Chapter 21
[Vee]
The Anchors record over the next three nights is up and down. Win. Loss. Loss. Despite Ross being at my place each night for sleep and kisses.
The last time I made out with a man so often I was in high school.
And Ross is insatiable with his mouth and tongue.
Our bodies press together when our lips meet—as we stand in my entryway, as we lean over the kitchen counter, as we enter my bedroom—but his hands never wander.
And we never kiss while horizontal, like on the couch, or in my bed.
By Friday, I’m a mess of struggling hormones and conflicting emotions.
But my writing is off the charts. My female character pulled up her proverbial big girl panties and has been leading me in all kinds of directions for her whirlwind romance.
Being my last day in Arizona, I attend a final spring training game.
It’s a beautiful desert afternoon, and with a margarita in hand, I settle into my seat.
I’m wearing his classic Anchors jersey with the number 33 on it and his name on the back.
My phone is also ready for any last-minute note-taking needs as it’s the final time to soak up some inspiration from this stadium.
Ross tips up his chin in distant greeting from his position on the field. The man standing beside him, turns his head and stares in my direction. Eventually, he lifts a hand and waves over his shoulder.
Kip Garcia is almost as good looking as Ross.
Maybe too good looking with green eyes and tattooed hands.
I wave in response, chuckling as I do. Ross must say something that has Kip turning his head to stare at his fellow coach’s profile.
Then Kip laughs and turns back in my direction.
Even from this distance, I see his wink.
Knowing they are discussing me, I should feel uncomfortable, but I don’t. Ross admitted Kip knows about our arrangement. I broke down and told Ross I’d mentioned the situation to Cassandra, who is sworn to secrecy as well.
Ross knew I was attending today’s game and asked me to wait for him afterward. Unfortunately, the Anchors lose again, and I watch Ross slap the hands of his players, defeat heavy on his shoulders, before I wander to the prearranged spot to meet him.
There, I wait and wait and wait, checking and then triple checking my phone until Kip Garcia exits the management building and sees me on the sidewalk.
“Verona?”
I smile weakly. “Call me Vee.”
“Vee.” He smiles wide, displaying white teeth, before his brows pinch. “Are you still waiting on Ross?”
“Yeah. He told me to meet him here, but it’s been a bit.” I glance toward the vacant grass parking lot, and the cars lining the road leading away from the stadium.
“Shit. There was another altercation in the locker room, and we had to handle it. He was chatting with Ford Sylver when I finally got the other player to leave the room.”
Romero Valdez, perhaps? I don’t ask, not wanting to give away I know a team secret or two.
“I could let you in.” Kip hitches his thumb toward the management building.
“No. That’s okay. I think I’ll just send Ross a text and head home.”
“Yeah. I’m certain he’ll be there shortly.”
I’m ready to argue that I don’t know what Kip is talking about or that Ross isn’t coming over, but remembering he knows our arrangement, I simply smile.
“Rough game,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “Can’t win ’em all. It’s how you play the game that matters.” He pats his chest. “Heart.” And then taps his head. “And head. That’s why Davis is a good coach. He’s got both for the game. Eyes always on the prize.”
Strange how he holds his gaze on me for a long minute, and I’m tempted to ask what the two men were discussing on the ballfield before the game started and they were looking at me.
However, I don’t ask. Instead, I say, “Safe travels back to Chicago.”
“We don’t leave until next week.”
“I know. But I leave tomorrow.”
“Oh.” His brows lift before some thought hits him and then his thick brows crease. “Oh.” He adds softly, “Oh, fuck.”
We stare at one another, while I wonder what he’s thinking before he finally says, “Safe travels to you, then, Vee. Will we see you in Chicago?”
“Maybe.” It’s the million-dollar question.
Kip warmly smiles. “Want me to walk you to your car?”
“No,” I shake my head. “I’m good.” And I step opposite Kip, taking a final moment to admire the now empty stadium and the quiet slowly surrounding it.
The silent vacancy feels strangely prophetic.
+ + +
Ross sends a slew of messages.
I’m so sorry.
Leaving now.
On my way.
Almost there.
His panic would almost be comical if it wasn’t endearing. I’d received similar, sporadic messages from Cameron when he was alive, and in hindsight learned they were platitudes. Fillers to stall my concerns when my suspicion ran deep that he was having an affair. My gut sensed the truth.
