Sidelined

by Marquita Valentine

  “And so humble.” She snorts, and so do I.

  “A girl has to be able to cheer herself up when her man cheats on her with the stupid wedding planner.” My good mood starts to fade, but I take another drink and keep all my sad, embarrassing memories away. “Tell me about this outfit.”

  “It came with sparkly silver pom-poms.”

  That did it. “I’ll ask him tonight.”

  Chapter 8

  Aiden

  I'M IN THE MIDDLE OF trying to rearrange my schedule so I can go to Gideon’s event when there's a knock at my door.

  Not expecting anyone, I check my security camera.

  Shocked doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel when I see Layton standing outside, wearing a large coat... and is she holding pom-poms?

  After another insistent pounding on the door, I stride to it, yanking it open. “What the hell are you doing at my house? And who let you the fuck in my neighborhood?”

  “I gave the guard my brother’s name and said I was taking important papers to you.”

  “That’s... pretty damn smart.”

  Throwing off the coat, Layton beams at me and puts her hands on her hips. “I came over to S-E-D-U-C-E you!”

  My jaw drops and gets stuck to the floor. “You what?

  Her brow furrows. “Did I spell seduce wrong?”

  I look around, half-expecting that at any minute, someone with a camera phone will jump out at us and yell just kidding, because there's no way in hell Layton Price should be on my doorstep wearing a cheerleading outfit and shaking her pom-poms at me.

  Well, she hasn't shaken them yet, but her tits are about to pop out of her top, and the skirt... the skirt leaves little to the imagination. Swear to God, with a faster turnaround, I’ll see her ass cheeks hanging out.

  “You spelled it right.” I rub my jaw. “What do you want?”

  She rolls her eyes. “I came here to seduce you.”

  “Wearing that?” It’s not usually my thing, but...

  “Should I shake my pom-poms for you first?”

  Hell yes, you should. “No. Put your coat back on.” I bend over and pick it up, then place it around her shoulders. “You need to go home, LT.”

  She juts out her bottom lip. “My Uber already left.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “Come on, Aiden,” she pleads, batting her lashes at me and letting the coat slide down her hot little body. “It’s cold outside.”

  “Should have thought about that before you put,” I wave my hand at her, “that on.”

  “I wore it just for you. The top’s too tight, though.” As if to torture me, she started bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “Oh, wow. I can’t believe the girls are staying put.”

  Me either. “Good for them.” I try to shut the door, but she shoves a pom-pom in at the last minute. “Damn it, LT. I said go home.”

  “You can't leave me outside when it's cold like this.”

  Better than me taking advantage of her like this. “I’m not a gentleman, baby girl.”

  “You don't have to be a gentleman to be a decent person,” she points out. “And stop calling me baby girl. I’m neither one of those.”

  She's right. “Get your ass in here. You can wait in the foyer while I get an Uber for you.”

  Pushing her way in, she grins and spins around, stumbling a couple of times in the process. “What do you think of the outfit? Be honest.”

  I look, really studying it like I don't already have an opinion that it's hot as fuck, and it’s getting harder to think much more than that because all the blood in my body is rushing to my dick. “It's okay, I guess.”

  She frowns, then smacks herself in the face with one of those annoying pom-poms. “Duh. Not your colors. I totally didn’t think about that when Paige told me to put this on.”

  “Hold up. Please tell me you're not wearing something that she and Dallas had a good time in.” I grimace at the thought.

  Layton shakes her head vigorously. “Nope. Fresh out of the package. I made sure of it first. Because, gross.”

  I run a hand through my hair, unable to stop staring at her. There’s so much to take in, from her tits to her legs... and fuck me if I don’t want to ask her to spin around again, so I can see exactly how short it is in the back.

  Layton twirls a thick strand of hair around her finger.

  “Are you wearing fucking pigtails?”

  “You don’t like them? Paige said all guys like them.”

  Holy hell, she can’t wear those... and not because I’m turned on by them either. It’s the fact she used to wear her hair like that all the fucking time when she was a kid. My brain can’t compute the change fast enough.

