“Can I join you?”
His voice is rough, and I turn to see Fletcher.
“I was just leaving.”
“Why?”
I swallow. Why was I? “Gina stood me up.”
“But you’re here, and I’m here. Why don’t we just share a table together?”
My stomach growls, and I’m glad for the notice that dampens the sound. “Okay, fine. I am hungry.”
He sits, and I watch him wedge himself in the booth. And I realize food isn’t what I need. Of course, the waitress materializes as soon as Fletcher’s here.
“Can I get you something?” she asks.
His eyes barely leave mine, but he’s not an ass. “Sure, if you have a to-go bag big enough for my girl.”
She seems half-amused and half-annoyed. “No, sorry about that. Anything else?”
Somewhere along the way, she managed to undo a few of the buttons on her shirt, but Fletcher doesn’t notice.
“A beer would be great.”
After she lists out the IPAs they have, he settles on one, and she moves on to her quest. I don’t bother to ask for the drink I ordered. It’s probably best I stay sober.
“So, what brings you here?” I ask coolly. Something about this whole thing feels like a setup.
“I have to eat, and so do you.”
I’m about to ask if he and Gina set this up when the waitress comes back with both of our drinks. So she hadn’t forgotten. Points for her. He doesn’t speak until after she leaves.
“Do you remember the first time I took you out?”
The question is so far from where I’d planned to take the conversation, I’m speechless for a few seconds.
“I remember,” he continues. “I was nervous as hell. I had the prettiest girl in school agree to go out with me, and I was certain I’d fuck it up somehow.”
“Fletch—”
“And here you are. Still the prettiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, and once again, I’m nervous.”
That stops me.
“Why are you nervous?”
“Because I’m afraid you’re going to crush my heart all over like you did those years ago.”
I practically attack the poor man as I capture his face across the table. Our need for each other isn’t for public consumption. He manages to drop money onto the table as we kiss our way out the door. I’m in the seat, frantically tugging at his fly as he puts the truck in gear. And then, I suck my prize in all the way to the back of my throat. I manage to relax so I don’t choke myself, but I work out all my frustrations as I give him the best damn blow job one can give while the guy is driving.
The vehicle comes to a stop, and he pulls me free. “I’m close, but I want to finish this off inside you.”
Glancing up, I realize we are at my place, which confuses me.
“How did you know where I live?”
It should have creeped me out, but I’m more curious than anything else.
“Mom told me once.”
I nod, and he helps me out. I fumble with my keys, and he recovers. He’s always had good hands. Once inside, he plasters me to the door, and my purse drops to the floor with a dull thud.
Roughly, he pushes my shirt up, and my breasts pop free from my bra, which is completely useless against him. His fingers work one as his tongue works the other.
He switches, and his hand dips under the fabric that covers my center.
“Wet and always ready for me.”
My head bobs as I think how wrong Calvin is. I am more than a missionary style girl; he was just never Fletcher. Therefore, he was right on some things. I’d never given him my full heart. But when Fletcher’s two fingers thrust inside me, all thoughts of Calvin disappear.
“I need you now,” I groan.
Together, we work at his jeans. He unzips while I hook my fingers in for leverage to push his jeans down. I grab his ass, which is fanfuckingtastic. Then we work off my jeans. We only get one leg completely off before he’s hiking me up to wind my legs around him. God, he’s the man of steel when he lifts me with his good arm and shoulder. My back glides up the door before he sets me on the sturdy table near the door, and then he’s sliding into me.
We groan in unison when we are joined. My insides blaze from the friction we create.
Then, it’s my turn to moan out, “I’m close.”
“Not yet, baby. Where’s your bedroom?”
I point, and he turns. “Why?”
“I’m going to fuck you where you sleep so you don’t forget me, not even in your dreams.”
My jaw drops, but my mind still works. He helps me to my feet, but I’m wobbly. He may have the bad leg, but I’m the one with the weak knees. “The second door on the left,” I squeak in anticipation.
His long strides have us there in no time.
“Purple?” he asks, one brow rises.
I shrug when I hit the mattress with a little bounce.
“On your knees, baby. I know how you like it.”
He doesn’t let me turn on my own. He flips me over and hooks an arm under me to hike up my ass. And then he pushes inside me, stretching me beyond limit. His fingers work me somewhere north of where he rocks my world. As I scream his name, he pulls out, only to find that other place. It’s been far too long since I’ve done this. Calvin didn’t know how. If he’d only known just how adventurous I was with the right man.
“Fuckkkk…” He stills. “Are you okay?”
I can only move my head in the affirmative. “I should be asking you. Maybe I should be on top because of your leg.”
“Don’t worry about me, baby. My knee is not getting in the way of me having you like this.”
His fingers find the magic button between my legs as he pumps inside me. Fletcher is no small man anywhere on his body, and the bite of burn slowly turns to pleasure as he continues to work his way. It doesn’t take long before I’m pushing back, wanting him to move faster, and he does. I’m crying out my next orgasm when he loses control and follows me over that cliff.
