The Guy on the Right
The Guy on the Right
Copyright © 2019 by Kate Stewart
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
1st Line Editor: Donna Cooksley Sanderson
2nd Line Editor: Grey Ditto
Cover by Amy Queau of Qdesign
Formatting by Champagne Book Design
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
About this Book
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Epilogue
About the Author
Thank You
Strike One-My mother named me Theodore after her favorite chipmunk.
Not cool, Mom.
I’ve spent most of my life answering to Teddy because I couldn’t make Theo work.
Except for here. College. The place where all bets are off, and I’ve managed to redeem myself.
There’s only one problem, my new roommate, Troy, is football royalty and looks like he stepped off the set of an Abercrombie shoot.
Doesn’t matter, I cook a mean breakfast for his panty parade, and we get along well.
And anyway, this year I got the girl. And she’s perfect.
That’s right. Theodore Houseman, former band geek, now marching band rock star has finally landed the girl of his dreams.
Everything is perfect.
That is, until Troy takes a good look at her.
I’m not going down without a fight. As a matter of fact, I’m not going down at all. As glorious as these days may be for my all-star roommate, Laney is my end game. I may not know much about play strategy, but I’ve been the good guy my whole life. I’ve been listening, and I know exactly what women want. Framed in a picture standing next to me, Troy may seem like Mr. Perfect, but he’s underestimating the guy on the right.
Spoiler alert: In this story, the underdog is going to win.
For my new pillar, Kathleen, thanks for laughing with an outstretched hand. And for all my other rocks who never became rolling stones, I couldn’t do this life without you.
Listen along to The Guy on the Right playlist link on Spotify
Theo
College Station, Texas, population 113,564 and I’ve finally got a match. It’s not something I’m used to, but my luck’s been changing for the past few months, and seemingly for the better. It only took a few hours for my online profile to go live, and now that it has, I can freely admit I’m enjoying the ego boost.
TJGrand: How’s it going?
BlueBelle2001: Good night so far, you?
TJGrand: No complaints here. Just got home from the game.
BlueBelle2001: Me too. I thought that might be you.
TJGrand: You know who I am?
I can’t hide my grin as I look over her profile pic. She’s a bombshell and out of my league. But second guessing myself is not something I indulge in much anymore.
BlueBelle2001: Of course, I know who you are. I look for you at every party on game night.
TJGrand: I’m flattered.
BlueBelle2001: I can’t believe I just admitted it. So, I’m new to this. How do you want to do it?
TJGrand: Do it?
BlueBelle2001: You know (winking face emoji)
The loud clink of beer bottles jars me from where I sit on the couch, and I look up to see Troy has just tapped Kevin’s bottle, forcing him to down it or it’ll overflow. It’s going to be another long night. Too stunned by the bombshell matter at hand, I stare at her last message, unsure of what to say. Is this girl really propositioning me so soon? It can’t be this simple. It happens all the time, random hookups through an app. It’s not news. But this would be my first time, literally.
TJGrand: What are you thinking?
That’s perfect, Theo, let her think she’s in control. But don’t give her too much.
BlueBelle2001: I could come to you.
“You have got to be shitting me.”
“Sup?” Troy asks, walking over to where I sit on our couch.
Adrenaline spiking, I can only shake my head before I look back at the screen, incredulous. In seconds, my phone is yanked from my hand.
“She’s hot,” he mutters, “and she wants to hook up.”
Charging from the couch, I manage to snatch my phone away just as he finishes typing our address and hits send. Glaring at him, I push at his chest. “You dick, I might not be interested.”
“She wants it. You need it. What’s the issue?”
“The issue is, I don’t want herpes. What if this is her MO?”
Troy shrugs. “So, wrap it tight. Everybody’s doing it.”
“Everyone? Your mom on here?”
That earns me a deserved glare, but I match it before he smirks. The app is a little less risky than the average global randomness. It’s set up for campus students only. Not that that protects me from much. I never thought I would be the guy to use an app to get laid, but desperate times. And CampNookie by title alone is clearly not a dating app.
“You’ve got to get over this shit and make a move,” Troy says, tossing back a shot of Patrón. By shit, he means Nora, the girl I dated and waited for through two years of high school and another year and a half semester at Grand. She’d rewarded my patience by sleeping with some guy she met at a party. I’ve been bandaging that burn for the last year. I’d been patient, I’d been everything she needed me to be, and it wasn’t enough. One night with some random and she’d given him everything I was promised. That fact alone was enough to make me consider BlueBelle2001 a little more seriously.
