The Guy on the Right Page 4

  The fact that he’s slept with her makes me cringe, but I should have expected it. I scan his solid frame. He’s got at least fifty pounds of muscle on me, so of course, he wasn’t shredded like a man toy. He probably had her purring like a kitten.

  “Troy, get in here, we’re about to start!”

  “He doesn’t live here, you know,” I snap. “He ate all my cereal and took a deuce in my bathroom this morning that could gag a rat.”

  Troy grins. “I’ll get him out of here early.”

  I nod, shutting the lid to the washer, and he leaves me to my sulking when my phone rattles with an incoming message.

  Brenna: Hey bro. What are you up to?

  I move to answer and groan when I realize it’s a group text and my sister, Courtney has decided to answer on my behalf.

  Courtney: Laundry day. Right? So predictable. Teddy, you’re boring.

  Jamie: He’s probably watching Harry Potter. There’s an all-day marathon on.

  My fingers are itching to type I’m hungover and scratched up from last night’s activity but for one—I’m not proud of it, a lion was not born last night, and two—having three older sisters is equivalent to having three extra mothers.

  Courtney: We can see you read the messages, you little shit.

  Annoyed, I type out a reply.

  Teddy: Mom should have drowned you the minute you started screaming at your baptism because it’s proof you’re inherently E V I L.

  Jamie: Whoa, easy tiger. Courtney, don’t get butt hurt. You deserved it.

  Courtney: Someone’s in a mood.

  Brenna: Can’t you ever be nice, Courtney? You just told me yesterday you missed him.

  Courtney: I did not.

  Brenna: She did, Teddy. We’ll be coming down soon.

  My whole body tenses.

  Teddy: Don’t come, I’ll be there for Thanksgiving. I’m busy. Gotta study.

  Courtney: While you do laundry?

  Brenna: I just wanted to show you how much Courtney looks like you with the new Snapchat filter.

  A picture comes through of Courtney looking like the twin version of me and in no way can I un-see it. I fight the urge to hurl into the washer.

  Courtney: You can all burn in hell.

  Jamie: OMG THEY LOOK LIKE TWINS!

  Brenna: Well they might as well be, they’re only eleven months apart.

  Teddy: I will never forgive you for that.

  Jamie: I’m going to make this into a pillow.

  Brenna: OMG. I’m dying. I want one. Oh, make one for Mom too. CHRISTMAS GIFT!

  Jamie: Done.

  Teddy: Don’t you guys have anything better to do?

  The replies come immediately.

  Jamie: No

  Brenna: No

  Courtney: You know what? I’m better looking as a man than Theo is.

  Teddy has left the conversation.

  Sighing, I close the pantry and tuck my phone in my shorts. Heading through the living room, I pass Troy and Kevin who strain to see through me at the screen. Courtney is all about the tough love. And some of it may stem from the fact that she’s the one and only girl I’ve ever stood up to–physically. Through the haze of morning, I almost forgot the retelling of that story to Laney in the dark last night. My scattered thoughts collect as I remember the feel of her hand on mine, the sound of her laughter. I’d been at ease in a haze of booze and took comfort in the fact that I didn’t regret a single one of my confessions to her. It was unlikely I’d ever see or speak to her again. The thought of that sucks, and momentary regret cloaks me as I make my way down to the basement.

  Theo

  Pacing the aisles of the grocery store, I check the list Troy gave me and double back for a tomato with his crumpled twenty in my pocket. As usual, his demands exceed the chump change he gave me. I knew when he moved in, he was penniless. He has yet to pay his rent in full and his IOU’s are stacking up. I don’t mind doing the grocery shopping, because he does the yard work. I’m also the cook and adhere to his dietary restrictions. This doesn’t bother me either because I need to stay in shape myself for my own time on the field. Granted, I don’t deadlift the weight of my teammates.

  I’m halfway back to produce when I hear a familiar voice utter some magic words.

