Chapter 32 #2
Ross shuts off the water and I shiver, my body sensing what my head hasn’t caught up to yet. Is he going to break up with me? After what just happened, I don’t want to question him, but he’s clearly upset by something.
He pops open the shower door and reaches for a towel before rubbing it over my hair and swiping down my body then wrapping the thick material around me. He grabs his own towel, and strokes down his chest before wrapping it around his waist, then runs his hand over his hair.
“Let’s talk in my room.”
“That sounds ominous.” My stomach drops again, a nauseous slosh rumbling around within me.
Ross leads me to his bedroom attached to the ensuite bathroom and rifles through a drawer, presenting me with a T-shirt. The soft white material does nothing to comfort the unease tickling up my spine. Ross is suddenly pensive.
I climb up on the edge of his bed, desperate to pull the thick duvet over my legs and curl into the covers as a means to hide.
Ross tugs on the joggers he’d been wearing when I entered his house, and he faces me.
“I don’t think I’m a very good coach.”
“What?” The tension in my shoulders lessens. “Why would you say that?”
“Valdez and Adler got into after the game today. In the tunnel.”
“Why?” I sit up straighter.
“Valdez made a crack about Adler’s wife.”
“Bolan Adler? The new catcher? I didn’t know he was married.” And I don’t know why I’m speaking in questions.
“They were married before the season started. Rather spontaneously.”
“Is she pregnant?”
Ross’s brows lift. “I hadn’t even thought of that, but I don’t think so.” He pauses like he’s considering what I’ve asked. “Either way, Romero called Ruth a mouse, and Bolan reacted. Then Romero had to take it a step further suggesting he was more man than Bolan in bed.”
“What the heck? Men are so ridiculous.”
“Yeah, Adler did not appreciate either comment. Pinned Valdez to the wall like he was a swatted fly.”
I chuckle softly at the image. “How does any of that make you a bad coach?”
Ross flings his arms out to the side before slipping his hands into his jogger pockets. “Because my players are always fighting with each other.”
I watch Ross a second, taking in his sunken shoulders and lowered head. He isn’t a bad coach. In fact, the Anchors are having one of the best seasons they’ve had since he played for the team nearly ten years ago. He’s doing something right.
“Did your boys fight as kids?”
He chuckles bitterly. “All the time. They’re so different from one another.”
“It’s no different on a team. You have all these diverse temperaments and backgrounds. Think about it. Your boys came from the same house, and they are vastly different from each other, right? Which makes them unique.”
I take a deep breath. “These men are like your children. Same house, same rules. But they aren’t your children. You’re in charge of them, but not their emotions. Not their pasts. Not their personalities. You’re top dog over the team.”
“Top dog?” His head lifts as his eyes widen.
“You’re the alpha male.”
His lids lower, eyes narrowing. “Is this a romance novel thing?”
Ignoring the tease, I continue. “Leader of the pack.”
He stares at me.
“And as such, you decide who stays or goes. Who plays or sits.”
“You’re saying I should bench Valdez.”
“I’m saying, he needs a lesson in teamship.”
“I don’t think that’s a word.”
Forgiving his vocabulary correction, I carry on. “And as the coach, you need to mentor him. Teach an old dog new tricks.”
“We’re back to the dog allegory?” he teases, his mouth slowly crooking up on one side.
“Show him what it means to be a good team member.”
“How?” Ross sighs. “Suggest not sleeping with your teammate’s wife.”
“He did that?” I sit taller, astonished by that news. Maybe I’d heard hints of such a thing happening, but who can believe what social media says, especially the clock app running rampant with rumors, thinking they created someone’s fame and then undoubtedly ruining it.
Ross doesn’t answer me, but his eyes confirm what I once thought was gossip.
“Well, in that case, off with his head.” I chop the side of one hand against the palm of the other. “He’s out of the pack. Left to starve on his own.”
“Is this a pep talk?” Ross chuckles a little deeper this time. “Somehow, I don’t think Valdez will starve. For attention or otherwise.”
“Babe, you’re in charge either way. If he doesn’t align with your goals for the team, or the professional image you want to portray, cut him loose.”
“Say that again.” Slowly, the corner of his mouth curls higher and he takes a step closer to the bed where I sit.
“If he doesn’t align—”
“Not that part.”
“Oh, was cutting him loose too harsh?”
Ross leans forward, his face drawing closer to mine as he spreads his arms and braces a hand on either side of me on the bed. His voice drops. “Not that part either.”
