Sidelined Page 3

“Oh.” She falls silent, but then says, “Don’t they want to be with you?”

  “Yeah or any other guy with screen time.”

  “Gosh, that must be amazing for the ego,” she says.

  I shrug. “It comes with the territory. I usually stay away from jersey chasers.”

  “Tonight was a special occasion?”

  “Something like that.” Except it wasn’t like that at all. They were in the limo waiting for me, already wicked drunk and ready to fuck whoever showed up. That kind of shit doesn’t fly with me. Either a woman wants to get laid by me, or she can step the fuck off. Admittedly, it helps that I’m strictly lookee no touchee until we’re done for the season.

  “Do you want me to be your wing woman?” she suddenly asks.

  “My what?”

  Layton glances at me, a small smile on her plump lips. “You know—the one who gets the women to ask you out or be receptive to your advances.”

  Have the woman I love... Shit. I mean lust for, pick out women for me to hook up with... right in front of her? Yeah, no. “I’m good.”

  “Oh, thank God because I couldn’t, not with a straight face, do that. I mean... you’re you and—”

  “Women aren’t naturally attracted to me?” I break in, irritated as shit. Why did I do this again? Right, because I don’t want Layton crying her eyes out over that punk ass of a fiancé.

  She makes a pfft sound. “You know they are. Even I can admit you’re hot. None of us are blind, Aiden, and we’ve all watched your Calvin Klein ads.”

  I brake at the light and turn to her. “Really?”

  She blushes, her gaze everywhere but mine. “I’m a bit of an admirer of the male form.”

  “My male form,” I say with a grin.

  “Any male form,” she says and my heart twists at that. It shouldn’t, but it does. I care about what she thinks of me, in any capacity, more than I should.

  “That looks like yours,” she admits a beat later, and damn if my ego doesn’t swell at that. She covers her face with her hands, groaning. “I’m so shallow I know, but I swear it’s the worst thing I do. You have to think I’m just awful, being engaged and all.”

  She likes to ogle men who are ripped, and that’s her worst crime? “Not at all.” The light changes and we’re off again. Only another block and I’ll be able to park. I’ll also be able to touch her if she’d let me.

  But I won’t ask.

  Neither will she.

  I won’t bring up the bet either. The look on her face when she thought Joe was cheating is more than enough for me to pretend like our entire conversation never happened.

  Truthfully, I never meant it.

  I only did it so she’d tell me to fuck off. That backfired, and I couldn’t backtrack.

  For one, the evil part of me wants to fuck her.

  Second, I am not going to ever deliver the bad news of what that douche may or may not be doing with another woman. She’d hate me, even worse than she does right now.

  Right now, I’m a dick, but if I were to bring her bad news, I’d be the dick who destroyed her fairy tale. She’d end up hating me more than she would Joe, and I can’t handle her despising me.

  “Do you really think this is a good idea? What if Joe gets mad at me?” she asks in a defeated voice I hate. That’s not the Layton I know.

  “The only person Joe should be mad at is himself... if he’s not on the up and up.”

  I make a left, and then pull into the parking lot of The Platinum Dollz Gentleman’s Club. The fact that they have a parking lot that’s half empty instead of valet service speaks volumes about their customer base.

  Layton grabs my thigh, her palm burning through the material of my pants. My cock stirs. I start to think about all the things I hate in life—her fiancé, my son of a bitch of a father—may his soul rest in hell—and raisins as I grit my teeth against my reaction to her touch.

  “I don’t think I can go inside.”

  “Sure you can. You want eyewitness proof your man is on the straight and narrow, then who else can you trust?” I have it on good authority from the bouncers here that Joe’s been keeping his shit to himself.

  “You,” she blurts.

  Dumbfounded, I don’t reply. I don’t say shit because I have no idea what to say.

  “I know you and I haven’t been on the best of terms for the last five years or whatever, but the one thing I can count on is your brutal honesty.” Her grip on my thigh gets tighter, but I don’t move her hand. I want the little bit of pain it provides, both physically and emotionally. “Plus, you like violence. You and Kingston love to roughhouse and tackle people.”