  “He’s a dick. I got tired of him. Total dick. Yeah, I know. Well, I had to figure it out for myself. Shut it right the hell on up with the, ‘I told you so’. Devin, you’re starting to sound like Momma.”

  Stopping in my tracks, I redirect all my attention toward the woman pacing an aisle over.

  It can’t be. Catching sight of her, my eyes trail down to the cowboy boots, just as she turns the corner and awareness prickles.

  It’s her.

  Frozen behind my shopping cart, I look down at my clothing choice. I’m wearing my PBS shirt, dark jeans, and Converse. I can’t remember if I gelled my hair before I left the house, which could be disastrous. Without a second thought, I follow as she spouts off on her phone.

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll meet you there.”

  I’m smiling at her back while she pushes her squeaky cart. She’s small but curvy, her dress flaring out a little at her hips. Toned calves peek out through a knee-length slit as she saunters down the aisle with purpose. Dark-brown hair flows past her shoulders swaying with her movement. Intrigued, I follow her into the next aisle as she gazes at the various pickle jars like they have some secret she’s straining to hear. She chooses kosher dill, my favorite, as I try to get a better look at her profile. Pink glossed lips protrude as she bites one of them and scans the rest of the shelves. It’s when I push forward for more inspection that she turns to look directly at me. All words fall away when I get my first real look at her.

  “Need some pickles?”

  “Sure,” I say with a grin, stepping forward and taking the jar out of her hand.

  Her mouth parts as she watches me put them in my cart.

  “Is your back broken, buddy? Or are you just desperate for pickles?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Wow, okay, enjoy.” She gives me wide eyes that scream ‘weirdo’ before she grabs a replacement jar and wheels away.

  Shaking off my shock, I turn the corner to announce myself and slam into her waiting cart as she blocks the next aisle.

  “Why are you following me? And choose your words carefully, or I will make a scene like you would never believe. You’re creeping me out right now, and I’m pretty sure I can take you.”

  I chuckle and shake my head.

  “Sorry, that was a dick move taking your pickles.”

  She narrows hazel eyes at me. Adorable. “Yes, it was. Doesn’t answer my question. Why are you following me? I assure you whatever is in my cart, they have more of it here.” I peruse her stash.

  “How about some rum?”

  “Come again?”

  “Rum.”

  “Ugh, look, I can see that you’re high…or something. But this is the grocery store.” She jerks her head. “Liquor store is down the street.”

  “I’m not high.”

  “You sure? ‘Cause that would explain a lot.”

  “Banana rum?”

  “Fascinatin’. Look, no habla window licker. I’m sure the ‘special’ bus driver will come retrieve you shortly.”

  I bark out a laugh. “Laney, it’s me, Houseman.”

  She tilts her head before realization dawns, and a smile upturns her lips. “Houseman?”

  Nodding, I return her smile as her eyes trail down, taking me in. I can’t decipher what she’s thinking.

  “So, this is you?”

  “Yep. This is me.”

  “Well, you’re lucky I remembered. I was about to end you.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty funny you think you could take me.”

  “Oh, I can,” she says confidently. “How did you know it was me?”

  “I heard you on the phone.”

  “Forever an eavesdropper, huh?”

  “Forever having distur
bingly private conversations in public, huh?”

  She smiles. “Got me there.”

  “Your accent is pretty unmistakable. Especially when you say the word dick.”

  She lifts a brow. I lift one back.

  “So, you all healed up?”

  “Mostly.” I palm my chest, “there’s still emotional damage.”

  She reaches in her cart and extends a bag of Twizzlers toward me. “Here, you need it more than I do.”

  “I’m good. Wouldn’t want you to miss the only fruit in your cart.”

  We grin at each other a beat longer before she sighs.

  “So, you live around here?”

  “No, I was running errands and decided to stop here instead of the store closer to home. Crazy coincidence, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  We spend a few minutes circling the aisles while I observe everything she tosses into her cart and it’s all junk. Doritos. Doritos. Doritos and one bag of sour cream and onion chips for variety.

  “Having a party?”

  “No. Why?”

