Sidelined: A Wilde Players Dirty Romance (25 page)

Daniel has lost his clones and gives me a curt nod before getting in the cab next to Mandy. When they drive off, I wonder why I feel bad about what I said. I’ve only been honest. But that thought leaves as another wave of seasickness fills me.

“My car is this way.”

“They have cars on oceans now? I think I need some Dramamine. I don’t feel so good.”

We stop and Andy faces me. “How much did you drink tonight?”

I try to shrug, but my shoulders feel like lead weights.

“Did you eat anything tonight?”

Fries enter my mind first. An unpleasant gurgle in my stomach forces the images of food to back off. I shake my head and speak through pressed lips. “I can’t talk about it.”

“Okay, fine, let’s get you home.”

Andy steers me along and my feet start to ache. I stop and attempt to take off my heels, but Andy’s hands stop me.

“Cate, sweetheart, it’s too cold for you to walk barefoot.”

“My feet hurt,” I complain, but he has me standing upright again.

“It’s not far, I promise.”

“I don’t think I can make it. Save yourself. I’ll just stay here to die.” I brush off his hands while trying to let gravity pull me to the ground.

Andy chuckles, then he sweeps me off my feet.

“Whoa there, cowboy. You’ve turned the world upside down.”

He speaks so faintly, I’m not sure I actually heard him say it. “You’ve turned my world upside down.”

In a normal voice, I’m so sure I dreamed those other words, he says, “We’re almost there.”

He makes me feel like Cinderella and I’m waiting for the magic to wear off. He shouldn’t be so nice to me.

“Why are you always trying to take care of me?”

He stares at me. And when he stops moving, his words are out of sync with the opening and closing of his mouth. “Because I—” Whatever direction he was going with that thought changes. “We aren’t going to talk about the past, right?”

I don’t answer because somewhere through the cloud of inebriation, I know that’s the plan. I try to focus on making it to his car without puking on him. When we arrive at the public garage, the only thing I will remember later about his car is that it’s sleek and shiny. He helps me sink into the buttery leather seat and I close my eyes, grateful I didn’t vomit the whole way here.

When my lashes flutter open, I realize I’m home. It’s dark and I have no memory of how I got here. What I do notice is that I’m still fully dressed and my clothes reek of alcohol. The stench makes me gag, yet I manage to stand. The fact that I sway on my feet tells me that alcohol still courses through my veins. I must not have been home very long. I have to steady myself on the wall after taking a few steps. The zing of pain in my feet alerts me that I still have my heels on. I kick them off before I walk out the room in search of the bathroom. I don’t bother to turn on any lights for fear of causing a blinding headache. The first door I open turns out to be a closet. I shake my head and turn in circles as my world continues to revolve around me. I walk down the halls until finally I make into my bath.

Fumbling with my sweater, I remember the thin belt at my waist. I have a doozy of a time getting it undone along with pulling the sweater over my head. That task done, I move next to undo my skirt. I end up chasing the back zipper like a dog does its tail. Finally, I give up and yank it off. My thong is a breeze but the bra gives me hell. When I’m finally naked, I grope for the shower knob and wait for the warm water. I pull open the door and pause because something’s not right. Then I remember the night with Andy and Daniel. I blink but step in the shower, hoping to clear out the confusion with the steam.

Standing there for a second, I recall Daniel’s deflated look. I wonder how I’ll face him at work on Monday and how I’ll survive Mandy’s wrath. She did warn me.

After a good scrub, I practically tumble out of the shower and I’m sure I’m forgetting something.
My teeth
. I snag the toothbrush and paste and get to work. Minty fresh breath doesn’t annoy my stomach. I fumble my way into the bedroom and leave the towel on the floor as I crawl into bed. With as much trouble as I had taking off my clothes, I don’t intend to waste time trying to put pajamas on.

When I blink my eyes open at some point later, there are three things I notice. First, the dreaded headache pounds just under the surface of my skull. I know I’m dehydrated by all the alcohol and need to drink some water to help ward it off. Second, the bad taste in my mouth. So much for my earlier brushing. I flick my tongue out, hoping to get rid of my cotton mouth. Third, I’m extremely warm, like I’ve been wrapped in an electric blanket. I cast off all those considerations and hope sleep will claim me again. I’m not quite ready to wake and no light seeps through the blinds. It’s still dark out, so it’s too early to get up.

Fantasy land is the best part of sleeping. I so easily slip back into dreamland. I haven’t been touched in so long; I’ve conjured my leading man very craftily with the help of some steamy romance novels I’ve recently read. His hands, which I’ve always loved, sweep down my torso. I’m a bit mad he doesn’t pay homage to my breasts, but that thought flitters away as his fingertips stroke over my bundle of nerves with perfect pressure.

“Oh my god, it’s been so long,” I say languorously.

“Yes, it has.”

I almost jump out of my skin. My eyes fly open as I jackknife into a sitting position. There is a man in my bed!

“Drew, I mean Andy.” I shake off the cobwebs because who else could it be? Besides, I would recognize his voice anywhere.

“Cate?”

“Why are you in my bed?” I’m now fully aware I’m naked. Fantasy land has morphed into reality. Despite our history, he’s never been one to take liberties. I yank the sheet up to neck level.

“Actually, you’re in my bed.” His proclamation rocks my world.

