Sidelined: A Wilde Players Dirty Romance (27 page)

The meeting runs long and leaves me behind with all the other business of the day, but I nailed it. I deflected every question fired at me with a well-researched answer, giving my father no choice but to be mollified that I’d done the work.

Catching up the rest of the day, I’m busy and out of the emotional shitstorm in my head … which is why I put in at least sixty hours a week.

When Jeff drags me out of the office earlier than normal, I’m grateful for one thing. And that’s alcohol. I pay for a few rounds as the guys get Mark good and twisted. I’m halfway there myself, although my tolerance for the stuff has increased, and it’s taking more to get a buzz these days.

Downing a shot, I watch as Jeff ropes in a sexy blonde for Mark. A woman with dark hair and clear blue eyes is not too far behind and she winks at me. She has a gorgeous exotic mix of features that makes her a stunner. I buy her a drink or two before I allow her to lead me towards the private restrooms in the back.

She doesn’t waste time and works my zipper down as she drops to her knees. I take a fistful of her silky dark hair and wind it around my hand. She works a condom on my semi-hardened cock and I start to wonder if she’s a professional. I say nothing and let her work me up from half-mast. Only I’m not into it. She’s an attractive woman, but I can’t go there. I’ve had many nights like this and it’s getting old.

I pull her mouth away and tuck myself back in my pants. “Sorry, sweetheart. It’s not working.” Before she can balk and spew curses at me that will draw everyone’s attention, I add, “I think I’m too drunk to get it up.”

It isn’t exactly true, but no reason to cause bad blood.

“Maybe next time,” she says with a wink.

I nod. She gives me her phone number, and I take the trouble to program it in my phone, more of the illusion that it’s me and not her, which is mostly true. We leave the restroom and I join my friends. I say nothing when they stare at me; I don’t have anything to prove to these guys. The night that should have been fun is turning out to be a bust. I eventually cab it home when I finally hit that sweet spot on the drunk scale, and I don’t want to wrap my car around a tree.

Somehow I make it to bed, still dressed, which is where I find myself in the morning. A bottle of water and a cup of coffee later, I cab it back to pick up my car. My stomach growls and I pull into the first store I see. It’s not where I normally go, but it’s right there. I need to get a couple of things, like bread, milk, eggs, bacon and cereal, for the lazyass hangover breakfast of champions which is a hodgepodge of everything and anything.

I step inside the unfamiliar store and gaze around to determine which direction I should head first to fulfill the small list of items.

That’s when I spot her. My dick stiffens and points in her direction like a divining rod. I’m not sure what to make of it. This has never happened, especially considering I can only see her mostly from behind. I do get a view of side boob and her rack is impressive from that angle. I step forward because her lower half is hidden by the display stand in the produce section.

Then I see it. Miles of long, smooth, tanned legs. She looks like she might be headed out to the beach because she wears a loose white tank top with a bright blue bra or bikini top that peeks out from the side where the tank top hangs open. Her tan extends up and under a pair of frayed at the edges shorts that don’t have to be tight to make my pulse race.

Blood leeches from my brain and I can barely think. I haven’t even seen her face and I could chisel a stone statue with my dick. Her hand lands on a round melon and she turns enough to give me a profile view. Damn if she isn’t the full package. Her face is as pretty as the rest of her. Strands of golden blond hair mixed with honey brown are pulled into some messy knot at the base of her neck. I find myself tethered to her like a dog on a leash. Unconsciously, I begin walking towards her.

When I get the full view, she isn’t as exotically stunning as the woman in the club last night, yet I find myself way more attracted to the one in front of me.

Her hand is still on the melons and she’s squeezing them, or so it appears.

“Excuse me,” I say.

Startled hazel eyes flecked with gold meet mine as a smile grows on her lips. “Yes?”

Her voice is like a hand stroking my dick and I have to have her in my bed tonight.

“I’m going to have to write you up for molesting the fruit. It’s unseemly with kids in the vicinity. I’ll need your name.”

This is where she can shut me down because she thinks I’m corny as hell or she’ll give me a shot by telling me her name.

“Hmm,” she says taking her hand off the melon in feigned shock. “I could give you a fake name.”

“You could or I could ask for ID.”

