Sidelined: A Wilde Players Dirty Romance

by Terri E. Laine

  “All right, Fletch. Finish up. It’s bedtime for you.”

  “You gonna read me a story?” I ask.

  “Only if you’re good and finish your ice cream real fast.”

  In record time, that bowl is empty, and she helps me get into bed. But the sad thing is, when my head hits the pillow, I can’t keep my eyes open long enough to hear her story. The last thing I remember is feeling her soft lips touch my cheek. God, I love her lips. The best things ever.

  Cassidy

  His eyes are closed as his mouth merely murmurs the words. But my heart soars like one of Fletcher’s perfectly thrown passes when I think I hear him say he loves me and that I’m the best thing he’s ever had. I’d seen several of his games as a professional player before I couldn’t bear to watch anymore. He has the million dollar arm he’s known for, which only reminds me of what I have to do to get him back on the field even if it means he will leave me brokenhearted again.

  His soft snores give me the will to say the words I’ve been holding inside.

  “I love you, Fletcher.”

  In his half-drunken state, he manages to snag me around the waist and murmurs back, “I love you, too.”

  If only love were enough. The hold he has on me is firm, but not at all uncomfortable. I allow myself to settle in, fully dressed as I am, and drift into sleep.

  I dream of a house with mountains in the background with kids’ voices coming from somewhere behind me far in the distance. Then it shifts, and his hands are on me. Damn, if he’s the only guy to know how to touch me and where. Waking to find his mouth between my legs, I have no time to be self-conscious as an orgasm shatters through me before I can even say good morning. And then he’s inside me, and that’s when I realize I’m naked. When had the man undressed me? Truthfully, though, I’m not at all mad. He’s slow, passionate, but relentless as he works me into oblivion.

  Later, much later, I get him back with a bazillion punishing reps as he lifts low weights to retrain the muscles what they need to do.

  “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” Sweat pours off him, and it’s so damn sexy and not at all gross.

  The sweet smile I give him isn’t so sugary as it is tart when I reply, “If that’s what it takes to get you back on the field.”

  He groans while we work for another hour until we both reach our breaking points. His eyes are hungry, and I want to feed him. But I dash out of the door with a hasty goodbye instead. As much as I crave his touch, I need an escape. I’m starting to feel the early signs of dependency, and I can’t allow myself to get that close. He’ll be leaving before I know it, and the life I’ve built is here. And there’s no way I would ever ask him to stay.

  The rest of the week, I play dumb and coy, anything to keep things light yet business-like between us. I sense his growing frustration and try to keep my own at bay. Continuing to have sex with the man is like a drug I don’t want to give up. So I’m avoiding it as a way to stop myself from falling any deeper with him than I already am.

  It’s late Friday evening when I have him flat on his back as I do therapy on him. I bend his thigh to his chest, flexing his knee as far as it can go without hurting him or his chances of recovery. When I let go, I stand straight.

  “Well, your range of motion is much improved. I think that’s enough for the day. I’ll see you Sunday,” I say breezily.

  I make a break for the door, but the guy is fast and catches my wrist easily.

  “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t put weight on your knee like that,” I admonish him.

  “Then stop running.”

  Sighing, I step over and help him back to the table from his place near the door. Then his hand is in my hair until he cups the back of my head. His mouth descends to mine, and my knees are the ones in trouble now because they can’t support me. His kiss is sweet and kind and everything I need. I surrender for a second, grabbing hold of his biceps so I don’t fall.

  When I finally pull back, I lick my lips, not wanting to forget his taste.

  “Fletch—”

  “Cass, don’t. You know how I feel about you. Stop fighting this.”

  I search his eyes and find nothing but love, and it hurts like hell.

  “And we both know why you’re here. And why I am, too. My job is to get you back to Oklahoma and on the field where you belong. And I’ll still be here working as a therapist. When this is done, you’re gone. And I can’t let myself be broken again like the last time.”

  Tears prick the back of my eyes as I double time it to the door. Because more than anything, I wish things could be different.

  “Wait,” he calls out.

