl of goulash.

“Sure.”

“I’ll get it,” Dante says, pushing away from the table. “Mommy, which day is it?”

“Day eight.”

“Okay!” He shouts before running toward his room.

“Will you text me the next time you make this?” I ask around a mouthful of macaroni. Clarissa laughs as she retrieves my bowl, and I stop her, spooning the last of the goulash in my mouth. “That’s not an answer,” I say, poking her side as she stacks our bowls in her hands.

“Okay, okay,” she says, jerking away from my fingers, “I p-p-promise.”

“I forgot you are ticklish.” I begin to work her sides as Parker chimes in.

“This is so…” she rests her chin in her hand with a sigh, her eyes hooded as she looks between the two of us. “It’s like watching a Hallmark movie, but I can read the bow chicka wow wow going on in your filthy minds, which makes it so much better.”

Clarissa knocks Parker’s arm from beneath her. “Would you stop making things weird?” She hauls the dishes to the sink, and I stand, gathering the glasses.