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.

I don't exactly answer him before he lifts me, sets me on the edge of the bed, and works his way down the remainder of the jersey to open it. Then he leans forward and kisses my belly. With a hand on my upper chest, he's presses me back until I'm flat on the bed and he kisses me again.

I'm dizzy and delirious and Ross Davis is so delicious.

Abruptly, he pulls back and stands upright, then reaches for the button on my jean shorts when another reality hits.

"Wait." With my heart racing, my head is galloping to catch up. "I'm not . . . I mean, I never thought . . . So I . . ." I blow out an exasperated breath and just spit out what I'm trying to say. "I'm not waxed or tidy or scaped down there."

I mean, who would have thought Ross Davis would be going down on me? Certainly not me .

"If you think a little hair is going to keep me away from you, think again, sweetheart." He arches a brow while his eyes give a final ask for permission to proceed.

I nod once, sighing in relief when the button on my shorts pop open. Ross makes quick work of the zipper, and with a sharp tug, my shorts are removed.

He eagerly spreads my knees and leans forward, running his nose over my covered center.

"You smell incredible, beautiful."

Or did he say you smell incredibly beautiful? I don't know. I can't think straight. My brain is scrambled with anticipation and a twinge of nerves.

With his fingers in the waistband of my underwear, he removes them slower than he lowered my shorts, taking his time like he's unveiling a masterpiece. Once he drops them to the floor, he leans forward again and slides his finger through my slit.

"Fucking soaked," he hums, like he didn't expect it, didn't know what he does to me, didn't know how he's been working me up for days. Or maybe he's being smug because I'm nearly dripping.

His thumb toys with me, spreading me open and circling the slick folds before he hits that sacred spot. I suck in air.

He hums again, a satisfied sound, before he applies teasing pressure, tiny circles of torture that cause my hips to buck upward. He claps a hand on my inner thigh, holding me still before his face is between my legs. The sudden flick of his tongue has my hips jolting again.

"Stay still, sweetheart." Only his palms are suddenly restraining my spread thighs, pinning me in place as he works his magic with that tongue. Long laps. Short swirls. He drinks me in before diving deeper.

All kinds of sounds are escaping me. Purrs. Hums. Moans. And I can't move my legs which is only amplifying the pleasure.

Ross removes one hand from my thighs to join his tongue, and my leg snaps upward, bracketing his head. One long finger glides inward as he works my clit with his mouth .

"Ross," I groan, the sensation too much. Earth, wind, and fire at the same time.

His finger slides in and out before he adds a second one. He blows over my clit, flirting with what has already been teased, then his mouth is on me again, warm and slippery.

"I'm—" My breath catches. "Ross, I'm . . ." I can't get the words out, all coherent thought leaves me and in its place is a release so sweet, so refreshing, so languid, I float through the rush of flutters and coast along the dips. My legs cage Ross's head as I ride out the gentle storm raining from within me.

Eventually, I reach for his head, needing him to stop while never wanting him to let me go.

With a final lap and then a soft kiss directly to sensitive folds, he pulls back and glances up at me. Those desert-bright eyes are full of pride and something deeper, something darker.

"Fucking delicious," he murmurs, climbing up over me and taking my mouth again, kissing me hard and fast, tongue thrusting inward, forcing me to taste what he's done to me. The moment is heady, thrilling, and dirty, while I'm lost to how carnal and raw it feels.

With my legs spread, Ross is cradled against me, the bulge covered by his towel not a mystery. I hitch my hips, seeking friction against him, wanting him to feel the way I do.

He pulls back and glances down at me. "I want to be inside you, Vee. Feel you collapse again around me."

"This will take our sleeping arrangement to a new level," I warn him. A level he explicitly said he didn't want to enter.

"Leveling up then."

He shifts so his knees are outside the cradle of my thighs, then he's climbing upward, over me, stretching for the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. Only with his reach, his towel comes loose, exposing the long, hard length of him. As he's close to my face, I turn to lick up his length.

Ross freezes. "Vee." He hisses .

I repeat the motion, wiggling my arm free until I can fist him. I tug and stroke his thick, solid length before opening wide and sucking the tip.

"Don't play with me, sweetheart."

He barely finishes his command and I draw him into my mouth, unable to take the full length of him.

"Fuck." His curse is a soft plea, a strained prayer, and I honor him by hollowing my cheeks and dragging up and down his length, twirling my tongue and further teasing him.

Not much time passes, before his fingers curl into my hair, gently forcing me to release him.

"Enough, Vee, or I'll spend down your throat when I want to go off inside you."

We should probably discuss what that means, but then I understand why he was stretching over me. His wallet is on the nightstand, and he's prepared for this moment. Once a gold packet is retrieved, he clambers back over me, settling on his knees between my spread thighs. His towel is long forgotten.

I watch as he rolls on the protection, not certain I've ever witnessed a man do such a thing. As he handles himself, my channel clenches, greedy for him, anticipating him inside me. When he finishes covering himself, he glances at me.

"Gotta say, fuckin' you while you're wearing that jersey is a dream."

I gaze down at myself. Jersey spread open, bra on display. He reaches around me and unfastens the clasp at my back.

"Do that trick where you take it off without removing the jersey."

With a wiggle of my arms, and a tug and a pull, I'm braless while the jersey remains. Ross falls to his arm, braced above me, while he lowers his mouth to a breast and his other hand holds himself lined up at my entrance. His tongue twirls around my nipple while I cup his head, combing my fingers through his hair.

Then he bites my nipple and thrusts inward .

I lurch upward, taking him to the hilt and clutching at him. "Ross," I gasp, startled by the sting, the shove, and the sudden rush of my libido.

Filling me, Ross pauses and glances down at where he's entered me. "I've been fantasizing about this moment for weeks."

"For weeks?"

"Every day. Every night. Sleeping beside you has been heaven and hell." He pulls back then rushes forward again.

"But this. This right here is next level." He exhales and stills, using his arms to support him above me. Then he rolls his hips in a way that his pubic bone rubs against my clit, winding me up and up and up again. My legs are spread as wide as they can, my clit presses against him, loving the friction, the spiral, the build.

"Ross." My breath catches once more. I don't typically let go in this position, but the weight of him over me, the warmth, the pressure, and I'm suddenly on the verge of that floating sensation once again.

With my hands on his shoulder blades, pressing at him as if I want him to collapse on top of me, I clutch and claw until the flutters release, the relief sharp and quick, but no less intense than the first time.

I cry out his name.

"Sweetheart," he groans, going wild now that I've been reckless. He moves back and forth, rushing in, while teasing to pull out. Then he stills and every jolt, every flinch, I feel buried within me.

A vein on his neck strains. His heart hammers. My name is a sweet cry. "Verona."

Then he collapses over me, blanketing me.

Memories flash through my head. A warm jacket on a rainy day. An apology kiss against my neck. A camera flash and a captured moment.

Ross Davis will always be all these things to me and now this.

If only I could keep him.