Sidelined: A Wilde Players Dirty Romance Read online

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I add before leaving the room.

  Pacing in the office, I try to cool down because, dammit, I remember he goes commando. Heat licks up my spine with the memory. The guy was good with his hands, not to mention everything else.

  Thankfully, he kept his pants on, and I apply all the tabs that will send the twenty second electric burst in certain areas with a five second pause in between. I’m not sure who’s getting more electrical stimulation—him or me.

  Because I only have to work on his upper body, I give him a massage. And, damn, if touching his shoulder doesn’t make me wet. What the hell am I going to do in a couple of days when he returns for the full deal?

  By the time he leaves, I’m more relieved than I care to admit. I have to cool off, so I stand outside in the crisp air to help clear my mind. He’d been my heart and soul. When he made the decision to leave the university a year early for the NFL draft, that started the slow spiral to our relationship unraveling. He’d asked me to leave with him. Transferring would have been easy, but my dad had been ill and I couldn’t move halfway across the country and leave him alone. When Fletcher went to spring training, I’d been supportive and trusted him with my heart and soul. However, the media game they made him play was hard to watch and swallow, especially when he was too busy to talk and explain about the women and groupies that were always near or on his arm. It left us arguing until our relationship finally broke because of it.

  Seeing him now makes me rub at the ache where my heart still hurts from him walking away. Unfortunately, I’m also reminded of how a look from him gets my blood boiling for more carnal things like no other man has. Why Fletcher Wilde still has that damn effect on me, I don’t know. And I wish he didn’t.

  Fletcher

  What the hell is Cassidy doing here? I thought she’d moved to—hell, I don’t know where. After we split, I stopped trying to figure out where she was because it was too much of a reminder of what we had … of what I’d lost. Fuck me! How am I going to get through this? Having those perfect hands of hers massaging my muscles? Touching my skin? Jesus fuck. I’ll be lucky if I don’t shoot off all over the fucking place. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Note to self: jack off before PT every day. At least twice.

  “What are you groaning about?” Rita asks.

  “I’m not groaning.”

  “Yes, you are. I know a groan when I hear one. Usually you growl, but that was a groan. Maybe even a moan.”

  “Never mind that. Pay attention to the road and watch your speed.”

  And for that comment, she hits the gas and takes off like she robbed a bank and the cops are chasing her.

  “What’s your hurry?” I ask, grabbing the door handle. She knows I hate it when she drives like this.

  “I want to get out of this car with you. You’re nothing but a grump.”

  No point in arguing with the truth. We get home in record time. She’s going to need new tires after this. Though, with what I’ve been paying her, she’ll be able to buy a new car. She stomps into the house, not offering to give me a hand. Oh well, it’ll be good practice for me since I’ll be on my own tomorrow.

  At her usual time, Rita packs up her stuff. I do find the words to thank her. She’s gone beyond what a normal person would do for me, and I tell her.

  “Stick it up your behind, Mr. Wilde. It’s your money that kept me here. Oh, and the dogs. Good-bye, Brady and Boomer. I’ll miss you. Bite him in the ass when you can.”

  And that’s it. She walks out without another word. I deserve no less. I should feel remorse, but I’m too deep into my self-pity for that. Maybe when I’m over all this, I’ll write her a nice note and send her some flowers. Women love that stupid shit. But right now, I limp on over to my favorite piece of furniture—the liquor cabinet—and pour myself some Jameson. Lying back in Dad’s recliner, the one Mom wants to ditch, I now see why he loves it so much. Drink in hand, Boomer and Brady by my side, I watch a little TV and wonder what would’ve happened if Cass and I had never broken up. And when I try to remember exactly what happened between us, I can’t pinpoint the cause of the breakup.

  “She should’ve been mine, guys. I never should’ve fumbled that one.”

  Brady must agree because he lets out a huge whine that sounds similar to dumb ass.

