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

turns, and I think what the fuck is my life . But it’s not like there are tons of hot clubs in the area. It isn’t a surprise that he’d be here trolling for whatever. I wonder if his girlfriend is here, too. But that thought dies because I really don’t care.
    “Cassie,” my ex slurs the word as some of his drink spills over the rim.
    He quickly slurps it down as I stare in horror. He’s a total contradiction, handsome yet I see the sloppiness that no one else notices. His eyes are glassy as they do their best to focus on me.
    “You look good. But that was never your problem. Dance with me.”
    It’s a testament to my own alcohol-numbed state when his hand is already at the small of my back. I’m about to pull away, when Fletcher comes into view walking down the stairs. So I reluctantly let Calvin guide me into the throng of people moving with the music.
    I’m so focused on Fletcher and the gaggle of women following him that I don’t notice Calvin has positioned himself in front of me. He tugs on my waist until we are flush with each other. He sucks in a breath that highlights how close we are.
    “I miss this. I miss you.”
    Fletcher is downstairs, and because of his height, I can still see him. Surely, he’ll see me when his gaze lands in our direction. I quickly look at my ex.
    “Let me go, Calvin,” I warn, before finding Fletcher again.
    But it’s too late. His lips are on mine, and I watch as Fletcher’s gaze lands on us. It is as if Karma hates me. I see the events coming, but it’s too late to stop them. Our eyes meet, and I watch in agony as he slings an arm around one of the women staring adoringly up at him. His eyes shift to Calvin, and I glance over to witness Calvin’s smug expression. I turn from Calvin. I turn from Fletcher. Then I barrel my way to the ladies’ room, locking myself in a stall before my mascara leaves tire tracks down my face.

 
    Fletcher
     
     
    The night, which was once again orchestrated by Gina, turns into a monster of a train wreck. Seeing Cass in those leather pants makes me mindless with lust. It’s all I can do not to carry her out of there and rip the damn things off her so I can fuck her until she is as stupid as I am. But no. She has to run out of there with her hair on fire, and so what do I do? I follow her like a dog in heat, with my damn groupies in tow. I wish those fidiots would get lost for good. The annoying gnats won’t take a hint, either subtle or obvious. Honestly, I could throw rotten eggs at them and they’d keep coming back for more.
    But then the ultimate in a fucktastrophe of a night occurs when I get downstairs. Cass is standing there with that douchebag of an ex-husband of hers. How can she possibly want him? He’s a loser in uppercase for fuck’s sake. He needs rehab from what I gather, but then the drunken assface actually kisses her. And what does she do? Nothing! That’s what. And then I really free the moron in me. The arm that dangles at my side instantly appears around one of the unnamed groupie’s shoulders, and she starts giggling as she snuggles close to me. Cassie’s eyes meet mine from across the room, and the wounded look she wears razors right through me. But what’s worse is that fucker who holds her. His conceited little sneer makes me want to plow my fist straight through his face until it lands on the back of his skull. It goddamn rankles to no end that little squirrely piece of shit actually got her to carry his name. Son of a bitch. With nostrils flaring, I stride to the exit, because if I don’t, blood will be spilled, and it sure as hell won’t be mine.
    “Slow down, hot stuff. These heels of mine won’t let me walk that fast,” little miss groupie whines.
    Without a word, I disengage myself from her, and she squeaks, “Where you goin’?”
    Anywhere but here , I want to yell, but I say nothing. The truck sits in the parking lot, and I don’t stop until I climb inside. Logic tells me my knee should