I swallow at his nearness, inhaling the scent of his body wash lingering on him. “You’re in charge?”
“I liked hearing that, too, but I meant the first word.” He smiles wide, like the Cheshire cat.
“Babe?”
His grin holds. His eyes dance. “Now say it like you mean it.”
“You want me to call you babe?”
He shrugs, lowering his gaze, and suddenly retreating from me, like he’s embarrassed he wants to be called an endearment. His vulnerability has me reaching out and clasping the back of his neck, so he can’t get too far from me.
“I like when you call me sweetheart. And I’m happy to call you babe, babe.”
“Now you’re making fun of me.” He scowls, leaning back against my hand like he wants to break free off my hold.
“Babe,” I whisper. “Kiss me.”
His smile slowly returns, twisting like he’s fighting it. “Like a top dog?”
I laugh. “Like an alpha male.”
Ross doesn’t need a lesson in what that means because his mouth lands on mine in such a way, we’re falling back on his bed, tangling together, and kissing like I’m his omega.
+ + +
After several minutes of heavy kissing and my relief that what was on Ross’s mind was team related, and not personal, he suggests we crawl into his bed.
He clicks on the television, orders us some dinner, and then asks, “Need any clarification on how it feels to have sex with you. For your writing purposes.”
Right. For research purposes.
“I think I’m good on the basics.”
“Basics?” Ross snorts. “There was nothing basic about the way you were perched on my counter, foot on the edge, open and wet for me, dripping to the granite.”
“Ross,” I moan.
“That pretty pussy on display and my hard cock slipping into you, getting deep.”
“Jesus,” I hiss, stirrings within me coming to life again. I swish my thighs together beneath the blankets over my lap.
Ross doesn’t miss the movement and arches a brow. “Need more?”
There’s no doubt I could go again but I don’t want to be greedy.
For research purposes.
Saved by the doorbell, our food is delivered, and Ross asks me to stay in his bed. “We’ll picnic.” He disappears and returns quickly with the salad and pasta he ordered for us on a tray, plus a bottle of wine underneath his arm.
For the next hour we watch bad television and laugh, until Ross says, “Come to Philly next week.”
The statement comes out of nowhere, and I snortle as a means to brush it off. “I can’t just whisk off to Philadelphia.”
With Ross perched up on his side, elbow supporting him, he gazes at me. “Yes, you can. I’ll pay for your ticket.”
“I don’t need you to buy my ticket,” I say a bit disgruntled. What I need is to understand where this invitation is coming from? Just like what happened earlier in his kitchen, this request feels sudden and a bit suspicious.
“What would I do in Philadelphia besides hang out in a hotel room?”
Ross frowns. “Why would you be in a hotel room?”
I huff. “Because we don’t do this.” Frustration builds.
“We don’t go out.” While Ross said we can be public, I still don’t know what that entails.
Once again, we’re hiding out in a bedroom.
Mine. His. A hotel room. A rental. Does any of it make a difference?
It’s only us in seclusion. And it isn’t that I don’t want Ross all to myself, it’s that I’m worried he’s keeping me only for him. He doesn’t want others to know I exist.
“We went to Harley’s play.”
He’s right. His kid’s play. And I’m not complaining. I actually think it was sweet he brought me to something so personal to him. I’m honored.
“We went to Hole in the Rock,” he adds.
Now he’s just being silly. So we’ve had two official dates.
“Aren’t you worried the superstition whisperer will be revealed, though?” When people eventually ask who I am and how he met me, and then wonder what he’s doing with someone like me compared to everyone else he’s been with over the years.
A few years back a rather famous silver fox actor suddenly had a girlfriend who was closer to his age, and showed it with her gray hair, don’t care, attitude.
Jealousy prevailed in every negative comment about her while I cheered her on.
Hail to the older gal snagging such a hot man.
Or rather, praise to him, latching onto such a smart, accomplished, strong-minded woman.
I can’t seem to apply the same principle to myself, for some reason.
“Our secret will be revealed.”
“You aren’t a secret.” Ross scowls, his voice rising as well, and he lifts his body, using his arm to hold himself upright.
“Why would you ask me to go to Philadelphia?” The question is an honest one.
“Because I want my girlfriend to meet my sister.”
“Your girlfriend? What? When did that happen?” When did I become his girlfriend? Not that I need some big declaration, but this is a large label to put on a sleeping partner, who only a few days ago became the other half of an us.
“Vee, I think we’ve established we’re together.” His tone is meant to soothe but it only prickles my skin.