  All night, the only thing I can think of is her. Her hair, her eyes, her smile, and her voice. My next therapy session can’t come soon enough. It sucks she’s married. Still, I’m going to make the most of my time with her, like I did when we were in high school. That is, if she’ll even respond to me verbally. From all indications, she hates my guts as much as Rita does. And maybe by the end, we can at least be friends.

  I show up at my appointment, prepared to strip off my sweats.

  “Hello, Fletcher.” She enunciates each syllable succinctly. “Did you wear your panties today?” Her snarky voice comes to me from across the waiting room. I’m ready to rip her a new one for saying that in front of everyone when I notice the room is empty, save the two of us.

  “I guess you can’t wait to find out, can you? Have you been dreaming about me, Cassidy? How does your husband feel about that?” I can’t help the little taunt I fire back at her.

  Her lips pinch together, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. Serves her right, trying to embarrass me like that. But, damn, if she doesn’t look sexy as I watch her bite her lip. Fuck, she’s married, Fletch.

  Grabbing my crutch, and I hate that little motherfucker, I walk with as much dignity as one who is in as bad of shape that I am into the therapy room.

  “Strip,” she spits out.

  “Happy to.” I yank my pants down, and much to her surprise, I’m wearing shorts underneath. “Disappointed?” I purr.

  Her eyes bounce up to mine and back down to my … aha! She’s checking out my goods! That man of hers must not be taking care of business.

  “Don’t worry. Things are fine down there. In fact, they’ve improved since you’ve seen them. Care to take a look?” Bad, Fletcher, she’s taken. But I can’t seem to stop myself.

  Everything from the bottom of her neck to the tips of her ears brightens to a nice shade of fuchsia.

  “Asshole,” she mutters. “Sit down and stop wasting my time.”

  I sit, and she asks me a bunch of questions and starts doing shit to my knee that has me gritting my teeth in no time. Sweat beads on my forehead, and I grip the table I’m sitting on, hoping I don’t squeeze the plastic cushion thingy into smithereens.

  “How you doin’ there, Fletch?”

  “Fine,” I pant. She knows perfectly well how I’m doing. This shit is killing me.

  She finally releases that leg, and I want to say a prayer to God above for saving me. That was worse than getting hit by the car. She leaves and quickly returns with one of those ice wraps, and soon my knee is cooling down and feeling better.

  “Now for your shoulder.”

  “Look, can you do me a favor? Try not to damage me any more than I already am.”

  She stops for a minute and lays a long hard look on me. “I would never injure you. I’m here to help you.”

  Harrumph. “Sure didn’t feel like it.”

  “This is not about feeling good. It’s about getting you better,” she says.

  Our eyes meet, and for the first time, there’s a possibility I might detect a bit of compassion in hers. It could be we’ve reached somewhat of a truce.

  Cassidy

  Perhaps it is my familiarity with him that I choose to reach over to pick up the chart behind him instead of taking the long walk around.

  “Damn, Cass, any guy that gets this close can see down your shirt.”

  His words breeze between my breasts, and I go rigid in order to stop myself from shivering.

  Quickly, I straighten and take a step back as I glare at him. “It’s really none of your business who sees what’s on me, is it? And I thought I told you not to call me Cass.”

  He lifts his chin before he
lets it fall in defeat. “You’re right. I’m sorry. And not just about—”

  “Don’t,” I warn. “We are not here to rehash the past.”

  “It’s just—”

  “Dammit, Fletcher, let’s just get this out of the way. I loved you. I thought you loved me. But you chose football as your first love. I was devastated, but I got over it. So leave it in the past. Right now, I’m here to get you back to your beloved game. And that’s my job and what I plan to do.”

  His lips thin, and it takes me a second before I look away from them. The rest of the appointment is awkward, but we muddle through it.

  When he leaves the office, I feel like I can breathe at last, and the heat dissipates from the room. Once the day is finally over, I’m in need of a serious drink because Fletcher’s reappearance has unlocked my libido. The damn thing has been on hiatus for months and now wants to assert itself.

  “You need a date,” Gina says from behind the bar of The Dirty Hammer, where she works.

  “I need a drink, and make it a double. And you’ve already fed me. So don’t give me shit.”