As we collapse onto the bed, panting, I know for sure I will be dreaming about this man for the rest of my life as my heart takes the leap without me knowing. Although it changes nothing, he’s still leaving, and I’m still not going anywhere; I can’t help but admit to myself that I’m still in love with him. But love doesn’t change that our lives are in two different places. Dad thinks it would be easy for me to leave, but my finances are in the shitter. I can’t start over, not yet. And my pride would never allow me to tell Fletcher about my money problems. I won’t be one of those women who want to take from him. So I can only cherish what we have now, and hope I’ll survive when he leaves.
Fletcher
Cassidy will be my forever girl if I can only convince her I’m her guy. Stubborn as old Mr. Rafferty’s mule and hardheaded as the rock mountain they blasted through to create I-40, it won’t be easy. But I’m not going to give up until I win her over. Last night at her house surpassed any of my expectations. Never did I imagine she would allow me to spend the night. Poor Brady and Boomer were bustin’ a bladder to go out this morning, and Cass gave me hell about that, too.
“What were you thinking, leaving those poor pups inside all night?”
I don’t dare tell her I never thought she’d offer for me to stay over and no way in hell was I turning that invite down. I’ll just clean up dog pee if I have to is all there is to it. Or buy new floors for Mom and Dad if it’s that bad.
But I don’t have too much to be concerned about. They almost knock me down to get out, though, and I’m pretty sure they pee for ten minutes. Then they kiss me for like a half hour without stopping. Next time Cass is coming home with me.
As I feed the dogs, I think about what we did, what I did to her, and my dick springs back to life. Damn, I’m going to have to temper those thoughts, or I’ll walk around with a fucking stiffie all day. And I won’t see her again until my appointment this afternoon.
Checking the time, I know
it’s too early, but I send the text anyway. I’ll eat what she dishes out at lunch, after I buy, of course.
A few hours later, I walk into the cute little deli on the outskirts of town, the one I didn’t think Cass would come to for lunch because it was too far from her work. My “date” is waiting for me.
“So, how’d it go?” Gina asks.
My mouth has been turned up all day. “Great. Not perfect. But it was awesome.”
“You knocked yourself off a piece then, did you?”
“Jeez, Gina, this is Cass you’re talking about.”
“So? She needs to get laid just like the rest of us. I take it you did my girl good then?”
Shaking my head, I say, “I don’t quite know how to answer that.”
A sly grin spreads across her face. “You just did. I bet you two got into some kink, didn’t you?”
I fish-mouth several times and then look at the white ceiling, trying to think up a clever reply. But she saves me by tapping my arm and saying, “I’m proud of you, Fletch. You’re really living up to your name.”
“My name?”
“Yeah. The Man with the Hands. Isn’t that what they call you?”
“No, it’s not.” I rub my hand over my head. “They call me Wilde Hands—as in my last name.”
She waves a hand and says, “Same difference. I kinda like that. Wilde Hands, huh?” Then she giggles and leans in. “How wild did they get?”
I lean in and say, “You’ll have to ask Cass.”
“Dang it and she won’t tell me a thing.”
Her disappointed expression reminds me of a Beagle puppy.
“You’re terrible. What’s next?”
Both of her hands grip the table as she pushes back. “You mean to tell me she still isn’t on board?”
“Like I said before, she won’t ever be convinced because she is of the mindset that we’re destined to be apart. I have to convince her otherwise, and the only thing I can think of is to figure out a way where we’re somehow thrown together.”
“I can’t fake-stand her up again. She’ll figure that out,” Gina says.
“Is there a night she usually shows up at the bar?”
“Yeah, on Thursdays, but that’s not always a given.”
“How about this? Call her Thursday and apologize again and ask her to come in to catch up since you didn’t get to last night. I’ll show up then.”
“I could do that.”
“In the meantime, I’ll try to come up with something else.”
“Sounds good. Now, what are you buying me for lunch?”
“Whatever you want.” And I’d get her a new car if that’s what it is, as long as I get my girl back.
PT is brutal that day, as it usually is. Cass puts me through hell, but I keep telling myself it’s all for a good cause, and it seems to be working. It’s hard to believe the improvement in both my knee and shoulder. She really knows her stuff when it comes to sports rehab. Getting back on the playing field by training camp is the goal, but is that cause as good as it once was? Football has been my life for as long as I can remember. I’ve lived, breathed, slept, and dreamed about the gridiron, about catching the snap and turning the ball so the laces are just right to throw that perfect spiral, and now I question if this is what I still want. Being here with Cassidy has muddied the waters, turned my black and white world into a landscape of solid gray.
My mood continues to deteriorate as I drive home, and when I open the mailbox, there’s a letter addressed to me. I don’t pay too much attention to it, but then my phone rings, and it’s my agent calling. He’s the last person I want to talk to, but to avoid him wouldn’t be good.
“Leo, what’s up?”
“I called you earlier, but you didn’t answer.”
“Oh, I was in therapy. Must’ve missed it. What’s so important?”
“Yeah, they want you back here.”
“I thought we discussed that,” I say, exasperation and annoyance coloring my tone.
“We did. But this is to evaluate your playing potential. They want to make sure you’re roster-worthy.”
“What? My rehab isn’t close to being finished. I won’t be ready until July like we discussed.”