  “Not this guy.” Grabbing her by the shoulders, I take the risk of her kneeing me in the nuts to fix her hair. “I’ll try to be gentle, sweetheart.”

  “You always were,” she says, holding completely still.

  “Good thing you didn’t know me when I was a kid.” My fingers are clumsy in her hair, the circle of elastic stretched to almost the breaking point as I gently work it out. “Got sent to juvie a lot.”

  “For manhandling cheerleaders?”

  Cheerleaders manhandled me, not the other way around, but I don’t feel like discussing that with her. It’ll give her more ideas, or worse, encouragement. “Nah. For B&E. Assault. Battery. You name it; I did it. Or helped someone.”

  “Kingston said your dad was in the mafia.” She snorts, like it’s a joke. “Were you in a gang?”

  I make my voice stay light. “Would it bother you if I said yes?”

  “Not really.”

  “Either it would or it wouldn’t, princess. Stop being so fucking polite.” I pull out the last band and step back.

  She shakes her hair out, sending it tumbling down to her waist. “Better?”

  “You don’t look twelve any more.”

  She grins bigger. “Dallas said for me to tell you... you’re welcome and light touch. Is that a football thing?”

  I am going to hand him his nuts as soon as I see him. “Something like that.” I clear my throat. “Anyway, you—”

  Layton lunges for me, pressing a hard kiss against my chin. I’m so caught off guard that I stand there and do nothing.

  “Nice chin,” she says, breathless. Her hands climb higher on my shoulders and then her mouth is on mine, little tongue teasing until she pulls back. Her breath is warm against my throat. “I don’t care about what you did in the past.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because in mine, you were the hero.”

  Stunned like I’ve been sacked by a lineman, I keep standing there like a fucking virgin with my dick in my hands and no idea what to do with it. Except, I know exactly what to do with Layton. I kiss her back, not at all surprised and a hell of a lot disappointed that she tastes like rum and mint. Still, I keep my hands to myself, letting Layton have her way with me because it feels so fucking good.

  Desire and lust bulldoze into my nerves, making my cock swell and my pants tight. I devour her sweet mouth while her curious hands explore my shoulders and my neck. While her fingers delve into my hair and lightly tug on the ends.

  Our bodies finally collide, fully and completely. She’s soft, plump in all the right places, and so incredibly warm that I want to mold her to me, make her body fit into mine like puzzle pieces that require no coaxing.

  With a gasp, she pulls back, a dazed look in her eyes. She touches her mouth with the tips of her fingers, as if she can’t believe what’s she feeling... or what she’s done.

  “You didn’t touch me back,” she whispers, then her face flushes a deep red. “Oh, God. I’m worse at this than I thought.” Tears tumble down her cheeks. “How bad am I? I know you’ll be honest. I mean, if I can’t even seduce you right... no wonder Joe said it was like a hook-up gone wrong.”

  “Don’t cry, LT. It’s not you. It’s me. Swear to God, it’s me.”

  She laughs through her tears. �
�Sure it is.”

  I grab her up in a hug, making sure she can’t storm out like she’s prone to do in situations like these. “Would I lie to you?”

  Her hazel eyes size me up. “I don’t know who or what to believe anymore.”

  “Fair enough.” I cock my head to the side. “If I tell you a secret, will you promise to keep it between the two of us?”

  Misery shining in her eyes, she nods. “Sure. Why not?”

  “I’m celibate.”

  “I wish I’d stayed that way.”

  If only I had Joe’s neck between my hands right now, I’d squeeze him until his head popped like a balloon. “That’s not what I mean.”

  “I don’t know another definition for it.”

  Heat creeps up my ears. “I, uh, don’t have sex during football season.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s bad luck.”

  Her eyes round. “You think sex is bad luck?”

  “Only during the season.”

  “But what about—”

  “Nope.” It doesn’t matter who she names, I haven’t been with anyone since the season started. “Only Kingston knows... Apparently, Dallas does, too, but other than that, it’s not common knowledge.”