  “No reason,” I say, biting back a smile. “You might want to get another bag.”

  “Don’t judge me. I’m post breakup.”

  “If memory serves me correctly, you’re the one who did the heartbreaking.”

  “It’s still a breakup,” she admonishes.

  “I’m just trying to save you from clogged arteries.”

  I lift my hands from my cart in surrender as she peruses its contents. “Leave it to you to be so disciplined.”

  “Eh, I have food allergies, like, if I eat a peanut or most any nut, and there is no EpiPen around, I die. I rarely eat out. And I live in a house full of athletes with zero percent body fat.”

  “Not cool,” she says with a sigh, “you know I’m trying to cut down on those.”

  “Sorry, if it helps, they’re both acting like fuckboys at the moment.”

  “It does help, thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  We grin at each other.

  “I’m glad we ran into each other again,” she says. “You know it’s only been a week, but I’ve made good on my oath.”

  “Going to need to do better than a week to impress me.”

  “You seem hard to impress.”

  “Nah, just giving you shit,” I focus on the delicate curve of her slender neck, the full, dark lashes that dance over her cheeks as she scans more junk. She radiates playful energy that’s hard to ignore.

  “Well, I’m giving up fuckboys for food. So, it shouldn’t be that hard to stick to.”

  “I guess I should start a bad habit to keep up?”

  She turns to me with two boxes of Famous Amos cookies and hands me one. “You’ll thank me later.”

  “I could thank you now. That is, if I woke up this morning and thought, ‘today is a good day to die.’”

  “Oh shit, these have nuts in them,” she says, scanning the ingredients. “I may just be too dangerous for you to know.”

  “Nah, I can handle you.”

  “Think so, huh? Challenge accepted. Shop with me.”

  It’s the longest grocery store trip of my whole fucking life. Snails have a faster pace than Laney with a shopping cart.

  She literally weighs every decision she makes for ten minutes, and not only that, an aisle after a decision is made, if she finds something she wants more or a better ‘steal’, we have to double back to put it back exactly where we got it because she was taught better. I run my hands through my hair so many times, I feel like I’m balding by the time we make it to frozen foods. But it’s her smile and her laugh that keep me from bolting. It’s the energy I’m feeling that keeps me with her, though I’m fairly sure everything I have is hot and wilted.

  When we finally roll out of the store, she turns to me.

  “Well, what now?”

  I shrug. “Beats me. You’re the one popping up everywhere I am.”

  “Bound to happen.” She chews her lip in thought. “Maybe we’re supposed to be friends.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Give me your number,” she says, unlocking her phone before handing it to me. I type my number in, and she looks at it. “So, Theo?”

  “Yeah.”

  “As in Theodore?”

  I grimace. “Unfortunately.”

  “As in Teddy?”

  “Absolutely not,” I say with such authority, I’m rewarded with a giggle that strikes me right in the throat.

  “Fine, I’ll stick with Houseman. Where you off to?”

  “Waiting on my special,” I hold up air quotes, “bus driver.”

  “Sorry about that, my mouth can get away from me sometimes.”

  “No, really?”

  “Smart ass, believe it or not, I’m shy at times around people I don’t know.”

  “Not. I don’t believe it.”

  She grins, shaking her phone in my direction, “I’ll hit you up, soon. We can hang out,” she smiles back at me as she rolls away, “and live our realest life.”

  “Sounds good.”

  We exchange curious back glances as we walk away. I’m so not her type. I can tell, and if I’m completely honest, though beautiful, she doesn’t seem like mine either.

  It doesn’t matter in the least. Some part of me wants to know her, and I can tell by the way she looks back at me before she disappears behind a row of cars, she feels the same.

  Theo

  “Sup, Theo?” my neighbor’s son, Dante yells from his porch as I check my mail.

  “Hey, Dante.”

  “I’m not allowed to get off the porch.”

  “What did you do this time?”

  He grins over at me. “Nothing.”

  The screen door rattles on its hinges as his mother pokes her head out.