  “He hurt you, Cassie. He broke you, and I had to help you put the pieces together.”

  “We hurt each other,” I admit. “I could have gone—”

  “He could have not been like every other man out there either.”

  “Don’t, Gina. As much as I want to hate him, he’s a good guy.” I nearly choked the words out. “He got caught up in the game.”

  “Yeah, the game of follow his dreams, he says. Forget about yours.”

  “Let’s not go there. Just give me the drink.”

  She harrumphs. “He’s got you all hot and bothered again.” I flip her the bird, but she doesn’t see it because she stares toward the door. “Speak of the devil.”

  I turn to find Fletcher lumbering through the door. Hastily, I swing my head around and pray he doesn’t notice me.

  He saddles up to the end of the bar nearest the door and calls out, “I have a takeout order to pick up.”

  There are many places to eat in town, but we used to come here a lot long ago. So it isn’t surprising to see him here. The bar has the best wings and fries basket, which is popular when watching the games on the big TVs mounted on the walls.

  “Name,” Gina says sweetly.

  “Cut the crap, Gina. You know damn well who I am.” His voice is as gruff as it always is, and it stokes all the hidden places on my body. I squeeze my legs shut.

  Gina glances my way, and I look over at the wall and pray again to any god that will hear me that he doesn’t see me.

  “Would that be under Fletcher or Fickle or maybe Fucknut?”

  His sigh is long-suffering. “I get it. You believe I made a serious fubar with your girl, so you’re doing your best Rottweiler impression. But I’m having a shit day, and I just want to eat. Can we call a truce?”

  Gina eyes him up and down. “I don’t know, can we?” She drums her fingers on the counter as if in contemplation. His earnest eyes grow weary as he watches her and hasn’t noticed me. At least I don’t think he has. “Actually, we can’t. We don’t serve fuckers like you here.”

  My bestie isn’t budging, and I decide to give him a pass and out myself.

  “Gina, get the guy his food.”

  She rolls her eyes in my direction, before rolling them again. “Fine. Give me a minute.”

  “Thank you,” he says. But it wasn’t clear exactly who he was saying it to.

  Gina heads to the back where the food is prepared. I turn away, toward one of the TVs mounted on the opposite wall, and pretend to watch baseball.

  It’s not late, yet I’m not surprised when the door opens and a man drunkenly stumbles into the bar. The once beautiful man with bright eyes and big dreams looks disheveled and unshaven in the most undignified way.

  “There you are,” he announces, stabbing a finger in my direction.

  Mentally I count to three while I load my lungs with some calming air. I don’t want to have a knock-down, drag-out argument with my ex here, especially with Fletcher to witness my shame.

  “Calvin,” I say when he gets close.

  “Cassidy,” he mocks as if I’d said his name like a curse. And maybe I had.

  “Why are you here? You’re drunk, and you shouldn’t be driving.”

  “It’s a free world, and I’m here because you owe me.”

  My jaw aches as I grind my teeth together. “I don’t owe you anything. You took everything and left me with a bunch of bills I’m still paying off.”

  So far our conversation has been halfway civil. No yelling, not yet at least. Of course, that thought comes a moment too soon.

  “You still owe me for the house.”

  “The house is mine. You know this. It states it in our settlement.”

  “I want my share when you sell it.”

  There really wasn’t a reason to answer him, as we’ve had this conversation several times since the divorce, but I do anyway. “I haven’t sold it. And I don’t plan to anytime soon.”

  “That’s not fair. I need the money.”

  A different voice enters the mix. “Is there a problem?”

  Calvin has to look up to see Fletcher looming over him. That doesn’t stop the fool. He’s too drunk and too stupid to care he could never win a fight if it comes down to that.

  “I’m talking to my wife, so buzz off.”

  Fletcher’s eyes flick to mine, and I sigh. He’s going to find out soon enough anyway.

  I say to Calvin, “I’m not your wife, nor have I been for over a year. Just leave, and take a cab.”