  Finally, I find my voice. “Not the same, LT.”

  Her pretty eyes turn pleading, and I want to stab mine into blindness so I won’t be swayed. “Please... please, Aiden. If you could just go in there and take pictures or a video, then come back here so I can see them... I’ll be grateful forever.”

  “This is a bad idea. I shouldn’t have brought you here.” I make a move to put the car in gear to back out, but the next words out of her mouth stop me cold.

  “If he’s cheating, I promise you can have that one night with me—anything you want to do, except other people—just like I agreed to. I’ll go through with it.” Layton’s cheeks pinken even as the look in her eyes turns dead serious. “Whatever it takes to get the truth, I’ll do it.”

  “Except go inside to see for yourself.” Anger and frustration rise inside of me. How fucking insulting that the only way she’ll be with me, and for only temporarily, is if her precious Joe is cheating.

  Am I that disgusting?

  Then again, how fucked up and disgusting was I to demand that in the first place? Layton had been desperate for help, not a hook-up.

  “Please, Aiden. It wouldn’t be weird to see you in there, but me... Joe would think I’m spying on him.”

  “You are spying on him,” I point out.

  “It’s for a good cause.”

  I want to bang my head against the steering wheel. One of the truths about Layton is that she’s tenacious. She doesn’t stop until she gets what she wants... something I find sexy as fuck about her.

  It’s also something I’ll never be the recipient of, no matter what I demanded for payment. Why would I want to be with a woman who doesn’t want me at all?

  Because I’m a sadist and a masochist, that’s why. It’s in my genes to want what I can’t have.

  To crave the forbidden.

  To touch another man’s woman.

  Just like my old man.

  I blow out a breath. “Either we go in together, or I drive your ass back and you can cry all night. Your pick.”

  Her lips twist and pucker as her eyes narrow. “Fine. I’ll go in with you, but Joe and his cousins better not see me.”

  As hot as Layton is, Joe and his cousins most likely have their eyeballs on bare tits and asses covered with barely there thongs as they bounce and shake to whatever song the DJ’s playing. In other words, they aren’t going to notice Layton unless she offers up a lap dance.

  “Let’s go.”

  AS WE WALK INSIDE, the smell of desperation, sweat, and sex hit me. I cut my eyes to Layton just as her nose wrinkles.

  “What’s that smell?” she asks, moving closer to me as a guy drops his gaze to her tits.

  I step in front of her a little, eyeing the asshole, who beats feet in the opposite direction. “Sweat and other things,” I tell her. No need to embellish or lie to her.

  “Lovely.” She tips up her chin. Out of nowhere, she grabs my hand.

  I drop my gaze to where our fingers are laced together.

  “I need to hold yours for support... okay?” she whispers, reminding me of the little girl I took fishing when her brothers wanted to leave her at home.

  “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

  She takes a deep breath and says, “I’m ready.”

  A memory hits me.

  We’re outside, standing at the end of her
family’s pier on the Albemarle Sound. She’s twelve and I’m almost twenty. Her brothers are there, too.

  “Don’t fall for it, McHugh,” Kingston warns. “You’ll be her slave forever.”

  “Please do it for me?” she pleads, then squeezes her eyes shut.

  “LT, if you don’t do it yourself, then what are you gonna do when I’m not around?”

  She cracks open one eye. “I won’t go fishing unless you’re with me. Duh.” Then she grabs my hand and squeezes it tight. “I’m ready.”

  I shake my head. “I need both hands.”

  “But I need to hold yours for support,” she insists, and I cave.

  A smile kicks up the corners of my mouth. I’d almost forgotten about that summer. I spent almost all of it hooking worms one-handed. Not an easy thing to do and I must have tried a hundred different ways, even hooking myself in the process, before settling on holding the hook between my shoes to stabilize it enough to get the worm on.