She giggles and that mouth. It takes the strength of ten men to keep my eyes leveled on hers and not take in her extraordinary chest. I wait a few seconds before she says, “I’m Samantha Calhoun, but my friends call me Sam.”

She holds out her hand. I take it and lift it to my lips. “Nice to meet you, Samantha. I’m Ben Rhoades.”

“Ben? Is that short for Benjamin?”

“Ah,” I say reluctantly letting go of her hand. “That’s a long story. One you can only hear if you agree to go out to dinner with me.”

She raises her brows. “Is that so?”

I shrug.

“Okay, I think I want to hear this long story.”

“Tonight?” I ask because I want her in my bed so badly, I’m almost ready to beg. And isn’t that some shit? If not for my jeans, my dick would have popped out and told her himself.

“I can’t. I have plans.”

Of course she does. I remember it’s Saturday. I probably look like a total loser for suggesting it. “Monday?”

“Monday?” she repeats.

“Yes, I have a thing tomorrow, and who has plans on a Monday?”

She smiles. “Monday’s good.”

She pulls out her phone and I have déjà vu for a second remembering last night with the exotic beauty in the private bathroom. We exchange phone numbers and I promise to call her with the details.

“Great,” she says and her smile is beautiful.

I turn up the wattage on mine, then leave her after I say, “I should report you to the Produce Manager, but consider it a warning this time.”

She giggles again and I know I’m in. I head towards the dairy department and I don’t look back. I don’t chase women. Never have and I won’t start now. If this doesn’t work out between us, there are plenty of other women in the world to satisfy my needs.

TWO

Sam

I look again at the melon I’m still caressing. Oh, the aroma.
Control yourself, Sam. It’s a fucking melon. Not a penis, for Pete’s sake!

The dark-haired, gray-eyed god struts away from me as I ogle his goods. Holy melon I’m a felon! The man with the sexiest voice known to womankind who interrupted my fruitporn could possibly be my total destruction as I stand staring, shell-shocked. He is every bit as panty-melting from behind as he was from the front.

Messy-as-hell hair, scruffy face, and a smile that would stop a nuclear war, and he accused me of molesting the damn fruit! How the hell did he know? But he’s the kind of man who would make me lose my normally in-control-of-everything-Sam-self. What exactly was that all about? And how cliché is this? Meeting in the produce section of the Whole Foods, of all things? And then he asks me out and we exchange numbers. Jesus tomatoes. I just handed out my number to him like a piece of candy. No background check. Nothing. He leaves and I’m left standing here, massaging the melon like it’s one of his balls. And does it ever feel good. Not as velvety smooth as a penis, mind you.

My phone rings shaking me out of my stupor.

“You’re still coming, right?” Lauren asks.

“Um, me, miss a day at the beach? What do you think?”

“Where the hell are you then?”

“I took a small detour,” I say, tossing the melon in my basket. “I’m at Whole Foods grabbing some stuff for munchies. I’m sure your parents don’t want us to eat them out of house and home.”

“Oh, that. You know they always have enough food for an army platoon.”

“Too bad. I’m here anyway.”

“Whatever. I’ll see you in a few then. And whatever you do, don’t bring any towels. Mom says she has so many out here from people leaving them behind she thinks they’re mating and reproducing.”

Heading to the register with my haul, I laugh. “Gotcha. Later.”

Lauren and I have been roommates since our days at Clemson. We went to high school together and everyone swore it would be a mistake to live together and we would end up hating each other. What did they know? Six years later, here we are, still living together and the best of friends. I’m as close to Lauren as I am my own sister.

As I’m walking to the car with my groceries, my phone buzzes again. Checking it, I see it’s my mom. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, sweetie. What’re you up to?”

“Headed to the beach. I’m trying to beat the traffic.”

“Well, I won’t keep you. I wanted to see if you made your decision yet.”

Inwardly I groan. This is something I don’t like to think about, but I know she wants me to hurry with this. “Not yet, Mom. I have plenty of time.”

“I know you do. Don’t wait too long, though.”

“I won’t. Gotta go. Love you.”

“Kisses, sweetie.”

It’s the perfect beach day—bright blue sky and not a cloud in sight. My windows are down as the music blares.

When I pull into the driveway of the Mitchell’s beach house, I mentally push my convo with my mom out of my head as I lug all my purchases upstairs, determined to enjoy the gorgeous day.