>
BlueBelle2001: This isn’t a campus address.
TJGrand: We just rented a house.
BlueBelle2001: Send me a current pic.
She seems cautious, smart enough to look out for herself, which eases my anxiety. I scroll through my photos and pick out the best, most recent shot and send it to her.
BlueBelle2001: Hot.
I can’t help my grin.
TJGrand: Thanks.
BlueBelle2001: Love that shirt.
I’d worn my favorite rugby-style shirt that day.
TJGrand: Thanks, it’s my subtle salute to Harry Potter. You a fan?
BlueBelle2001: Who isn’t?
My smile elevates before the bubbles rapidly start to pop up and disappear.
BlueBelle2001: Wait, which one are you? This is Troy Jenner, right?
All the air leaves my puffed chest, and I keep my groan inward.
TJGrand: No, I’m the guy on the right. Troy’s my roommate. I’m Theo.
The bubbles again pop up and then disappear…for a solid minute.
BlueBelle2001: But Troy’s your roommate?
TJGrand has left the conversation.
I take a better look at my new profile pic and see I used the same damned picture. I judged it on my smile, but by the two hundred or so matches I’ve gotten in the last hour, I can see the mistake of using my short name—first and middle initials—and Troy’s, whose are the same. The picture I chose displaying the two of us equally, only adds to the confusion. To any outsider, it might look like I’m catfishing.
Way to go, Theo.
I delete my profile and then the app and run my hand down my face just as Troy passes me a beer. “Dude, heard you guys killed it tonight.”
“Thanks, you didn’t do so bad yourself,” I say, downing the cool suds.
Troy clinks bottles with me. “Guess you won’t come to the party since you’ve got someone coming?”
“Nah,” I kill the screen, “didn’t work out, she’s too eager.” For you.
“Grab your shit then,” he flashes me his all-American grin. “Let’s get you laid.”
Standing, I grab my keys off the coffee table and study myself in the entry mirror which hangs below the Live Nudes neon sign that Troy brought in to even out the Feng Shui.
Prepping for the night, and a better outcome than my first fail, I run a hand through my wavy hair and grab my light, black sweater from the lip of the couch.
“Yeah,” I counter, eyeing him through the hole of my sweater, “because it’s that easy.” Six years of striking out, endless hand jobs and a half-drunken blow-all from my ex later, I’m still trying to break the seal. “And can we not make my sexual status a public service announcement?”
Troy gives me a pointed look while he gathers our empty bottles from the coffee table. “Sorry, bro, but you’re picky.”
“Standards? You mean, I have standards.” Which I was willing to push aside for BlueBelle2001 just to rid myself the burden of being a twenty-one-year-old virgin. Heading to the kitchen for a glass of water for preliminary damage control, I grimace when I open the cabinet to see the waiting Smirnoff Ice.
“Damnit!”
“You’re too predictable, Houseman.” Kevin chuckles behind me. “Take a knee.”
I’ve been Iced. No one really knows who started this torturous ritual, it just is, like a lot of other Grand traditions. The trick is to hide it cleverly and stand in wait for the bottle to be seen. If you’re caught, no matter the time of day, you kneel and drink. Taking a knee, I twist off the cap and toss it back with a groan.
Troy towers over me, satisfied with my chug until it’s drained. Even when I’m on my feet again, he’s got me beat standing 6’3 to my 5’11. He grins down at me with the smirk that’s incinerated half of Texas Grand University’s thong population. “I have a feeling about tonight.”
“I did,” I mumble before I follow him out the door with Kevin hot on our heels. Kevin’s of similar build, a hulky-looking linebacker and not much for mincing words. Luckily for me, tonight he’s decided to pipe up and kick me when I’m down.
“There’s a girl at this party, I know she will take you on,” Kevin adds as a means of shitty support, totally oblivious to the insult.
“No thanks,” I mutter while locking the door to the house. The house is an older, light blue two-story on a mostly quiet residential street, fifteen minutes away from campus. It’s what anyone else would call a fixer-upper, but it’s my sanctuary. I secured the rental a month before school started in an attempt to live the full college experience. Though I didn’t want to be stuck in a dorm anymore, I didn’t want shit to do with fraternities either. I take my education and personal space seriously, so instead, I opt to attend their parties.
Troy is a wide receiver for the Rangers and was the first to answer my ad for a roommate. In the beginning, I considered myself lucky because he secured the invites to said parties and attracted attention of the female sort. The decision to let him have a room has turned out to be both a blessing and a curse. My other roommate, Lance, rarely comes out of his room, and we can never tell if he’s home because he doesn’t drive. As if reading my mind, Troy speaks up.