“Look, Fletcher, I told them that, but you know, they’re covering their asses. If you can’t play, they’ll need to replace you.”
“A lot of faith they have, huh?”
“It’s all about the money. You know.”
Yes, I do. And Leo is also about the money. This call isn’t just about the coaches, manager, president, and everyone else who has a stake in the financial pie. It’s about him, too.
“When?”
“End of May.”
“Fuck.” I’m not even sure that’s possible. This will be my career-ender if I can’t throw by then.
“Fletcher, you know you pissed them off when you didn’t come back here.”
“Fuck off, Leo. It’s not like I had much of a choice. I have other responsibilities outside of the team.”
“Whatever. You look at it one way. They look at it another. You could’ve hired a dog sitter and someone to watch your parents’ house. Let me know when you’re getting in. I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
“Yeah. Fine.” I end the call and throw my phone across the room, scaring the shit out of the dogs.
“Goddamn cock sucking assholes. Take them to the playoffs how many times, not to mention to the Super Fucking Bowl and this is the thanks I get.”
I toss the letter onto the counter and don’t bother opening it. I know what it says. And then I take back all the thoughts I had before Leo called. No matter what, and even though Cass is the love of my life, I have to prove to them that I can do this. If they think they can take me out like some old wounded dog, they have another thing coming. But fuck, if this doesn’t scare the shit out of me because I’m not sure if it’s even possible.
The liquor cabinet and Jamison shout my name, so I head over and pour a glass. Before I know it, I’m four deep. Then I hear the gravel crunching as a car pulls up and the dogs start barking. Who the hell is that?
The door swings open, and a vision of loveliness rushes in.
“Are you okay? I tried calling, but it kept going to your voicemail,” she says.
Shit. My phone. It’s on the floor somewhere.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. What happened?” She crouches next to the recliner I’m sitting in.
My palm rubs over my hair, and I blink, trying to pull up the right words to tell her.
“You’re scaring me, Fletcher.”
I point to the counter. “There. In the kitchen. A letter. Just read the damn thing.”
She walks over, and I hear paper tearing. After a couple of minutes, she asks, “Can they do this?”
“Oh yeah. They can pretty much do whatever the fuck they want. My agent called, so I don’t have until July after all. Apparently, I pissed them off when I stayed. Fuck them.” The whiskey was making me slur my words, and my thick tongue was getting the better of me.
“You don’t mean that. But I’m worried if you try to throw too soon, you’ll injure yourself. Can I write you a note?”
“A note to lose my contract, and then get let go from the team, you mean?”
“Okay, let’s think about this. We have almost another four weeks. Your mobility is much better since we began. Your knee is still troublesome, but you’ll have to keep wearing the brace, and all they want to see is your throw, right?”
My good shoulder lifts up. “You know what, I don’t know what the hell they want. I think they want the team doctor to examine me while I’m there.”
“Can I go?” she asks.
“You’d do that?”
“Well, yeah.”
She stands there in her work clothes, looking as beautiful as ever, so I rise to my feet and wind my arms around her. “Have I told you how much I appreciate what you’re doing for me and what you’ve done?
I don’t … I can’t even begin to thank you. I would’ve been a miserable battered piece of shit if it hadn’t been for you. God, you smell good—just like vanilla cupcakes. You wouldn’t happen to have one in your pocket, would you?”
“How much of that stuff did you drink before I got here?”
“I dunno. A few glasses, I suppose.”
Her body shakes as she says, “That’s what I thought. Have you eaten this afternoon?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Come on.” She tugs me into the kitchen and whips up some kind of tasty omelet. She serves it with toast and potatoes.
“Oh, God, this is the best food I’ve ever had. You should consider becoming a chef.”
She laughs. “Is that a fact?”
I point my fork at her. “It is. You could open up a breakfast place and serve these omelets and that vanilla cupcake you’re hiding from me. Where is that thing anyway? I want my dessert.”
“Fletch, I don’t have any cupcakes. It’s my shampoo you smell.”
“What? No cupcakes. I’m crushed. I was all set on having a cupcake. Hey, do you think we can bake some? Are they hard to make? I’ve never made cupcakes before.”
She rummages through the freezer and comes up with a container of ice cream. “How about this instead?”
“Okaaaaay. I guess it’ll have to do. But will you make me cupcakes tomorrow?”
She shakes her head. “You and your cupcakes.”
After dishing out a big bowl of ice cream, she sets it down in front of me. “What, no chocolate syrup?”
Her eyes move toward the ceiling, so I look up there to see what she’s looking at. “What’s up there? A bug?”
“No, Fletch. Forget it. Here’s your chocolate,” she says, pulling it out from thin air.
“Awesome. Wanna bite?” I hold up the spoon loaded with some of the cold creamy stuff. She opens her mouth, and I decide to be funny and play airplane. I swoop the spoon around, and somehow it misses and lands on her shirt, right over her boob. “Oops.”
“You did not just play airplane and drop that on me.”
“I thought that’s what I did.” I wear a sheepish look, or at least that’s what it feels like. I touch my face just to make sure.
Sidelined: A Wilde Players Dirty Romance Page 7