  Layton clears her throat. “Aiden... we need to walk and find somewhere to hide... er, I mean sit.”

  I blink a couple of times before putting one foot in front of the other, practically dragging her along until I find an empty table in the back corner. So far no one has recognized me, and I’m hoping that it stays that way until we can leave.

  “Sit,” I tell her, yanking out a chair.

  She lets go of my hand and does as I say. “Do you see him?”

  I scan the half-full room. Fuck. He’s not out here. “Order a drink and I’ll be right back.”

  “But—”

  “I said I’ll be back.”

  Layton slams her mouth shut, her lips forming a straight line as she crosses her arms over her chest. I signal a scantily clad waitress. She makes a beeline for us.

  “What I can I get for you two?” she asks, her voice tinged with wariness.

  “Fix your face, Aiden, before you scare the poor woman half to death.” Layton leans forwards. “He’s kinda grumpy. I think it’s the lack of carbs in his diet.”

  The waitress nods. “Totally. Whenever I go carb-free, it totally puts me in bitch mode.”

  “Bless your heart. I don’t know how anyone could give up bread. I mean, I’m giving up bread for my wedding so I’ll look hot in my dress—”

  “Y’all are getting married?” the waitress squeals. “Such a cute couple.”

  “Us... a couple?” Layton breaks into peals of laughter that make my stomach flip—in good ways that I hate.

  “Hate to break into this conversation, but we’re not getting married and she needs a drink while I... I need a lap dance,” I say. Actually, I need a strong drink or two hundred to get through this.

  The waitress snorts. “No wonder she’s not marrying you.”

  “No other woman will have him either, on account of his grumpiness and all,” Layton says with a serious face.

  “I can see that.”

  It’s all I can do not to yell at both of them to shut the hell up about why no one will marry me. “I’m marriage material.”

  “Not with that tone,” Layton says primly.

  The waitress nods in agreement with Layton.

  Ah, fuck me. “Drink for her. Lap dance for me. Point the way.”

  “Be nice!” Layton admonishes.

  “Please,” I all but growl.

  The waitress points to the right. “Through there.”

  Without waiting for them to start up again on speculating on my love life, I stride to a door with metallic rope beads hanging down and push through it. The first thing I see is Joe. He’s sitting on a wide chair, his face buried in a stripper’s chest while she grinds on his lap.

  “Time’s up.” I grab Joe by the arm and yank him up. The stripper almost tumbles onto the floor.

  She shoots me a death glare, but I ignore her and concentrate on the wide-eyed fucker standing in front of me.

  “What... what, uh, why are you here?” he stutters.

  “Checking on you to make sure you’re on the straight and narrow before your wedding.”

  “A lap dance isn’t cheating,” he insists, attempting to wriggle out of my grasp.

  “How about having your grill smashed into her tits?”

  He flushes a dull red. “Nothing was going to happen.”

  I look around for his crew of friends and relatives. “Where is everyone?”

  “It’s just me and Paul now.” He gives me a friendly smile, like we’re buddies or some shit. “Don’t tell me you’ve never gotten a lap dance.”

  “This has nothing to do with me, but you can bet your ass that if my girl thought I was cheating on her, I would do everything in my power to make sure she knew I kept my shit locked up for only her.” I nod at the stripper’s retreating form. “You, however, seem to think—scratch that... You don’t think at all, and you’re putting your shit where it doesn’t belong.”

  “Dude, I’m not doing anything wrong. If Layton can’t handle a little lap dance or three, then it’s my job to help her be okay with it. Not yours.”

  I can only imagine the kind of help he’d give her. He’d try that fucking good ole boy double talk I heard he’s good at doing in the courtroom. “If Layton were mine, she’d be the one giving me fucking lap dance, not some random stripper.”

  “Good luck with that.” He rolls his eyes. “You do realize that getting into Layton’s lacy panties is akin to breaking into the Vatican, right? It’s Mission: Impossible on steroids.”

  No, I hadn’t realized that. “So she wants to wait until the wedding.” I shrug. “You’re a big boy who can take things into his own hands.”

