Chapter 33
[Vee]
“I think I made a mistake,” I state to Cassandra the next morning when we brunch. She hates the busyness of Sundays, and we sometimes pick a weekday for the late breakfast meal.
“What happened?”
“Ross and I had a fight, of sorts.” Or rather I had a full panic attack. Ross was getting real with his feelings, and I stepped back. I couldn’t fully explain my reaction. However, I’d tossed and turned all night, arguing with myself, confused by my behavior.
“About what?” Cee-Cee casually asks, sipping a Bloody Mary while we wait for our orders.
“He wants me to go to Philadelphia to meet his sister.” I drop my gaze from Cassandra to my utensils, still wrapped in a paper napkin.
My best friend chokes on her drink. “He what? Wow.”
“I know, right? Like who takes their sleeping buddy to meet their siblings?”
Cee-Cee chuckles. “Girl, you’re more than a sleeping buddy.”
I sigh, flipping the rolled utensils. “He called me his girlfriend.”
“He what?” She repeats louder, glancing around the room.
I reach across the table to grip her wrist because if I know Cassandra, and I do know her, she’s about to blurt to this entire room that I’m Ross Davis’s girlfriend.
“Would you keep your voice down?” My eyes warn her to also keep her thoughts to herself.
She lowers her head and her voice. “Vee, you’re dating Ross Davis. Sexiest silver fox baseball coach, and most eligible bachelor.”
“Since when is he the most eligible bachelor?” What a title.
“Since he ditched the streaming service queen.”
“That’s just it.” I lower my head and retract my hand. “He told me he hasn’t called anyone else his girlfriend. Ever. Since his wife passed.”
I feel Cassandra’s eyes on me.
“Anyway . . . don’t you think meeting his sister is too soon.
I mean, what do I say when I meet her? Hi, I met your brother in an elevator, and he decided I was a superstition whisperer, so we’ve been sleeping together, only now we’re having sex, too.
And now I’m his girlfriend after only a few months. ”
“Well, when you put it like that?” Cee-Cee chortles. “But let’s back up. You’re having sex with him again?”
I roll my lips, knowing I’ve opened the proverbial can of worms, and now I’m going to squirm.
“Yesterday, after his game.”
Cassandra watches me for another long moment. “You slept with him before. Did the second time not measure up to the first?” She wrinkles her nose, lifts her pinky, and then bends it like it’s wilting.
A strangled chuckle escapes me. “No, it was good.”
“Sounds like it.” Sarcasm drips from her voice as she reaches for her Bloody Mary again.
“No. It was . . . life-altering.” The things he said.
Whole. Home. The way he masters my body and moves his.
The things he does to me, taking me over the edge not once but twice before he thinks of himself.
What they say about women in their forties is true.
Our libido comes back swinging and doesn’t want to rest.
But Ross also makes me feel things. Things that frighten me, like I could love him. That I could trust him with my heart.
“Oh?” Cassandra lifts a brow before setting her elbow on the table and placing her chin in her hand. “Do tell.”
“I’m not kissing and telling.” I laugh a little harder.
“I’m asking you to fuck and share with a friend.” She winks.
“Cee-Cee,” I groan.
“Okay. Fine.” She lowers her hand and waves dismissively. “So you had sex. He called you his girlfriend, and he wants you to meet his sister. Sounds pretty awesome to me.”
“But don’t you think it’s unconventional. I mean, he’s Ross Davis.” I glance around me, hopeful that the couple seated at the nearest table, which is two tables away, doesn’t hear us.
“First off, don’t speak about him like that. Like he’s some kind of god and not just a man. Maybe he’s famous. Maybe he makes a lot of money. But at the end of the day, he’s a guy with a job that involves playing a game.”
I don’t think Ross would appreciate his career being reduced to something so simplistic, but I understand what Cee-Cee means. He’s a man. His talent or skill, fame or financial status, doesn’t make him better than me.
“Plus, you’re successful in your own right, Vee. You’re V. C. Hux, author of numerous books about love and romance.”
“Doesn’t that simply make me a woman with a laptop and a wicked imagination?”
For research purposes whispers through my head.
“Do you think I used him?” I question. “Is he fulfilling some fantasy in my head?” I wave beside my head. “My real-life crush turned into a boyfriend.”
Cassandra narrows her eyes at me, but I continue. “Have I made an original boyfriend into a book one?”
My best friend groans. “Vee, you’ve never used anyone in your life. You wouldn’t know how. Plus, he called you his girlfriend first, right?” Her point is made.
