Sidelined: A Wilde Players Dirty Romance (7 page)

“So, what made you come here today?” I ask, curious.

“I’ve always wanted to give back. And to be honest, I’ve donated money to charities in town. But since I haven’t wanted to come back, I’ve never had the chance to do it personally.”

“Why haven’t you wanted to come back?”

“Truth?” I nod. “You. I didn’t want to see you happy with anyone else. It would’ve been too hard.”

I bite my lip and glance away. His finger turns my chin to face him. “I didn’t say that as an accusation.”

Confession time. “Truth is, I have avoided any media coverage of you because I didn’t want to learn about you being with someone else either.”

His smile is genuine. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

Automatically, my head shakes. “It’s probably not a good idea.”

It’s a typical date night. Everyone will be out in pairs, and I don’t want to confuse things with us.

“Cass, it’s only dinner, and I don’t want to eat alone.”

That candy cover coating over my heart cracks because he’s too goddamn sweet. “Fletch, I can’t.”

“Fine. I do need to talk to you about something. So, how about takeout at my house? Nothing fancy.”

“Why don’t you just tell me here?”

It’s his turn to shake his head. “This is about the kids.” He searches my eyes before he adds, “I don’t bite.”

A wry smile forms on my lips. “You do, and that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

“No, you’re not. You’re turned on. I know you, Cass, and I know your body better.”

He does, and the truth is, I don’t want to be alone tonight either. Dinner at his place will take some of the pressure off.

“Okay, I’ll come.”

“Of course, you will. How many times is the question?”

I laugh because he’s only playing off my poor choice of words.

“I’ll meet you at your house to eat, but that’s it.”

“Eating is only the beginning, baby.”

I groan, “No funny business or I’m not co— going to make it over.”

Later, when I arrive at his house, I’m still wearing the dress I’d worn earlier. The fact that I spent an hour arguing with myself about my choice in clothing meant I’m in deeper than I want to admit. But changing into pants seemed like a cop-out. And changing into anything else meant I’m putting too much effort into a quick dinner meeting.

“Cass,” Fletcher says from the doorway.

My feet come unglued from the ground. I walk up the porch steps and through the open door as he moves aside.

“It smells good.”

“I ordered Thai.”

“My favorite,” I say.

“I know.”

I nod. “What do you want to talk about?”

He points to the kitchen. “Let’s eat first.”

And we do. The food is delicious, but in a tourist town, restaurants don’t last unless they get good ratings.

Fletcher sits back and watches me after the meal is done.

“So, what is it?” I ask.

His face turns pensive. He sighs, and something in it alerts me to what’s to come.

“My agent informed me that the coaches and everyone else are worried I won’t recover in time. They want me to come back and let the team doctors supervise my rehab.”

My chair scrapes across the floor as I push to my feet. “Of course. We’re just some little hick mountain town with nobody worthy of rehabbing the great Fletcher Wilde.”

“And this is why I didn’t tell you earlier. I don’t want to go back. I want you to help me get where I need to be. Plus, my parents are in Italy supporting my brother. It’s bad enough I’m not there. I don’t want to leave their house empty for two months.”

“I can watch the house and feed the dogs if those are the only reasons you’re not going.”

He stands to his considerable height and crowds my space. “You obviously didn’t hear the first thing I said. I want you to help me, Cass. And I believe in you. Imagine how your career could explode if I get back on the field and tell the world if not for you I wouldn’t be there.”

It’s true. With his endorsement, the practice could benefit from it. And I’ve put everything I have into it. If it fails, I not only risk my assets but my dad’s since he had to co-sign for me after Calvin ruined my credit. And I’m barely making it while paying off the debts Calvin left for me.

“It would mean that we would have to work together outside of my office during my off hours.”

He folds his hands across his chest. “I’m up for it if you are. I’ll pay you for your time.”

As tempting as it is, I say, “I need to think about it.”

“Don’t take too long, Cass. I need to tell my agent something tomorrow.”

“You’ll have my answer by then.”

And as much as I want to stay and let Fletcher fuck my brains out, I leave, wondering exactly what I’ll tell him in the morning.