When I open my front door for Ross near seven o’clock, he’s still dressed in his coaching attire. He instantly tugs his cap from his head and spins to face me while I’m closing the door behind him.
“I’m so sorry.” The breathless apology has me chuckling.
“Relax, Ross.” But the expression on his face has me instantly concerned and my gaze lowers to a small leather duffle in his other hand. “What happened?”
“Fucking Valdez.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to be presumptuous, but would you mind if I took a quick shower here and then I can tell you.”
“Of course. Go ahead.”
There’s no greeting kiss like we’ve had the past few nights, but I forgive him.
Ross is clearly agitated by this young team member.
He stalks off toward the primary bedroom and enters the bathroom while I tidy up the living room where I’d opened my laptop and my tablet, jotting down a few last-minute ideas for the next chapter in my book.
When I enter the bedroom, I set my laptop on the dresser without thinking about the fact the bathroom has no door to close off the space from the bed area.
I know this about the room. I’ve been staying here for four weeks, and yet it still throws me off sometimes, and I find myself reaching for a door to close the barrier behind me when I enter the space.
Still, I call out, “Hey, Ross. Do you want me to order some dinner for you?”
And then I turn toward the wide entrance to the bathroom and catch a glimpse of Ross beneath the shower.
The glass enclosure does nothing to hide his body.
One hand braced high on the tile. His head bowed, face toward the floor.
The spray of the shower streams over the back of his head and along his spine.
And his other hand is lower, fisting himself.
A series of events happen at once.
I gasp.
Ross turns.
I freeze.
He shuts off the water.
And with his eyes locked on me, he opens the shower door, reaches for a towel and wraps it around his waist.
Tongue-tied, I’m pinned in place. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking. Although the layout of this room has become so familiar to me.
“I—”
“Don’t. Move.”
I don’t. I can’t. I’m mesmerized by this broad body. His slick skin. His wet hair.
In my head, I’m apologizing and pointing to the other room, like I intend to step away. Instead, I’m mortified, and close my eyes a second.
In that time, Ross exits the bathroom and tips up my chin.
In front of me, he’s dripping wet. His chest is flat planes with rivulets of water streaming down his pecs and over sharp nipples.
The towel wraps snug and low on his hips.
A trail of hair disappears beneath the covering where he is still long and hard. So long. So hard.
“Vee.” His voice is soft as I open my eyes and swallow hard.
“I’m so sorry. That was such a gross negligence of your privacy. An invasion of it.” I swallow again. Shame firmly plants in my chest and roots in my belly. I can’t believe I did this to him.
“Invade my privacy, Vee.” His gaze dances between my eyes. “Because you invade my thoughts.”
When his mouth crashes on mine, I’m startled out of my initial shock and plunged into deeper surprise. His lips are warm and insistent. His tongue instantly sneaking forward, seeking mine. His hand cups my jaw while the other wraps around my back and tugs me against him.
Instantly, the heat and moisture from his shower dampens the jersey I’m still wearing with his name on the back.
His mouth lowers for my jaw and chin, moving down to my neck where he nips me where the column curls toward my shoulder, and holy cow, does that feel amazing.
My knees give out as his hand travels up my back to cup my nape.
His other hand smooths along my throat, blazing after his mouth until he reaches the top button of the jersey.
“Let me see you, Vee.”
“I thought you didn’t want that?” I whimper as he continues to suck my skin and maneuver a button on the jersey. How am I trying to be rational when my brain is short circuiting while my clit is begging for attention?
“I’m done denying myself,” he murmurs against my flesh before moving back to my mouth and kissing me. “Done denying you.”
In the meantime, my hands have found his waist and smooth over his warm skin. Along his sides and over his lower back then rounding to his stomach, tracing over those abs until I find that sexy trail of hair.
“But is this smart?”
“Smartest decision I’ve made in a long time.”
Another button pops open on my jersey and another, and I’m lost to the way his hand suddenly palms my breast, inside the jersey. He squeezes tight and plucks my nipple, still covered by my bra.
I gasp and his tongue dives deeper inside my mouth. My fingers have found the edge of his towel and I curl them into the material, tugging at him, wanting him closer to me.
“Let me taste you, Vee.”
“Oh God,” I purr. It’s been so long since someone’s mouth has been on me there. Too long.