“What’s the real issue here?” she asks, tilting her head, further assessing me.
“I don’t trust myself with him.”
“You didn’t trust Cameron.” Her tone turns sharper. “That’s what’s tainted your faith.” She sighs and lowers her voice, reaching for my hand across the table. “You had conventional, Vee. You married your high school sweetheart who turned out to be a dick.”
“Cee-Cee,” I moan, hating when she speaks ill of the dead, even if she’s correct on some level.
“He cheated on you, Vee. He broke your marriage vows and your heart. And I tolerated him, because you’re my friend, but he was kind of a dick in general.
So, screw conventional. Or better yet, screw Ross, a hot silver fox who fills out baseball pants very nicely, and a man who called you his girlfriend, because he wants more than a sleeping arrangement with you. ”
I giggle weakly at her enthusiasm.
“Vee, you do trust yourself. You believe in Ross, right?”
“I do.” I trust Ross, just not my feelings for him.
“Listen to your gut.”
I don’t think Ross would intentionally hurt me. He’s too vulnerable himself at times. I lean forward, the ache in the pit of my stomach almost viable. “I messed up, didn’t I?”
Cassandra smiles, squeezes my hand and releases it. “I think you just panicked because you don’t trust that good men are out there. You had one not-so-great guy, and then a slew of poor dates.”
“Sound familiar?” I tease. She’s broken in many ways as well, and her perpetual bachelorette-hood is a front for that heartbreak. She’s also stronger than me with her love-’em-and-let-them-be attitude.
“You aren’t me,” she continues, emphasizing how opposite our personalities are regarding relationships. “You crave stability. Something solid and secure. Trust is necessary for those attributes, but you’re afraid to believe it exists in others. But believe in yourself. Hand over your heart.”
“What if my heart breaks again.” What if Ross wakes up and realizes the novelty has worn off, like I thought last night. What if he realizes I’m not good luck. I didn’t change the trajectory of his team’s wins and losses. I’m just an average woman, like he’s a man.
“Hearts mend,” Cassandra says, her voice turning more serious. “And you should allow yourself a little romantic reality from the fantasies you write.”
“Most people want to escape reality and live through romantic fantasy.”
“Live the reality.” Cassandra leans across the table, placing her hand over my wrist. “You deserve your own happily-ever-after, Vee. And maybe that starts on a baseball field.”
I glance toward the window. I haven’t decided if I’ll attend tonight’s game or not. I’m a bit of a fair-weather fan, and a downpour and cold temperatures will definitely keep me away from the stadium. May can be so unpredictable in the Midwest.
“Isn’t there some baseball saying about you don’t score unless you swing at the ball?” Cassandra sips at her Bloody Mary and then signals for our waitress.
“You mean if you don’t swing, you’ll miss one-hundred percent of the balls?”
“I like my saying better. Go for the balls, Vee. You might score.” She wiggles her brows. “Love and forty.”
“Those are tennis scoring terms, not baseball ones. And that was all euphemisms, wasn’t it?” I laugh.
“You know it.” She lifts her empty Bloody Mary glass and taps against mine resting on the table. “I’m a sexual-innuendo-aficionado.”
I shake my head, laugh at my friend. She’s something alright, and unfortunately, she’s right.
What I’m most afraid of is the heartbreak that could rest on the other end of Ross’s season. However, if I don’t go for whatever this is with Ross, I’ll never know if my already damaged heart could eventually mend.
“Isn’t that Romero Valdez?” Cassandra interrupts my musings.
Turning my head in the direction of the couple seated two tables away, who are standing to leave the restaurant, I answer her. “I think so.” However, I’m not great at recognizing players outside the context of the ballfield.
Turning back toward Cassandra, I set down my glass. “Now enough about me. Tell me what’s going on with you?”
“Funny you ask.” However, her expression isn’t filled with humor as she starts her tale.
+ + +
Good luck, Coach, I text. I leave off the ass-slap, which really should be an emoji, when I send Ross the message that I won’t be at the game.
The Anchors game is rain-delayed by an hour.
I predict the eight-ten start means the game won’t end until sometime near eleven.
As I make the decision not to attend, because rain and cold don’t mix with my warm blood, I turn on the game on my television, and set the volume low as background noise while I work.
My writing has come in fits and spurts lately, and that’s not an intentional innuendo about my fictional hero and heroine. Still, the story stalls and starts at odd times and tonight seems to be a moment where clarity reveals itself.
But as the game nears its end and my characters need a break, I make another decision for the night.