  Not stopping, I glance over my shoulder. “I’m going to be late anyway. I’m going out tonight.”

  “What?” he growls. His voice is low and dangerous. “With who?”

  “Does it matter?”

  And then I’m out the door, running for my car because I know he can’t run after me. I turn off my ringer and head to Gina’s.

  “What’s going on?” she asks when she opens the door.

  “I thought I would get ready over here. Besides, I don’t have anything to wear you’d approve of. And I can’t afford to buy anything. So maybe I can borrow something of yours.”

  Her eyes narrow because she knows me.

  “What? Did you get in a fight with lover boy?”

  My face screws up in an are you kidding me frown, and I wave her off. Moving past her into the cramped space, I try to sidestep all her shit.

  “You’re becoming a hoarder, you know that?” I ask, trying to deflect her question.

  “Don’t start with me. My place is too small.”

  “Exactly. Why do you need all this stuff anyway?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Because I have friends like you who think I’m a department store. Come on. Let’s see what I can convince you to wear.”

  An hour later, I look less like myself and more like Gina’s long-lost twin. I push up the girls as I stare at myself in the mirror.

  “Are you sure this won’t fall down while I’m dancing?”

  Her shoulders lift. “We can hope. Maybe flashing the right guy will get you in a better mood.”

  I stare at the ceiling and silently beg for patience. “I’m not looking for anyone. I’ve already told you that.”

  “Of course, you’re not. You’re just trying to forget about a certain quarterback with eyes like diamonds only for you.”

  I glare at her, starting to put two and two together.

  “That’s the best you’ve got? Where are all the four-letter words with creative add-ons you normally use for him?”

  “Pfft. He’s not that bad. Besides, maybe he has some friends.”

  An exasperated puff of air whooshes out of my mouth. “You are not on his side, are you? I thought you were my friend.”

  “I am. That’s why I sanctioned this night. Does he even know you’re going out?”

  “He’s not my keeper,” I snap. She arches a skeptical brow, and I deflate like a wilting balloon. “Kind of. But I may have led him to believe that I was going out on a date.”

  Her head shakes. “You’re going to kill him, girl.”

  “Am not. Besides, it’s better this way. The weaning can start now.”

  “What, are you breastfeeding him now?” She laughs. “Of course, you are. Didn’t know Fletcher was a breast man not an ass man.”

  Arching my neck, I try to look at my ass. “Is it bad?”

  “You should ask him, not me. And while you’re at it, maybe you should consider leaving town? Maybe you should give it a go with him.”

  She doesn’t have to say go to Oklahoma for me to know her meaning.

  I glare at my friend. “I’m beginning to believe you are in league with him. Did he pay you to like him?”

  Because she’s never been his biggest fan even when we started dating in high school.

  It’s her turn to wave me off. “Please. I’m looking out for
you.”

  “You know I bought the practice, and I’m not just going to leave. Why do you think the doctor gave me a deal I could afford? That’s because no one else wanted it. So, who will I sell it to?” I can see in her eyes she thinks I’m making excuses. “Whatever. Let’s go already, because honestly, I can’t breathe in this outfit. And my bed is so calling my name.”

  She holds up two fingers. “I forgot something.” Quickly, she ducks inside her room. Seconds later, she mumbles something.

  “Are you talking to yourself again?” I tease, saying it loud enough so she hears me.

  “No, I just stepped on something.”

  That is totally probable since she doesn’t know the meaning of a closet. Her floor is used for that. She says something else I can’t decipher before exiting her room and saying, “Let’s go.”

  A short drive later, we find ourselves at a club. The place is packed, and I feel old. I’m probably only a year or two older than most in the crowd. But once you’ve left college, clubs seem juvenile or maybe it’s just me.

  “Here you go,” Gina says, bringing our rum and Cokes.

  I toss it back, needing something to help loosen me up. I feel uptight. Or maybe it’s the bustier and leather pants Gina crowbarred me in.

  It isn’t long before a guy with light brown hair and a winning smile heads in our direction.

