Sidelined: A Wilde Players Dirty Romance by A.M. Hargrove, Terri E. Laine Page A

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