“Didn’t think you’d ever get here,” Lauren says, grabbing some of my bags to give me a hand.

“Hi Sam.” Mrs. Mitchell hugs me. “What in the world did you bring this time?”

“Just some fresh fruit to make a salad. I’ll get to cutting this up.”

“Can I make you a Bloody Mary or a mimosa?” she asks.

“A Bloody Mary would be great, thanks.”

When she leaves, I say to Lauren, “You wouldn’t believe what happened. I met a god at Whole Foods.”

“What?”

So I explain.

“You say his name is Ben Rhoades?”

“Yeah. Do you know him?”

Lauren gives me her scrunchy-faced look. “Not that I know. Mom? Do you know any Rhoades?”

“Yeah. Martin and Julia Rhoades. Why?” Mrs. Mitchell hands me my drink.

Lauren says, “Oh, yeah. Do they have kids?”

“Yeah, two. Maybe three. I can’t remember because we were never close with them. I think their oldest is in business with Martin. He owns an investment firm, if I recall correctly. Your father would know more about that. Why the interest?”

“Sam met Ben Rhoades this morning at Whole Foods. She says he’s a god.”

Mrs. Mitchell arches her brows and leans in. “Really? Do tell.”

I giggle again and they both look at me like the melon I’m holding is my third eye.

“Holy hot hunks, Mom. She’s smitten. Sam never giggles.”

“I know. It’s a fact. You all should’ve seen it. You know how I am at Whole Foods anyway. I ogle the produce like porn, and then he comes up to me and accuses me of molesting the melons. It’s like he had a direct line into my brain. And I wish I’d had my damn phone out. I would’ve snapped a pic of him. Drool-worthy for sure.”

They’re both eating up my words. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. He had the messy hair thing going from here ‘til Sunday and I wanted to stick my hands in it and mess it up even more. Tall, dark, and desirable. End of story.”

Mrs. Mitchell, whom I adore, nudges Lauren, “Well, no damn wonder she’s giggling.”

Lauren asks, “Eyes?”

“Piercing gray. And you wanna hear the best? I gave him my number and he’s asked me out for Monday. You don’t think he’s a serial killer or something, do you?”

Mrs. Mitchell laughs. “I think you’re safe on that one.”

“And you were going to share this like, when? Tomorrow?” Lauren sticks her lower lip out.

Mrs. Mitchell runs interference. “Lauren, give the poor girl a chance to tell her story. This is hot. Girl meets boy at the fruit stand.”

“No! Not at the fruit stand. In the produce section. Just like in the movies,” I argue.

Lauren waves her arm. “Whatever. Just finish!”

“That’s it. He takes my number, plugs it into his phone, and saunters away. And it was a damn fine view from the rear, too. That man left a trail of smoke behind him, I declare.”

“Hmm. I think I need to start hanging out at Whole Foods,” Lauren mumbles.

“I don’t know. But honestly, he’ll probably turn out to be a jerk like the last four guys I’ve dated. I do have that jerk magnet thing going.”

“Maybe you’ve been demagnetized. You never know.”

The rest of the day is spent out on the beach, soaking up the sun, playing beach volleyball, eating, drinking, and having the best time. Berkeley, Carrie, Britt, and Hayley—my other besties, official advisory council, and general I-don’t-know-what-I’d-do-without-them-in-my-life—show up later in the morning, and Mrs. Mitchell makes a bunch of sandwiches to feed the troops, like she always does.

We all go out to body surf and the waves are a little rough. Britt ends up flashing everyone on the beach when she stands up sputtering out salt water and her bathing suit top is askew from getting caught in the curl. Carrie and Hayley laugh so hard they can’t tell her and the rest of us are behind her, so we don’t see it until the nipple show is a done deal. A group of guys give her a standing ovation and offer her a beer as we walk back to our chairs. Britt, being the good sport she is, laughs at their gesture telling them the least they can do is offer her an import instead of the crappy domestic they’re trying to give her. That sends us all into fits of laughter, and even the guys love it.

As the day winds down, Carrie suggests Home Team on the island for dinner and drinks, and it’s a no-brainer.

“God, I love this place,” I say around a mouthful of wings after our food arrives.

We all mmm over the yumminess of what we’re eating, and afterward move to the bar area to mingle with some people we know.