Fletcher

Last night Cassidy told me to meet her at the office around noon today. If she can’t get me back on the field, we’re both fucked. I won’t have a chance in hell of negotiating another contract if I can’t prove my worth to anyone, not to mention, her career could possibly be ruined if it becomes known that she’s the one who failed to rehab me properly.

But then it hits me. Not ruining her career is even more important than getting a contract signed. What does this tell me? Am I so pussy-whipped already that I’m willing to do anything just to make her look good? One thing I do know is she means the world to me, and I want to make her shine like gold.

She opens the door for me and then locks it after I enter. The place is quiet and empty, since it’s Sunday. The office isn’t open on weekends, so we have the place to ourselves.

“Ready?” she asks.

“As I’ll ever be.”

“This is going to be intense, Fletcher. I’m going to push you harder than I normally push patients. You’re going to have to let me know whether it’s good pain or bad. I trust you know the difference, being an athlete.”

“I do.”

She begins with manipulation and massage, where I grind my molars to prevent me from whining out loud and sounding like some pansy ass. I’ve barely recovered from that when she sticks her head in front of mine, and with a bright smile asks, “Ready for some strengthening exercises?”

My feeble muscles feel like mush, and she’s just taken them and torn each fiber individually, treating them as though they are rubber bands. Well, they aren’t, and I’ve a mind to tell her as much. And now she wants to know what? If I want to lift weights or something? I think she’s purposefully trying to be evil, to pay me back for those disgusting media pictures.

Only I have to put my best face forward or she’ll know I’m nothing but a whiny ass bastard. “Whatever you say, boss.” And I grin as sweetly as I can, even though sweat is gushing out of me like I’m a fucking thundercloud.

“Okay, here.” She hands me two of those wide elastic bands and tells me to step inside of them so my ankles and thighs are wrapped in them. And then I go to work doing all sorts of crazy shit. Who knew those thin little pieces of rubber could be so damn torturous? I’m going to melt every single one I can find if I ever get through this. I need a block of wood to bite down on. This shit is like getting sacked by a three hundred pound defensive end over and over. After fifteen minutes of this, I want to call my mom and cry and ask her for my blankie.

“How ya doin’ over there?” she calls out from across the room, clipboard in hand.

“Good. Great.” Motherfucker. Get me through this.

“Good job, Fletch. Keep going.”

I watch her grab a pen from behind her ear and scribble something down. I wonder if it’s
bring out the rack, that old medieval torture device, and put Fletcher on it to abuse him some more.

When I don’t think it’s possible for me to lift either leg one more time, she says, “Great job. That was awesome. Now for your shoulder.”

Shoulder? I have a shoulder?

“Lie down on the table.” And she does that muscle-tearing, ripping-out thing she did to my knee. The next thing I know, I’m stretching my arm against some slanted board, cursing everything known and unknown to man. Why the hell did I ever agree to this?

When those stretching motions are over, I think my right arm is ten inches longer than my left. This could be a good thing. If my arm reaches to the ground, it’ll definitely be easier to catch that snap. And a Hail Mary will be a breeze. When I look up, she has one of those fucking bands dangling from her fingers. Scratch the Hail Mary. I’ll be praying that instead.

I’m actually pleased to discover the shoulder exercises aren’t nearly as bad as the knee. I push my way through, and then she announces it’s time for hydrotherapy.

“Hydrotherapy?” I ask.

“Yeah, you know. Water jets. You must have this in your training facility.”

“Well, sure, but we’re done with the tor— I mean therapy?”

“Was I too hard on you?” she asks, as her brows draw inward.

“No, I was sure we’d go a lot longer.”

“Fletch, it’s two o’clock.”

Two? I thought it was closer to midnight. “Already? Wow, that went by fast.”

“Yeah, I don’t want you to overdo it.”

“Oh, well, in that case, hydrotherapy it is. Lead the way, boss.”

We walk to the rear of the facility and enter a room. There’s only one giant tub in there and a smaller one, unlike at our training center, where we have tubs of various sizes for different injury locations. Cass proceeds to fill the tub.

“I imagine you know how these work, right?”

“Yeah, I’m familiar with them,” I answer.