  “Hottie, two o’clock,” I murmur, longing for another drink.

  If he’s here for me, I’m determined to talk to him, even though I don’t want to.

  “Ladies.” He’s all toothy smile and dimpled cheeks.

  Gina turns around, and I watch as her eyes briefly grow to the size of quarters before she narrows them. Does she know him?

  “Ryder.”

  Hearing the name, I make the connection. He’s Fletcher’s cousin, and he sure has grown. I’ve only seen him once or twice because he lived on the West Coast. His eyes sweep over her. “Gina, looking good. No surprise there.”

  Her tone is flippant, but guys seem to like that, especially when Gina uses it. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

  I ping-pong my gaze between them. “Yeah, I got traded. I’m here in the Carolinas now.” His head tips in the direction of some stairs. “You should come up to the VIP area.”

  “Free drinks?” she asks.

  “Anything for two gorgeous ladies.”

  She shrugs. “Okay.”

  He turns, and I mouth, “That’s Fletcher’s cousin. I didn’t know you knew him.”

  Her eyes flick back to him, and so do mine. His backside is as impressive as his front.

  “I’ll tell you later,” she whispers.

  We head up to the VIP area, and sure enough, drinks are flowing. And there is more than one player in the room. Ryder introduces us to some of his teammates for the newest MLB team, the Carolina Cougars. They came to the mountains to celebrate a night off. What makes me happy is not seeing Fletcher. I’m weak when it comes to him.

  Drinks flow, which help get my body moving. Hands on my hips and a beat that makes me want to move turn the night into something fun. Whispered words into my ear and I feel the guy against my ass is hot for me. The fact that I’m dancing and having a halfway decent time almost makes my heart believe I’ll be okay when Fletcher leaves.

  Only, I glance up and see him. Fletcher. He’s here. I soak up the sight of him dressed all in black, looking like a sexy bodyguard. Then I see them. He’s surrounded on all sides by women dressed in clothes that leave nothing to the imagination. Reality check, I glance down at myself, thinking what a hypocrite I am.

  “Damn, girl, you are sexy as fuck,” my dance partner whispers.

  Well, if that isn’t the splash of cold water I needed. I pull out of the player’s grip.

  “I’m sorry. I need to use the restroom,” I mutter to him.

  In reality, I’m fleeing, which it turns out is something I’m good at. Gina’s wrapped up in Ryder, and I’ll text her when I leave the room. I get to the stairs without Fletcher noticing me. At the bottom, a guy turns, and I think what the fuck is my life. But it’s not like there are tons of hot clubs in the area. It isn’t a surprise that he’d be here trolling for whatever. I wonder if his girlfriend is here, too. But that thought dies because I really don’t care.

  “Cassie,” my ex slurs the word as some of his drink spills over the rim.

  He quickly slurps it down as I stare in horror. He’s a total contradiction, handsome yet I see the sloppiness that no one else notices. His eyes are glassy as they do their best to focus on me.

  “You look good. But that was never your problem. Dance with me.”

  It’s a testament to my own alcohol-numbed state when his hand is already at the small of my back. I’m about to pull away, when Fletcher comes into view walking down the stairs. So I reluctantly let Calvin guide me into the throng of people moving with the music.

  I’m so focused on Fletcher and the gaggle of women following him that I don’t notice Calvin has positioned himself in front of me. He tugs on my waist until we are flush with each other. He sucks in a breath that highlights how close we are.

  “I miss this. I miss you.”

  Fletcher is downstairs, and because of his height, I can still see him. Surely, he’ll see me when his gaze lands in our direction. I quickly look at my ex.

  “Let me go, Calvin,” I warn, before finding Fletcher again.

  But it’s too late. His lips are on mine, and I watch as Fletcher’s gaze lands on us. It is as if Karma hates me. I see the events coming, but it’s too late to stop them. Our eyes meet, and I watch in agony as he slings an arm around one of the women staring adoringly up at him. His eyes shift to Calvin, and I glance over to witness Calvin’s smug expression. I turn from Calvin. I turn from Fletcher. Then I barrel my way to the ladies’ room, locking myself in a stall before my mascara leaves tire tracks down my face.

