The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs, #2)(87)
“Yes, but only because I agree with her reasoning. She’s been picking up shifts at night, waitressing.”
“What?” Sinking where I stand in my hotel room, I stare out of the window as the pieces fall into place.
“Don’t give her hell for it. Money got tight when you went to camp, and she just didn’t want you feeling guilty.”
“Who’s the man?”
“I’ll let her explain that. God, you two are total idiots.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Hey, at this point in my life, I think anyone under forty is an idiot. Best be getting your ass on the next plane home.”
Alyssa’s Angel Hair Pasta with Chicken
Social Studies Teacher-Minneapolis, MN
Makes 6-8 servings
45 hour
1 Cup Prepared Hidden Valley Ranch Original Ranch Salad dressing **tastes best if you buy the spice packet and make it from scratch.
1/3 Cup Dijon style Mustard
4 Boneless, skinless, chicken breast 1/2 Cup butter
1/3 Cup Dry White Wine
10oz Angel Hair Pasta Cooked and Drained 1oz Parsley
In a small bowl, whisk together salad dressing and mustard, then set aside to thicken—can be prepared a day ahead and refrigerated until ready to use.
In medium skillet, sauté chicken in butter until browned; transfer to dish to keep warm.
Pour wine into skillet and cook over medium-high heat, scraping up any browned bits from the skillet, for about five minutes. Whisk in dressing mixture, blend well. Serve chicken and sauce over pasta. Sprinkle with parsley if desired.
Clarissa
The door closes behind Troy, and he glowers at me from where he stands. Parker and I jerk to attention, mouths gaping, from where we sit on the couch. We’ve spent the day in my living room, being total slobs watching chick flicks while eating copious amounts of carbs. We were halfway into some Netflix Original when we heard the screen sound, and the door was unlocked a second before Troy appeared, knocking the wind out of me.
“You came home early,” is all I can say as his furious eyes rake over me.
“Where’s Dante?”
He’s livid, looking gorgeous in black track pants and a matching jacket, his hair slightly mussed from a day of travel.
“He’s in his room.”
Troy drops his duffle and pulls his wallet from it. “Parker, could you do me a favor and take Dante for a slushy?”
“What?” I ask, hearing the fear in my voice. I’ve never seen him so angry.
“Holy hell,” Parker whispers before standing. “Keep your money, good sir, it’s my treat. Duckie! Troy’s home and we’re going to get a slushy.”
I tuck my hair behind my ears, knowing I look like hell as he hostilely peruses me. He knows. What? I’m not sure. How much? I have no clue, but if the contempt in his stare is any indication of his discoveries, I’m in for one hell of a fight.
Dante comes running, and Troy scoops him into his arms, barely able to mask the anger in his tone. “Hey, bud.”
“I got twelve merch orders because you wored my shirt.”
“I wore your shirt. And that’s awesome.”
“Are you getting drafted now?”
“Hope so. Hey, I really need to talk to Mommy, so Aunt Parker is going to take you to Sonic for a bit, okay?”
“Ahhh man, you just got here!”
“We’ll spend the day together tomorrow, okay? Promise.”
“All day?” Dante prompts.
“All day. I’ll take you fishing.”
I clear my throat. “He’s got school tomorrow.”
“He can miss a day,” Troy says, his voice full of disdain. Parker’s eyes fly to mine, and I swallow.
Troy sets Dante down. “Go get your shoes on.”
“K.” Dante grabs his shoes from the entry as Parker twists her hands in front of her. The tension in the room becomes unbearably thick as dread cloaks me. Parker lifts worried eyes to Troy.
“Uh. Can I just say—”
“Nope,” Troy cuts her off, eyes still trained on me.
Parker puckers her lips out and nods. “Dante, forget the shoes, we’re good.”
“I can’t go without shoes! Don’t be silly, Auntie. I’m almost ready.”
Parker walks over to where I sit, her eyes wide. “Uh, text me?”
All I can do is nod.
“Ready,” Dante says as Troy catches him once more, kneeling to hug him. “See you tomorrow.”
“K.”
“Love you,” Troy says, ruffling his hair.
“Love you,” Dante replies, as Parker ushers him out.
When the door closes behind them, Troy crosses his arms.
“How was the spa?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Jesus Christ, Clarissa.”
“I’m not proud of myself.”
“But you’re proud of me, right?” His voice is ice. “Did you send a single one of those texts?”
I close my eyes briefly, both ashamed and terrified of the truth. “No.”
He fists his hands at his sides. “You don’t believe me.”