“Is Lance asleep in there?”
I lift a shoulder. “No clue. He’s on your team, not mine. You don’t talk to him?”
“Not really,” Troy says. “He hangs with a different crowd.”
Kevin speaks up next. “He’s always hanging out at that coffee shop with Dorman, but at home, he’s like the dude in…what’s that movie?”
“No idea,” I say, knowing damn well what movie he’s referring to.
“Half Baked,” Troy supplies.
“Yep, that’s the one,” Kevin says with a toothy grin. “Guy’s either eating or asleep.”
“So far he’s quiet and pays his rent on time,” I say, tossing a look at Troy, who drops the side of his mouth in a frown. “I don’t give a shit what he does in that room.”
“I told you I’d get you next week,” Troy mumbles clicking his fob to unlock his truck before tossing his backpack onto the seat behind him. “I did spot a blonde creeping out of his room last Saturday.”
Once inside Troy’s king cab, we collectively stare up at the dark window in curious silence.
Troy’s the first to break it. “It is kind of creepy how he’s always sleeping.”
Kevin spouts off pensively from behind us. “Maybe he’s got necrophilia.”
Troy and I burst out laughing.
“What?” Kevin leans in from the back seat, his mammoth hands gripping our headrests. “That shit is real. I know someone who has it.”
“He wouldn’t be able to play if he had narcolepsy, dumbass,” Troy corrects for the both of us. “Necrophilia means sleeps with the dead.”
“Wouldn’t that just mean he’s dead too?”
“No dude, as in has sex with dead people,” Troy states with an exaggerated sigh. “Seriously, Kev, how did you get into this school?”
“Eat shit, Jenner. I just mispronounced it, that’s all.”
“Do yourself a favor and read a book, read several,” Troy advises, starting the truck. “Or Google. Just as educational, less time-consuming.”
I groan, in protest. “Yes, because the internet is nothing if not factual.”
“Still more of an education for him,” Troy mutters, hitching a thumb behind him. That’s the thing about Troy, he’s not a typical jock, he doesn’t really fit the stereotype like the company he keeps. He’s a decent guy. We get along. We talk about more than sports and women. On most levels, he can get deep. He has the looks, the king cab, and he’s built like an ax-wielding Viking ancestor. I have a little respect for him, and most days I don’t mind being the guy on the right.
Everyone has a Troy, very few are lucky enough to be Troy. But Troy himself will tell you he doesn’t have it so great. With his status comes a shitload of pressure. I might admire the amount of attention he gets, but I don’t necessarily want it for myself
. I’ve seen what that pressure does to him from time to time, and it’s not pretty. At times, he drinks too much and spends the rest of it playing catch up on his studies. He’s not a frat guy either, and he does the work along with the play. But as I study him when he pulls away from the curb, I can’t help but wonder how good it must feel to be king.
Theo
Four hours later…
She’d screeched…in the way of a monkey. Not exactly the throaty and appreciative moan I was hoping for. That’s my first thought when I come to. The room is spinning, and I can’t find my boxers in the dim light. Another pound on the door has me scrambling for clues as to how I got here.
How many shots had I done?
Shots and keg-stands, my brain answers as I wipe the sweat from my forehead.
Bile burns my throat as the aftermath hits me. My chest is shredded, and I can feel the evidence when I pull down my sweater.
What in the hell happened?
Grimacing, I stand and stretch. Either I blacked out and got into my first fight, or I just lost my virginity in the way of American Pie band geek sex. The pile of hair and limbs on the bed snoring below me confirms it was something close to the latter. I feel like I’ve just been on a safari that went horribly wrong.
“Think, Theo,” I mumble as I foot on my jeans and stumble, hitting the bed. Terrified, my head snaps up and I monitor the sleeping hair to see if I’ve disturbed it.
I’m not well-versed in sex, but I’m pretty sure I could press charges for what went down. Every muscle in my body is screaming, along with my pounding head. I’m still drunk, but unbearably too sober to face what happened. I’m pretty sure I still have splinters under my fingernails from the door frame I clung to before she pulled me inside. I’m going to fucking kill Troy. Tonight. While he sleeps.
I didn’t have to participate, and I’m certain, in a way, I didn’t. Too terrified to see what slumbers in the small bed with TGU logos embossed all over the comforter, I pull on my chucks. If I had sex, there has to be a condom.
“Evidence. Where’s the evidence?”
I search high and low for used latex, not for proof it happened, but for proof we were safe and don’t see one.