The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs, #2)(73)

“Shit happens, right?”

“Yes, it certainly does. But I’m sure you have no clue what this is like. Ever bounced a check, Brett?”

“No, but I’m not ignorant to the issues of the working class.”

I can’t believe I dated this asshat.

“How very philanthropic of you.” I’d chosen my clothes and words carefully while with him trying to fit some idealistic mold. It was exhausting, and I despised that I felt I had to put on such airs to try and impress him. As much of a gentleman as he was, we didn’t mesh, not in the real sense.

It strikes me now just how much Troy and I have in common. We were both raised by single parents, both of us hustlers doing whatever we have to, to reach our goals, to take care of our family. We even fold our towels the same way. I love that.

And then there’s our little boy, who brings us so much joy, living proof of just how well we fit. It’s while sitting in my ex-boyfriend’s office on one of the shittiest of days I’ve had in years that I realize I’m falling for him.

I’m falling for Troy.

I smile as Brett cringes. “That did sound horrible. I didn’t bring you in here to belittle you. It’s the last thing I want to do.”

“You’re doing a fantastic job.”

He barks out a laugh. “God, you don’t mince words. I love that about you. I’m sorry. I’m really not trying to be a dick.”

“Just stop saying you’ve played on my field when you’re in a different ballpark, and we’re good.”

“Fair enough,” he straightens his tie. “So, how are you, really?”

“Good.”

“Dante?”

“He’s wonderful.”

“Good to hear,” he leans in, his fingers splayed on his desk. “If you need me to cut you a break on rent, just let me know. It’s not a problem.”

“That’s not necessary, but thank you.”

“Look, if I’m in the position to help, let me.”

“You’ll always be in the position to help. I appreciate it. But I’m a big girl. It was a bank error.”

“Okay. So, how’s the school year going?”

“Good, almost over.”

“And Roy?”

“You know damned well his name is Troy.”

“Right. Clarissa—”

I stand. “I really need to get going. I don’t want to keep Dante waiting.”

He sighs. “Okay. Please tell Parker I said hello.”

“I will.”

He rounds the desk and pulls me in for a hug. When he pulls away, he keeps his hands on my hips. “If you ever change your mind, for any reason, call me.”

I pull away, giving him back his hands. “Thanks, Brett. I will.”

Just as I reach his door, he stops me. “I really fucked up with you. I should have taken us more seriously.”

“No,” I say, glancing back at him. “Don’t be sorry. It worked out the way it was supposed to.”

“I like your cologne.” I can hear a hint of jealousy in his voice.

“Thanks, it’s a new one.”

“Oh yeah, what’s it called?”

“Take notes.”

I can’t help my strut as I walk out.





Troy: I can’t feel shit.

Clarissa: Wish I was there to kiss it and make it better.

Troy: I can’t believe I’m paying for this.

Clarissa: It will be worth it when they call your name.

Troy: It will. But this is seriously hell on earth.

Clarissa: Stop whining, Jenner. Think of Dante in class sporting his father’s NFL jersey.

Troy: Now that’s good motivation.

Clarissa: Need more?

Troy: Bring it, baby.

Clarissa: Think of Dante’s mother sporting your NFL jersey with her lips wrapped around your cock.

Troy: Jesus, yes please. Give me more.

Clarissa: Sorry, I have to go shape young minds.

Troy: You’re cruel and filthy.

Clarissa: FaceTime tonight?

Troy: It’s a date.





Jamey’s Crockpot Potato Soup Restaurant Manager, Beaver Falls, PA

Makes 6 servings





6 hours


1 30 Oz. Bag Southern Style Hash Brown potatoes 2 14 Oz Cans Chicken Broth





1 Can Cream of Chicken Soup


1/2 Cup Onion – chopped 1/3 Tsp. Pepper

1 8 Oz. Cream Cheese – softened

Optional Toppings:

Green Onion – chopped

Bacon Bits

Shredded Cheese



Combine broth, soup, onion and pepper in slow cooker and stir well. Add potatoes. Cover and cook on low for 5 hours.



Stir in cream cheese and continue to cook for 30 minutes stirring occasionally until cheese is melted.



Garnish with optional toppings as desired.





Clarissa



“Come on, baby, please.”

I blow in my hands, rubbing them together before trying the ignition again.

“It’s not going to start, Mommy. You’ve tried a hundred times.”