“Get in and let the water do its trick.”

She walks toward the door.

“You’re not staying?”

Stopping, she spins around. “I have to chart your progress. I’ll be back. You afraid to be alone in here?” she teases, smirking.

“No, I just wanted some company.” I pull off my T-shirt and then slide my shorts off. I’m not thinking too much about it, but then when I see her reaction, I’m glad I did it. She should’ve known I’d be commando. Stepping into the deep tub, I ask, “Care to join me?”

“You know that’s not part of this deal,” she huffs and stomps out of the room. But I’m not giving up yet.

The water feels great on my knee. My shoulder is much better than I thought it would be. It’s the leg that’s giving me fits. But even so, I feel myself getting stronger as time goes on. Leaning back against the tub, I sink into the warm water and allow it to work its magic on me. I don’t know what it is, but these tubs are amazing.

I must’ve dozed off because all of a sudden, I hear the
click, click, click
of her heels across the floor, as she gets closer to the tub. I pretend I’m still in my zone, relaxing away the hour.

“Are you a prune yet?”

“Huh?” I shake my head, knocking the sleep out of it.

“Don’t you know it’s not safe to fall asleep in one of these? You could slip underwater and drown.”

I lean over the side of the tub and point my finger at her. “And whose fault would that be? I told you I wanted you to stay to talk with me.”

She acts so flustered; maybe I’ve gone too far. Her hand is close enough to grab so I snag it with my own.

“Cass, don’t be upset with me.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. I can tell. It’s me, remember? I know you better than anyone.”

“You only think you do. I’ve changed since then.”

“Maybe, but not that much. The Cassidy I remember still lives inside of you.” I release her hand and push myself to my feet. “She’s here.” I touch her temple. “Here.” I touch her cheek. “Here.” My fingers press against her lips. “But most importantly, she’s here.” I lay my hand over her heart, then bend down and my mouth meets hers. There is not a single bit of resistance in her, so I lick the line where her lips meet and she opens for me. Taking that as an invitation, my tongue pushes through, and hers is there waiting for me.

Naked Fletcher is no match for clothed Cassidy, so my hands slide under her sweater, and the satiny texture of her skin has Fletcher, Jr. turning into a greedy son of a bitch. Impatient fingers undo her jeans and tug them down her legs, while she starts to stroke my cock.

“Get in the tub with me, Cass.” I lift her sweater up and over her head.

“Fletcher, this is the last time.”

“Yeah, you said that before, but okay.”
Not in a million years. I’m going to make you love me, baby, if it’s the last thing I do.

She kicks off her shoes, and the jeans follow. I take a seat, and when I see her stepping into the tub, my day is made.

“I don’t want you to do anything that involves the use of your right arm or knee. Let me do all the work. You need to let those rest for a while.”

“So, what are you saying, Cass?”

“I’m saying I’m going to ride you hard while you watch.”

Fuck. Me.

She straddles my hips, her back to me, and situates herself over me, then places my tip at her entrance.

One of my hands grabs her hip and stops her. “Are you ready? Let me check.”

“I’m way past ready. I was ready after I worked on your knee.”

My brows arch, and I swallow the
what the hell, why didn’t you say something?
that almost shoots out of my mouth.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“You to release the death grip you have on me.”

“Oh that. I forgot. Sorry.” My fingers ease off, and she lowers herself, inch by slow inch on me until she’s fully seated. Christ, she’s heaven. But then she tightens her muscles around me in a firm squeeze, and my hands almost white knuckle it on her again.

“Fuck, Cass.”

Then the fun takes off when she pumps her hips up and down, and I end up doing my best to join in and match her movements. Both hands hold the sides of the tub as she alternates between slow rocking and fast pumping. My hand moves to where we’re joined, and I find her clit to add more spice to the action. She sits flat to my lap and rocks herself until an orgasm hits, and when her inner muscles tighten on me, it doesn’t take me long to find my own. It seems like mine goes on and on, only I know it’s just my imagination. It’s the motion of Cass’s body against my own that’s creating the sensation.

My hand reaches around her neck and I pull her against me for a kiss. She’s eager for my mouth and offers up her own like dessert.