  “Dude, I’ve been taking things into my own hands since we started dating in high school.”

  All right. Wasn’t expecting to hear that Layton hasn’t ever given it up to Joe. That’s not something I’ll ever fucking think about again.

  “Whatever, man. Either take me seriously or don’t, but if you hurt her, there will be hell to pay. She going to have her fucking fairy tale.”

  “Thanks for the info, Prince Tiny Dick.”

  My hands curl into fists, but I walk away. I’ve been smack-talked to by guys better than him and with worse insults. Besides, I know my dick is anything but tiny and I don’t have to cockslap him across the face to prove it.

  When I get back to the table, the waitress is gone. Layton sits there, sipping a fruity drink.

  “You’re back,” she says, letting the straw slip from her shiny lips. “Did you find anything?”

  Lie to her. Make up something worse than a lap dance.

  If you do, she’ll hate you for taking away her dreams.

  She’ll hate you for hurting her.

  But she wouldn’t be with Joe anymore either.

  You still wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell with her.

  “Nope. He was getting a lap dance—all on the up and up.”

  Her shoulders sag. “I guess I should be happy. Right?” Big hazel eyes pin me to right where I’m standing. “I mean, only prudes think their fiancés should be devoted to them and not out admiring other women’s assets.”

  “Layton.”

  “I know. I’m being very hypocritical. I like to watch videos of your Calvin Klein ad, yet I feel betrayed by Joe.” She stands and starts for the entrance.

  “You’re not a hypocrite,” I say as I follow her outside.

  God, this hurts. She hurts because he’s here and she hurts because I was the one to tell her what he was doing. I can only imagine what would have happened if he had been cheating.

  She turns to me when we get back to my car and places a hand on my arm. I stop myself from flexing to impress her. “Thank you for doing this. I know you’d rather spend your time with anyone else but me.”

  “I don’t know about that. We always had a good time at the beach,” I say gruffly. I hate that she’s thanking me.

  “Maybe when I get back from my honeymoon and you’re done with football for the year, we can go,” she off
ers.

  I take a step back and open her door. “Sounds good, LT.”

  However, we both know that won’t be happening. The fool never becomes the hero of a fairy tale, no matter how much he loves the princess.

  Chapter 3

  Layton

  THEY SAY THAT TO GET married in June means you’ll always be a bride. Apparently, when you get married in November, it means that your husband admits he’s really in love with the wedding planner.

  While on your honeymoon.

  Four days into it.

  After you’ve already made love four and a half times. The last time counts as a half because he wanted anal, but I wasn’t ready for that type of commitment to our marriage... so he stopped and pouted.

  That was thirty minutes ago. Now... now... he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, looking less pouty and more guilty.

  “I know this isn’t the best way to tell you, but think of how awful it would be if I were to wait until later,” he mansplains. “I tried, honey. I tried so hard to make this work.”

  I can’t stop staring at Joe, like a complete nitwit, with my mouth hanging open. My heart no longer resides in my chest. It’s in his hands, being ripped to shreds with every word that comes out of his lying, cheating mouth.

  I want to cry, but the tears won’t fall.

  I want to scream, but my throat is paralyzed.

  I want to kill him, but I think prison orange jumpsuits are hideous.

  “Layton, say something.”

  I find my voice, though it’s hoarse. “Later?”

  “Yeah, later. Later would be so bad. This already felt like a hook-up gone wrong.”

  “A hook up?”

  He nods. “Like sleeping with my sister.”

  “Oh, God.” I clutch my stomach as it pitches and roils. “Did you really just compare what we’ve been doing to incest?”

  “Stop being so dramatic.” He grabs me by my shoulders, turning me around to face him. “It’s not your fault.”

  “I know it isn’t.”

  “Seriously, Layton, there’s nothing you could have done differently. Tiffany and I connected on an emotional level. We haven’t—she refused to let things go further until I talked with you—but she needs me in ways you never have.”