Chapter 10

[Vee]

In the morning, a rousing call to hit it fills the bedroom, and I jolt awake. Ross is softly snoring behind me. At one point during the night, his arm was draped over me, but it is now removed from my hip. Instead, he lays flat on his back, wedged against me in a manner that doesn't allow me to turn over.

"Ross," I whisper, although what's the point of whispering to a sleeping man you wish to wake?

As I attempt to roll, my elbow nudges his chest. And his phone drones on with Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock rapping about how it takes two people to make something right.

When Ross doesn't budge with my elbow at his belly, I flip as best I can so I can reach over his chest for the phone. Only his phone is somewhere near the opposite edge of his pillow. He's sleeping on mine.

I have no sense of what time it is, but I'm awake now, stretching over Ross, practically lying on him, to find his phone and turn off the sound that is apparently not waking the person intended to be awakened.

With my body draped over his midsection, I skim my hand beneath the pillow, reaching and seeking until my fingertips hit the edge of the device. My fingers are too short to grip the corner of his phone, so I'm up on my knees, preparing to climb over Ross when his hand connects with my side, just above my hip.

"What are you doing?" His voice is groggy, rough and sandpapery once more. His palm is warm against my skin exposed by my stretch for his phone.

I crane only my neck, glancing over my shoulder, and looking him right in the face where I'm met with bright blue eyes, fresh as a new day. Slowly, I blink, mesmerized by the color. Ross is also giving me a delicious, cheeky grin while watching me from his prone position.

Pulling back over his body, the movement causes my breasts to casually, accidentally, drag over his firm chest, sending a ripple of excitement throughout me and causing my nipples to pebble. Without a bra, my reaction to Ross is evident. "I was trying to reach your phone."

Ross turns his head so sharply it's a wonder I don't hear his neck crack. His expression suggests he's startled, like he doesn't hear the thumping beat of the 80s rap. Slowly, he twists his body opposite the direction of mine, and I sit back on my knees.

"Still have something against my song?" he chuckles, deep and rich.

"Nothing against your song. I'm just more of a Marvin Gaye "It Takes Two" type of person."

Ross rolls to his back again, phone in hand and taps off the alarm. "What?"

"Never mind." We stare at one another for a long, quiet minute. His morning eyes are sleepy while alert. His mouth slowly curls.

"So, now what? Do you feel like it's a winning kind of day?"

Ross blinks, stares up at the ceiling, like he's considering the question, and then lets out a slow exhale. "I'll say this. I don't think I've slept so well since . . ." He moves his head just the slightest, eyes meeting mine. "Since we the night we met."

My cheeks heat. "That's sweet."

Startling me, he abruptly sits upright, his face coming close to mine. For a half a second, I think he's coming in for a morning kiss, but as my knees are close to the edge of the bed because he'd encroached on my side, I slip off the mattress. Ross catches my wrist at the same time my feet find the floor.

"Sea legs in the morning?" he teases as I wobble.

"More like someone hogged the ship." I nod toward the vast mattress and Ross glances around, realizing one half of the bed hasn't been slept in.

"Do you typically sleep on the left?" I question, wondering if he felt like he slept on the wrong side of the bed, thus encroaching on mine. Since Cameron's death, I bought a new bed. For me, sleeping comfortably isn't a matter of the right or left side of the bed, but a need to be closest to the door or exit. My Feng Shui is off otherwise .

Ross shakes his head, not commenting on his position while scowling at the empty space a second. Then, he says, "I should probably get going."

He scrubs both his hands down his face before flipping back the covers and scooting out of the bed toward me.

I step back but suddenly, I'm panicked. "We did it wrong."

Ross stills, standing upright in front of me. "We did what wrong?"

"Getting out of the bed. I went one direction. You went the other. We're messing up the shui or the vibe or the jujubeans."

"The jujubeans?"

"Whatever," I snap, waving around him toward the bed. "What if this messes up your win?" If this sleepover didn't work, Ross won't be back. He won't want to be friends if I don't bring him luck. This could be the last time we sleep next to one another. And none of this should matter, but strangely, I feel my chest constricting. My breathing ragged with fear.

Ross chuckles softly, setting his large, warm hands on my upper arms and rubbing up and down my suddenly goose bumped skin. "I think we'll be okay."

While he slept well, I feel like I've hardly slept and I'm out of sorts. So, I don't understand how he's so calm. Then again, this arrangement is his plan.

He bends at the knees, lowering his bulky body a bit to look me more directly in the eyes. "Let's just see what happens. If we did it wrong, we'll fix it."

My head lifts higher, body stiffening. "Are you saying you want to sleep with me again?"

He laughs a little deeper, louder, while shaking his head. "I don't want to be presumptuous—"

"I think we're beyond that."

"But if this works, I'll definitely want a repeat."

We stare at one another, the seconds ticking by slowly. The warmth of his touch seeps into my skin. A spicy cologne scent lingers on him. His nearness makes my legs wobble once more, before his brows pinch, and he removes his hands, instantly breaking a new kind of tension between us.