  Fletcher

  The night, which was once again orchestrated by Gina, turns into a monster of a train wreck. Seeing Cass in those leather pants makes me mindless with lust. It’s all I can do not to carry her out of there and rip the damn things off her so I can fuck her until she is as stupid as I am. But no. She has to run out of there with her hair on fire, and so what do I do? I follow her like a dog in heat, with my damn groupies in tow. I wish those fidiots would get lost for good. The annoying gnats won’t take a hint, either subtle or obvious. Honestly, I could throw rotten eggs at them and they’d keep coming back for more.

  But then the ultimate in a fucktastrophe of a night occurs when I get downstairs. Cass is standing there with that douchebag of an ex-husband of hers. How can she possibly want him? He’s a loser in uppercase for fuck’s sake. He needs rehab from what I gather, but then the drunken assface actually kisses her. And what does she do? Nothing! That’s what. And then I really free the moron in me. The arm that dangles at my side instantly appears around one of the unnamed groupie’s shoulders, and she starts giggling as she snuggles close to me. Cassie’s eyes meet mine from across the room, and the wounded look she wears razors right through me. But what’s worse is that fucker who holds her. His conceited little sneer makes me want to plow my fist straight through his face until it lands on the back of his skull. It goddamn rankles to no end that little squirrely piece of shit actually got her to carry his name. Son of a bitch. With nostrils flaring, I stride to the exit, because if I don’t, blood will be spilled, and it sure as hell won’t be mine.

  “Slow down, hot stuff. These heels of mine won’t let me walk that fast,” little miss groupie whines.

  Without a word, I disengage myself from her, and she squeaks, “Where you goin’?”

  Anywhere but here, I want to yell, but I say nothing. The truck sits in the parking lot, and I don’t stop until I climb inside. Logic tells me my knee should ache, but the only thing I feel is the crushing of my heart beneath my breastbone. And that is way worse than any injury I’ve ever sustained, on or off the field.

&nbs
p; My phone starts to ring, but I ignore it. There is no one I can think of that I care to talk to right now. Reasonable conversation isn’t in my capability. The only thing I want is to get home and drink myself into oblivion. I can’t understand why Cassidy would do that. Is being with me so distasteful that she would prefer her ex-husband? And if that’s the case, then what does that make me? Talk about a lethal blow to your self-esteem. Christ.

  When I pull into the long driveway, I’m already tasting the Jameson. Boomer and Brady act like I’ve been gone for a month. At least somebody loves me, and it sure as hell isn’t Cass. I let the pups out and head directly to my favorite place to pour myself one hell of a glassful.

  My phone rings again, and I ignore it. It’s not that I don’t want to talk. I can’t talk to anyone. This head fuck I’ve been delivered is too much for me to handle right now. I need to sort this out first. And I’m not sure if I ever will. Right now, the way I feel, if she wants the ex, fine. He can have her because I can’t and won’t deal with the wishy-washy shit.

  When the sun rises, I find myself in Dad’s recliner with an empty glass in my hand. Boomer and Brady are barking outside. I must’ve really gotten plastered to let them stay out all night. My head feels like a grenade exploded in it. What the hell was I thinking? When I stand up to let the dogs in, my phone tumbles to the floor. That’s when I notice all the missed calls. Sixteen to be exact. Most of them are from Gina. A couple of them are from Ryder. And one is from Cass. Why the hell would she even call? What in the world would she want with me?

  Checking my messages, I realize I need to tell them I’m okay. I text Gina and Ryder, but Cassie is another story. I’m not sure I can bring myself to talk to her. Leaving a message entails expectations that she doesn’t deserve. I can’t deal with what’s between us. I want something permanent, but if she doesn’t, then I need to go forward, forget her, and put all this behind me. This heartbreaking thing every other day is absurd. How can I get over her if I keep prolonging the moment? I gave myself such a false sense of hope all for nothing. Had I known she still may be interested in her ex, I never would have carried on like that.