  “Don’t you worry about me, Cassie, unless you want me to give you a ride for old time’s sake? Word has it you’ve been keeping those pretty legs of yours closed tight.”

  What the hell? Is he keeping tabs on me? A bonfire rages in my cheeks.

  “I think it’s time for you to leave,” Fletcher warns.

  Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Gina approach. “It is time for you to leave, Calvin. You know I can’t serve you.”

  “Two bitches and Paul Bunyan. You all can fuck yourselves.”

  He makes his way for the door, and I mutter to no one, “I hope he’s not driving.” Because despite it all, I don’t want him to get hurt. Somewhere in there was the man I thought I loved or at least cared deeply about at one point in my life.

  “He’s not,” Gina says, answering my question. Her eyes are glued to the front window.

  Idling at the curb is a car all too familiar to me. It belongs to Calvin’s trashy girlfriend he’d cheated on me with. Apparently, she’s supported him through his joblessness. Not financially, that had been me. I’d nagged him too much to find a job, so he found her instead. That was his excuse at least. His unemployment checks must have run out and now he is back to bothering me.

  “Here’s your food.” Gina hands a bag to Fletcher while maintaining her scowl.

  My bestie stands in as the line drawn in the sand between me and all my bad mistakes.

  Fletcher glances at me, but I look away. “Here, keep the change,” he says to Gina before limping off.

  After the door closes behind him, she says, “Seriously, girl, you and I need to have ourselves a night on the town.”

  “Can I get that drink?”

  She gives me the saddest smile which mirrors my inner turmoil. I certainly know how to pick ’em.

  Only before I get my drink, Fletcher comes back in spouting curses like a man who stepped in dog shit.

  “Gina!” he shouts. Her eyes narrow, and I wonder what’s crawled up his ass in a short time.

  Pushing locks that are midnight black from her face, her glare pins me as she stomps over to him.

  “Yes.”

  The word is clipped, and if Fletcher knows what is coming he’d back down from the mad he’s sporting.

  His fist hits the bar top. “Do you have the number to the garage the…”

  “Wilson’s,” Gina finishes for him.


  “Yeah, the Wilson’s still run it?”

  She nods. “I do. But,” she eyes the clock over the bar, “they should be closing for the day.”

  “Closing? What the fuck is wrong with this town? Give me the number anyway.”

  Gina eyes me, and I nod. He’d been kind of cute coming to my rescue with Calvin. Gina glares at me but rattles off the number anyway. Cars break down all the time in town. Most folks don’t own brand new ones, so everyone knows the number for the garage.

  Fletcher is a big guy with deep lungs and his voice carries as he speaks into the phone. “What? I need a tow. No, it can’t wait until fucking tomorrow. Wait, I’ll pay—”

  He stares at the phone, and I know he’s been cut off.

  “Goddamn townies.”

  “You know what—” Gina begins.

  I let out a sigh resigned to what I have to do. Walking over from my spot, I stand in front of my first love. “I know it’s been a while, but things move slowly here. Troy is never going to come for your truck now. I’ll give you a ride home and sweet talk him tomorrow into forgiving your shits of the mouth.”

  “Shits of the mouth?”

  Goddamn, if he doesn’t look so cute perplexed.

  “Come on, Fletch. Let’s go.”

  “What about my truck?”

  “You can sleep with your truck and make babies for all I care. But if you want to get home, you’re going to have to part ways with her for the night and catch a ride home with me.”

  He’s had that truck since high school. I don’t understand why he still has it, but I don’t wait for his answer. I prowl out into the growing dusk, and he follows way too close. Any closer and my clothes would erupt in flames. Damn him.

  “This is your car.”

  I’m not sure if he’s annoyed or amused.

  “I happen to like my Mini Cooper. It’s perfectly suited for me.”

  “And how am I supposed to get in there?”

  I shrug. “I can always ask Gina for some rope and strap you to the hood.”

  His eyes narrow. I click the unlock button.

  “Come on. I know for a fact a guy your size can get in the car. Plus, you’re lucky I’m not giving you shit for walking around without your crutches.”