Suddenly, a pensive look fills his rested eyes. "Do you think I'm taking advantage of you?"

"No." I swallow. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because you said we're beyond presumptuous, and I don't want there to be any assumptions. I don't want to come across like I'm monopolizing you or this situation. I don't want to hurt you somehow. I want you to feel comfortable. Safe."

Just mentioning his concerns settles my anxiety. He's considerate of my comfort and worried about my emotions, and that right there says more about Ross Davis than Cameron. I don't like to think ill of the dead, but a decade later, I still have some serious mental scars from what he put me through.

And the truth is, I do feel safe with Ross Davis. Safer than I probably should.

I nod to calm his concerns, forgoing my own. I don't want him hurt either. I don't want him upset or disappointed when he discovers this little experiment of his does not help his team.

Instead, I say, "You should probably get going."

He nods once, but we both remain still, watching one another, eyes trying to read the other. Finally, he clears his throat. "I'll call you later."

The comment feels like a dismissal of sorts and as much as my chest pricks, I muster encouragement for him instead.

When he turns, I slap his ass, like they do in sports. The crack is hard and loud, resonating through the room. My palm stings from the firmness of his fine backside.

Ross spins, staring at me in shock. I'm a little startled myself.

Then he lets out a deep laugh, one that comes from his belly and fills the room, while he shakes his head. His laughter brings on my own, forcing a snortle out.

"There's my sound," he states, his voice quieting while still full of chuckles .

"Go get 'em, Coach," I say cheerfully, while struggling to quell my own anxious giggles. "Bring home a win."

+ + +

I hold my breath until the soft click of my front door echoes back to me in the bedroom, then I dissolve into hysterical laughter.

Oh. My. God . I just slapped Ross Davis's ass.

I fall face first into the bed, getting a whiff of his distinct cologne mingled with the laundry detergent scent of the sheets.

With Ross gone, the urge to write should overwhelm me but that doesn't happen. Within an hour, I'm stymied again, staring at the blank page, wondering where my characters should go next. Which collides with my thoughts retracing every step of last night with Ross.

I was relieved when he broke the tension by taking my hand. I don't know what it is about him massaging my fingers, but the delicate touch from his thick fingers sends shivers through me. Good shivers . Shivers I probably shouldn't be thinking about.

An hour passes as I mindlessly scroll social media, stalling instead of daydreaming, before I decide I need physical activity.

With a heavy sigh, I accept defeat for inspiration and head outside into the fresh, brisk morning air. Whoever says Scottsdale is constantly hot hasn't been here mid-March where the weather fluctuates from forty to eighty in a day. The desert air is dry making the temperature feel cooler at times than the humidity-filled air of the Midwest under similar temperatures.

I take a walk at a local riparian preserve, which is quite opposite Chicagoland's Forest Preserves. On the sandy paths between large man-made water tables filled with ducks and other waterfowl, my mind wandering as I circle the ponds and cut through the middle of the preserve on the various trails.

Cameron and Ross both cross my mind along with the variety of differences between them. I'd known Cameron since high school and Ross for less than five months with no more than four encounters, yet I felt more attracted to him as a stranger than the man I'd once called my husband. I don't like to think about Cameron's adultery. I often don't think about that time in our lives, but sneaky reminders creep up on me, like last night, laying silently staring up at the ceiling, feeling awkward and tense in my own bed, distant from the man beside me.

I wasn't sexually experienced or wise on dating, and when I asked Ross about cheating, the question came about because I figured he'd have a better perspective on how to separate my mind from my body. Not that Ross and I were doing anything physical. We were sleeping beside one another. But I couldn't dismiss the sensation fluttering inside me. That rumbling pull to know more about him. The attraction was real. For years, I have crushed on Ross. Like I'd once longingly stared with heart-filled eyes at Cameron when we were teenagers, before he noticed me.

I worry that despite being older and wiser, I am setting myself up for the same kind of failure. Perhaps not giving twenty years to a man, fifteen of them in marriage, but still, failure all the same. Because my feelings were evident, even if only lusty desire, and I'll need to work on keeping my emotions under control. I couldn't risk the physical attraction turning into a mental connection, like Ross Davis held some secret key to unlock my heart.

One thing that didn't worry me was taking advantage of Ross. I would never throw myself at him, despite the playful smack on his backside this morning.

I also didn't want Ross thinking about his late wife while he was with me. Silly, considering he'd been in a long-term relationship with Chandler Bressler, and several short-term ones with supermodels and beauty queens. If he'd been through all those women, a sense of guilt was no longer on his mind.

I didn't know what I should feel guilty about, but the familiar twinge was present all the same. Like maybe I was using Ross for some ulterior, unknown motive. I couldn't imagine what that mysterious reason would be. It couldn't be that a warm body in my bed made me feel safe and secure. Or that the presence of his arm over me was a comfort. Or that his side wedged against my back, keeping us connected even when he rolled away, made me feel important to him in some way.

Those feelings would be as ridiculous as this arrangement.

On that note, I head back to my place and watch the Anchors' afternoon game on a sports channel.

And, the Anchors win.