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#badboy #sexgod #playerturnedonewomanman

Reviews for A Mess of A Man

"This story killed my emotions in ways I didn't think was possible. The characters were beautifully written and I felt like I was along on their journey with them, and going through all of their heartbreak the same time they were. So seriously, this book is highly recommended."  Sabrina from Escape to Reading 
"A mess of a Man by A.M. Hargrove & Terri E. Laine makes you think about what you would do if faced with some of the choices presented in the novel, an emotional read for sure. The story has a slow build but the love story that is developing is one that is worth the wait." Books and Boys Book Blog 
"This story was so captivating, intriguing and highly addictive that I read way past my bedtime. It's an emotional journey that left me heartbroken at one point but the authors were able to piece my heart back together in order to leave me with a heartwarming feeling. I strongly recommend giving this story a serious chance."  Diane from TDC Book Reviews
"Ben was truly a mess of a man, I felt sorry for him at times, I fell in love with him but also wanted to strangle him at times too. He was everything I look for in my Book Boyfriend, Hot, Dirty Talker Highly successful Business Man (The Suits also helped) a truly wonderful and emotional read." Mandy from 2 Girls & Their Kindles
"It made me ugly cry again damn it. I rarely ugly cry when I read a book, but Terri and A.M. seem to hit the nail on the head in that aspect." Five Stars from Addicted2Books

Begin to read on next page.

PROLOGUE

There is finality to the sound of the door closing behind her. A sort of tormenting peace knowing the end has come. It’s not like I should have expected things to go on this way for long. How could they? The few people I let into my inner circle have dropped out of my life or let me down.

One evil word has taken on the role of judge, jury, and executioner to those closest to me. Why should this be any different?

My hand presses against my forehead to ease the crushing headache insisting on making its presence known. It’s only a matter of time before everything will splinter—like the exterior of my empty heart.

I stare holes in the walls as if I can still see her, the one I let in. The sun rises and sets with her inner and outer beauty, blinding me with something I don’t dare name because it scares me in ways that bring me hope—hope I’ve never had before. Every time I’m with her, I know dawn will come. Now that she’s gone, darkness has blocked the sunlight seeking entrance through my window.

Sweeter than peach cobbler, she hardly has a bad thing to say about anybody—until now. Her parting description of me, beginning with
ass
and ending with
hole
, reverberates through my hollow heart, as I stand here entrenched in my spot. I’m not even shocked, as this isn’t the first time I’ve been on the receiving end of that sentiment. I’m only surprised because I don’t think I’ve ever heard her so much as mutter a single curse word before. And the first time I do, it’s aimed squarely at me.

My hands tighten around a tumbler filled with amber liquid before I toss back its contents hoping for oblivion or something close to it. This road is so familiar. Only this time is different. I never cared like I do now. She means more to me than a quick fuck. Hadn’t I been about to tell her just that? How could things have gone wrong so fast?

Her parting condemnation of my character mocks me as it slashes across my chest drawing blood, as was its intent. My heartbeat slows and echoes from the other side of the chasm created between us when she unknowingly ripped my heart out of my chest and left with it.

Yet the door between us continues to dare me to cross over its threshold and make things right. Something seemingly so simple, yet the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. As if that weren’t enough, my best friend disapprovingly glowers at me from beyond the grave making me miss his presence more than ever before. He’d been my compass, my right hand man, my voice of reason when it came to situations like this.

Inexorably alone, I watch my life implode into a wasteland from my bad decisions.
I can fix this
. The letter he wrote in his final days itches to be in my hand. The worn lines of the paper I’ve unfolded and refolded so often are in a drawer next to my bed. But I’m not strong enough to go get it. It doesn’t matter. How many times have I read the damn thing? A hundred? A thousand? His poignant thoughts and advice are tattooed on my brain, as deeply as the image of his dying face as he took his last breath.

When the fuck will I get that picture out of my head? And when will I stop needing him to talk me off the ledge, goddammit? How the hell am I supposed to fix this thing between her and me without him? “Why the fuck did you have to die? Friends aren’t supposed to die on each other. And you know I suck at this shit!”

The words echo off the walls as I continue to grow roots into the floor like an unwanted weed.

I can practically hear him shouting,
“Get off your ass and stop her, you idiot!”

But I can’t. I’ve died a million deaths since the day he left this earth.

“If you were still here, I wouldn’t be in this shit storm,” I choke out as if his memory were tangible.

What I wouldn’t give for him to be here now.
Anything
. Because if he were, I’d know anything is possible. Especially everything I want to have with her. His death is only a reminder that dreams don’t come true.

Don’t be a dumbass. You can still fix this
.

Although I cling to his memory like the air I need to breathe, I choose to ignore his unspoken advice. Instead, I stubbornly stay embedded to my spot because nothing can change the outcome. It’s a truth she and I know will haunt me until my last breath. And it’s created a wall between us I’m unable to climb … even if you gave me a damn ladder.

I’ve never been much of a risk-taker when it comes to matters of the heart. I can fill a bank account to a number with many zeros behind it from my astute choices in the market. But I can’t be a man a woman stays with.
Hadn’t I warned her about that too
?

Unable to see past my own shitty existence, I long for her to come back. I want to believe it’s all been some kind of mistake and I can forget what I know to be true. As the seconds continue to tick by, the inevitability that things are really over sinks in. My window of opportunity quickly closes as fast as her car door slams and the engine fires to life.

She’s so close, yet miles away. The longer I let the minutes expand between us I know distance won’t make the heart grow fonder. But maybe it’s for the best. Love, or whatever masquerades as it, just isn’t enough for the dirty, fucked up truth. Right when things were better than I ever expected, facts messed it up.

Groaning, I launch the crystal glass worth a small fortune at the door I can’t seem to force myself towards. A beautiful show of light plays off the shards as they cascade down in an explosion of fireworks. Visually, it’s what I feel inside as desolation constricts and then obliterates my chest because the best thing I ever had is gone … leaving me with only the certainty I’m meant to be with her.