  “Lying,” she says, looking at me with an eye roll. “He broke his X-box in a fit and lied about it. The boy is only five years old and lies as easy as he takes a breath.”

  Dante shakes his head. “This is my time to reflect on my bad decisions, Mom. I need to be alone.”

  Clarissa and I share a grin. “Manipulative too. He gets that from his father.”

  “I don’t have a Daddy,” Dante spouts, “he’s dead.”

  “BOY! What in the world?! Your father is not dead.”

  “Well, he never comes over to see us!”

  Clarissa pauses, and I can see the embarrassment on her face before she steps off the porch shielding her eyes from the sun.

  “This child is going to be the death of me. How are you doing, Theo?”

  “No complaints,” I say, meeting her between our yards. I met Clarissa and Dante the week I moved into the rental. I made it a point to ask her that if me or my roommates made too much noise to let me know. While we aren’t a frat house, I like and play my music, loud. Clarissa is beautiful, with long auburn hair and icy blue-colored eyes. I place her somewhere in her mid-to-late twenties, as is most of the neighborhood. It’s why I chose the area. Since I’ve moved in, Troy and I do little things for her, like watch Dante so she can have an hour to herself to get her nails done. Troy mows her lawn when he does ours. We have the same landlord with the same strict rules, so I figure we’re sort of in it together. And I think Troy has a soft spot for single mothers, due to being raised by one himself.

  She glances toward my house with interest. “So, what’s up with the quiet one? He’s got that serial killer vibe.”

  I laugh. “Lance? He’s harmless. He’s on the team with Troy.”

  “Oh? I might have to bring Dante to a game soon. He needs to be involved in something. Maybe I can get him excited about football.”

  “I hate football,” Dante speaks up from behind her.

  “Hush, Dante, you hate the air you’re breathing right now. Get your butt inside and straighten your room.”

  “This house is a prison!”

  I can’t help my laugh. “Someone has been watching way too much Step Brothers.”

  “Tell me abo
ut it. I busted him watching it on regular TV while I was grading papers. He’s a sponge, and I was too late. He told the pastor he was going to have a ‘Boats and Hoes’ birthday cake after church on Sunday.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Oh yes. And I found out last week he started his own YouTube channel.”

  “Scary smart, huh?” I look over at Dante.

  “It’s called The Legit Life,” Dante puffs up with pride. “You should give it a like.”

  I can’t help my laugh as Clarissa covers her face with her hands before mouthing ‘Help Me.’

  “Theo will let me play his X-Box, won’t ya, Theo?”

  I shake my head. “Not until you clean your room, Mom’s rules.”

  He raises his chin and squeaks at me. “Punk.”

  “Dante!” Clarissa shrieks, eyes bulging. “You apologize right now!”

  “Sorry,” he says, opening the door and looking back at me before flashing a devilish grin, “so sorry I ain’t sorry!”

  Dante slams the door as Clarissa sighs.

  “Of all the sperm, this is the one that made it? This one? Really? I know we’re not supposed to question God, but I might have a few for our good Lord once I get there. And if I go early, I’m taking this kid with me. There’s your free wrap it tight warning for the day. See you, Theo.”

  I chuckle as she makes her way back to the porch. “See you, Clarissa.”

  She twists the knob expecting it to open and slams into it when it doesn’t budge. “Oh, this boy wants to die today! Unlock the door, Dante!”

  Grinning, I unlock my own door thankful for the welcome slap of AC that greets me. My phone buzzes in my pocket as I dump Troy’s mail on the entry table. A moan stops me in my tracks when I step inside and I pause, trying to locate the direction of the source. When the house goes silent, I slam the door in fair warning and make my way into the living room thankful the coast is clear. My smile is immediate when I see who’s texting.

  Laney: What are you doing?

  Theo: Just got home from band practice. What are you doing?

  Laney: Ignoring coffee orders to text you.

  I grin.

  Theo: Are you a barista?

  Laney: Yep. Amongst other things. So, when do I get to see you play?