Sidelined: A Wilde Players Dirty Romance (2 page)

A smirk appears on that gorgeous face of hers. The one I used to be so in love with. The one I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with.

“Fine. Feel free to see someone else. Let me warn you, though. We only have one other therapist in this office, and he only works half-days every other Thursday. So good luck with that. Unless you want to drive all the way to and from Asheville every day.”

Then she has the nerve to wink at me. And all I can think about is her dumping me.
Bitch
.

Cassidy

He did not just call me a bitch. I stomp into the private office we use for consultations, only Jenny is there with her lunch.

“Tell me that’s not Fletcher Wilde.”

“It is.” Though I’m not sure how the word escaped my mouth, considering I was grinding my teeth.

“Oh my God, oh my God. I have to meet him,” she says while waving her hands wildly in the air.

“Yeah, you should run along. He’s probably at the front waiting to reschedule his appointment with Cory.” She stares at me, waiting for me to say more. I throw a thumb over my shoulder in the direction of the door. “Hurry or he’ll just leave.”

She runs from the room with a confused but wide smile on her face. I sit in the chair to catch my breath. When I saw the name on the schedule, I’d assumed it was his father who needed help. I had no idea he’d come back to town.

Why now after all this time? He made his choice when he left, and I’d made mine. We’d tried the long distance thing, and it failed epically.

“Cass.” I glance up to see Jenny in the doorway. “He hasn’t left. He’s still waiting for you in room two.”

Her eyes don’t meet mine, and I know she’s got a crush. Who wouldn’t? He’s fucking beautiful, but a total fucking asswipe. I don’t have time to kill her hero worship for him. Maybe he’s into eighteen-year-old girls these days.

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

She gets her food and leaves for the breakroom, which is where she should have eaten in the first place.

Before I go back, I text my friend Gina,
The prick has arrived
.

I take in a deep breath and walk into the room. Fletcher is sitting in the chair, which makes him look so goddamn helpless, and I half-forgive him in my head.

“So, Mr. Wilde, I hear you approve of my services,” I say, as I take in his thick brown hair and golden brown eyes. The sheer size of him makes me feel small when I’m this close to him. But I remember how those arms of his would wrap me up and make me feel safe.

“Cass,” he says, breaking me out of the spell he’s cast. “Don’t give me shit, okay? I just got a call from my agent that I might be cut from the team if my prognosis isn’t good.”

Cass. Only he called me that. More memories of stolen kisses and hot nights in a confined car bombard me. Then in college, when we had to sneak around to get naked, risking a roommate showing up at any time. That only makes my chest hurt as I remember watching him walk away from me that last time.

“Let’s keep this professional, Mr. Wilde. You can call me Mrs. Miller from now on.”

“Married, huh? No wonder I didn’t recognize the name.”

I don’t bother to respond to his comment.

“Look, I’m booked today. We’ve already lost time. Either you play by the rules, something you know all too well, or you can make an appointment with my colleague. I’m sure he can see you in a couple of weeks.”

Shocked, his mouth opens before he closes it. His jaw works a few seconds before he grits out, “Fine.”

For a second, I’m gripped again with pain that he’d rather wait and see someone else before I pull myself together.
Remember professional.
“Okay, I’ll have Jenny set you up with another appointment.”

“Cass—” When I glare at him, he amends his word. “Mrs. Miller, what I meant was, let’s get this show on the road, because I have to be on the field for the season opener.”

It’s Ms. Miller, but I don’t correct him. Instead, I contemplate telling him his odds of making it on the field won’t be good unless he works his ass off. But, I decide we’ve had enough confrontation.

“If you’ll take off all your clothes except your underwear and cover with this.” I reach inside a drawer and hand him the paper gown. “We’ll get started on electro stimulation.”

“What? Fuck, Cass, you know I don’t wear underwear.”

“Mr. Wilde, I’m not sure what you do these days, but if you aren’t wearing any undergarments, we can work on your shoulder and lower back. Leave your pants on. But remember this for next time.”

“How is this going to get me on the field?”

Sighing, I try to remain calm and patient. He isn’t the first to question our methods.

“Although I have some leeway, this is what your doctor has prescribed for you. The type of injuries you suffered need time to heal. We are working on pain and muscle stimulation. There would have been a massage if you hadn’t wasted most of our allotted time.”

I see his smirk and ignore it.

“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.”