  She barks out a laugh. “That means Paige knows.” She shakes her head. “That’s why they picked you. They knew you wouldn’t do anything with me that I’d regret tomorrow.”

  “I don’t think so?” I have no idea how to handle a hurt, drunk Layton. Angry Layton. Sure. Happy Layton? No problem. But this...

  Her body shakes over and over again. At first, I think she’s laughing, then I realize she’s crying. Big, ugly tears that make her face splotchy and her nose run.

  “I’m no good for anyone,” she sniffs. “My husband left me on our honeymoon for some woman he barely knew. But not before sleeping with me. That’s what sealed the deal for him—maybe sex is bad luck for me, too.”

  “Ah, fuck me,” I mutter, running my hands up and down her back in an effort to calm us both down. “You need to sober up.” And I need a drink.

  “You’ll sleep with me if I’m sober?” She stares up at me, her black lashes spiked. Mascara coats the thin skin under her eyes.

  I can’t tell her no, can’t hurt her more than she’s already been. It’s just not in me. “Um... yeah, sure.”

  Chapter 9

  Layton

  I WAKE UP WITH MY FACE smashed into a pillow. My mouth feels like cotton, and I’m pretty sure that’s because I drooled all over myself last night.

  With a groan, I roll over and fall right off the bed, smacking my tail so hard on the wood floors that I let out a muted scream.

  “That was graceful,” I mutter, pushing myself up and brushing my clothes off.

  Glancing down, I take in the silver cheerleading outfit I still have on from last night. My boobs are all but hanging out of the top, and the bottom is flipped up so far that it looks more like a belt than a shirt. Tugging it down, I make myself more presentable.

  Aiden bursts through the door. “You okay?”

  I whirl around so fast that the room spins. “Why are you in my room?” I grab my head with both hands, then peer up at him. “Wait. Whose room is this?”

  “You’re in one of my guest rooms.” He points at my top, his eyes widening and his mouth parting. “You might want to fix that.”

  I dip my chin. Sure enough, my boobs have popped out. I blush from the roots of my hair to my toes. “Oh, God,” I croak, slapping my palms against my chest and refusing to meet his eyes. “That wasn’t... I—uh...”

  Aiden pivots, rummaging through a nearby dresser. He tosses a shirt at me. “Put this on.”

  “Thanks.” I don’t waste any time covering my wardrobe malfunction, but with this outfit, I’m pretty sure it was made to be intentional. “I’m guessing that since this isn’t your room and I’m still wearing my clothes that nothing happened last night.”

  Except that kiss.

  That wonderful, shockingly amazing kiss.

  There’s no way I can forget that.

  He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his normal cocky self majorly subdued as he faces me again. His light blue eyes are wary as he asks, “What do you remember?”

  “Shaking my pom-poms at you?” I give him a sheepish grin, shoving the painful moments of our conversation last night into the mental box where I store everything now. “Whose shirt is this?”

  “My ma’s. She keeps clothes here for when she comes to stay. Easier that way.” He tips up his chin. “I know it’s not pink and shit, or covered in some girly pattern, but it’s—”

  “Really cool.” Gently, I pull the hem out, so I can get somewhat of a better view of the print on it. “Is this a legit Guns N’ Roses concert shirt?”

  “Pretty sure I was conceived in that shirt.”

  I drop the fabric like it’s tainted with flesh-eating bacteria. “That’s just lovely.”

  “I’m kidding.” He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Anyway, nothing happened. You passed out on the sofa, and I carried you to bed.”

  “That was nice of you,” I say softly, unsure what to make of a kind Aiden. I mean, I don’t expect him to make me sleep outside. Okay, so I hope he wouldn’t make me sleep outside.

  “It was nothing.” He makes to leave, but I grab his arm. An arm that even in my half-hangover state I can recognize is muscular and cut, and all the things I like to ogle on social media.

  “You could have left me on the sofa,” I point out.

  The tips of his ears turn red. “No, I couldn’t.”

  “Are you blushing?”

  “I’m not a blusher.”

  “You are to a blushah,” I mimic his sharp Boston accent.

  His eyes narrow. “Cut that shit out.”

  “I was only teasing you.”

  “Yeah, well, stop it. Listen, I put you upstairs and locked you inside because you wouldn’t stop getting into my bed and putting the moves on me. Figured that was the only way I could get some shut-eye. Alone.”

  My mouth drops. So much for thinking the best of him. “I’m not that desperate.”

  “Last night you were.” He pulls out of my grasp. “Get your ass down to the table. I made breakfast, and I scheduled an Uber to come get you in an hour.”

  I follow him downstairs, refusing to allow him to get the last word. “Why can’t you be nice to me?”

  “I think putting you to bed and making breakfast is nice.”

  “You also called an Uber because you can’t be bothered to drive me home.”

  He rounds on me. “I didn’t ask you over here last night. You showed up, shaking your pom-poms and wanting more than what I can give right now.”

  I make a face. “More than you can give? I’m not asking you to date me.” I couldn’t even if I wanted to because I’m still married.

  “Yeah, why would you bother to do that?” he retorts.

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing.” He shakes his head. “Listen, you’re my best friend’s little sister. There are boundaries that can’t be crossed, so when you show up, half-dressed, and then kiss me like a fucking angel, I can’t... I can’t deal with it in a thoughtful way that won’t hurt your feelings.”

  A little bit of humility seeps in, enough to make me realize I really did put him in a bad position. “When you put it that way...”

  “An apology from you would be nice.”

  He has a point, but still... I’m done letting men make me feel sorry.

  Aiden’s not making you feel any way.

  Could’ve fooled me.

  You were the one to show up on his doorstep, not the other way around.

  And I was the one, according to him, who was trying to get into his bed.

  With a long-suffering sigh, I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.” He touches my cheek, and an unexpected wave of delicious heat passes through me. “But thanks for saying it, anywa
y.” Then he smacks me on my tail, like he would one of his teammates. “Go eat, kid.”

  “You really know how to kill a moment.”

  He moves to the hallway, tossing over his shoulder, “We don’t have those, LT.”

  The memory of his hands in my hair, taking it out of the silly hairstyle Paige put it in, while he talked about his past, bubbles up.

  “Last night we did,” I whisper.

  Before leaving the guest room, I make use of the bathroom, not bothering to look at myself head-on in the mirror. I’m one-hundred percent sure that I’d scream in horror if I did. Instead, I splash cold water on my face, rinse out my mouth, and run my hands through my hair.

  I’d snoop through the drawers, but Aiden has never struck me as someone who appreciates anyone violating his privacy, even if it’s in search of toothpaste and a comb.

  Once I’m mostly sure I look more presentable, despite the fact that half my backside is hanging out of the shortest skirt I’ve ever worn in my life, I go downstairs to the breakfast nook.

  Aiden’s house is nice with lots of windows and an open plan—homey, too. A little too lacking in color, but he is a bachelor, after all. I eye the enormous all-white sofa in the living room. There are several pillows, in the exact same shade, strategically placed on it. It’s like his decorator was afraid of color, but a little color in one’s life never hurts.

  “So much potential,” I say with a sigh.

  Sunlight streaming in nearly blinds me, and I have to squint in order to find my way to the kitchen. Aiden sits at the head of a table big enough for eight people, like he’s king of the breakfast nook.

  “Hope you like bacon and eggs.”

  “You know I do.”

  He eyes me, a glimmer of amusement in his blue gaze. “The eggs aren’t boiled.”

  “It’s not Easter, and we’re not having an eating contest,” I remind him. “Besides, you’d lose.”

  “Bad day for me. I’d already eaten when you challenged me.”

  “Ha!” I sit in the chair directly to his right, feeling more at ease with him than I have in years. “You underestimated your opponent.”

  “You fed the eggs to your dog.” He grimaces. “That damn thing slept in my room, and it farted all night long.”