Chapter 23

[Vee]

"What a game." Cassandra sighs while glancing at her phone, watching a replay of the aggressive arm twist that sent Ford Sylver to his knees.

My best friend cringes as she stares at the screen.

"Why do you keep watching that?" I admonish her while standing in my kitchen. Cassandra sits at the square high-top table that separates us in the small space.

"It's like a trainwreck I can't look away from."

My thoughts race to the man in charge of these men. So many decisions for Ross to make. How does a team come back from such aggression among members? Will Ford recover? Rumors have it his left shoulder has been a concern for a while. Will Romero get booted from the team? In my opinion, he's a terrible human being.

Reaching over the table, I cup my hand over her phone to cover the screen, and demand, "Well, look away. I feel terrible for Ford as both a captain and senior member of the team. Not to mention that Romero Valdez is a shit-stirrer."

Cassandra wrinkles her nose. "But he's so fine."

I scrunch my nose in return. "He's an ass."

"He has a nice one."

"Would you stop?" I chuckle while releasing her phone. "We don't foam at the mouth over adulterers."

Cassandra sighs. "True that. So, let's talk about Ross Davis and his fine ass instead."

"Let's not," I counter, because I don't want to think about Ross.

Ten days. Ten freaking days of nothing.

If I wanted more evidence that our arrangement ended, a stamped ‘expired' on a contract would be less obvious than this silence.

Then again, I haven't reached out to him either. What does one say to a man who rocked your world, not once but twice in a night, and then didn't call the next day or the typical three days later? Is it still a standard three days after one has sex with someone? I'm so out of tune with dating, yet we aren't dating. We were only supposed to be sleeping together.

Obviously, Ross didn't want more from me. He didn't want to level up and start a relationship or call us anything other than what we were—a convenient tryst.

And as much as I want to hate myself for having sex with him, I don't. That night was special. Ross made me feel beautiful. While our first time was a rush of sensations and frantic energy, the second time was more an exploration of each other.

His fingertips traced over my body. My palms memorized him.

I shiver at the memory. While I'd told Cassandra I had sex with Ross, I tried to downgrade the experience, brushing past the confession, and skipping the finer details. Cassandra wanted more information but something in my face must have told her not to ask.

She'd been a pillar for me through everything with Cameron, and I didn't want to turn into that overly dependent friend again. This time, the choices had been mine. I'd willingly had sex with Ross Davis, and I hadn't done it for notoriety. I didn't want to share the night's happenings like he was just a notch on my bedpost.

Cassandra knew me better than that anyway. After Cameron's death, Ross makes only the third man in ten years. The statistic wasn't impressive, compared to my best friend, the perpetual bachelorette attracted to younger men.

"But you haven't talked about him at all," Cassandra pouts.

"What's there to say? He didn't call. He's done."

Cassandra sits taller on her stool. "Well, that's not how it works. No one ghosts my best friend and gets away with it, unless he is a ghost, and that'd be a good thing because it spares me the mess of killing him."

"You're ridiculous." I laugh.

"And he owes you an explanation."

I tilt my head. "But does he? He didn't ask for more. He didn't promise it either. It was just sex. "

The declaration is easier said than my true feelings about Ross and that night. About the life-changing, body-reassuring, glorious sex we had.

I shrug and correct myself. "An arrangement."

"A fucking stupid one," Cassandra tacks on. "And lots of good it's done him to dump you. The Anchors lost their first three games. And look what happened today." She wiggles her phone in the air, once more referencing the altercation between teammates.

" That had nothing to do with me." I ignore the sting of her words about Ross. "The Anchors are just having a rough start. And he didn't dump me."

It was a mutual parting of the ways, right?

And today's display between Sylver and Valdez looked like more than a bad patch of grass, though. More like black ice on a slick road on the top of a mountain where the lack of shoulder is due to a steep cliff.

"Besides," I continue. "Are you suggesting I continue sleeping with Ross to save the team?" Even though she just called our arrangement stupid, she appears to be leaning in favor of continuing the practice.

"Look, sometimes you just have to take one for the team," Cassandra says. "Or in this case take the team's coach." Cassandra sticks her tongue in her cheek, making a lewd motion which only causes me to laugh.

"So, I'm to continue having sex with Ross Davis to save the Anchors?"

"A woman has to do what a woman has to do." Cassandra shakes her head, false sympathy in her expression. "And you know I'd volunteer as tribute, but something tells me you're the ‘it' girl." With a hand at her chest, she sighs with mocking compassion. "Oh, the hardship of being you."

I scoff. "Clearly, I'm not it . And I don't want to be needed only for sex."

Cassandra and I glare at one another before bursting into laughter.

Why am I even complaining about sex with an incredibly built and sexually talented man ?

Wait, I know the answer to this one. Because my feelings are in the way.

"So, if Ross Davis knocked on your front door, and said he wanted to have sex with you again, you'd turn him away?"

"He's not going to knock on my door and say, ‘I want to sleep with you, Verona'." I drop my voice to imitate his rugged sandpapery tone.

"No. He might say, I missed you, Vee . I can't live without you, Vee . I want you in my life, Vee ."

My responding chuckle is bitter and raw while the sting of her teasing turns into a piercing pain. "That won't happen, so I don't need to think about it."

Because I have thought about those statements. For ten days . I've hoped for Ross to magically appear and wished for those sentiments to cross his lips. And nothing.

Silence.

The call button from the exterior of the building buzzes in my apartment and Cassandra and I both whip our heads in the direction of the front door. When our eyes meet, we break into laughter again, like schoolgirls high on adolescence.

"That was so freakin' freaky," she whispers, eyes still wide and focused on me.

"Probably mistaken delivery," I state then ignore the buzzer a second time as I'm not expecting anyone. The delivery person will eventually get the correct button.

My apartment building is in your typical Chicago six flat with two apartments on every floor opposite each other. I'm on the first floor which is raised above street level and faces the postage-stamp sized yard.

"Anyway—" I start but an insistent knock on my front door has me holding my tongue. "What the heck?"

I step away from Cassandra and walk down the narrow hallway to the door. Peering through the peephole, because I'm a single woman living alone and I'd never answer the door for a stranger, I flatten against the barrier as if he can see me .

Because once again, the last person I expect to see on my doorstep is the person standing on the other side of this door.

"Who is it?" Cassandra asks, her voice a mysterious hush, while standing at the opposite end of the narrow passage leading from my kitchen to the front entrance. "Vee-Vee?"

"Cee-Cee," I whisper, glancing down the stretch of the hall to her. "It's Ross."

"Well, it's about fucking time he showed up." With speed I hadn't anticipated, my friend rushes toward me, shoves me out of the way and opens my front door wide before glaring into the interior hallway. With her hands on her hips, she says, "You're late, mister." Like she's the one who's been waiting on him.

"I-I'm looking for Verona Huxley."

I step out from behind the door at the same time Ross leans back to check the numbers beside the door frame. As his gaze drifts back to the open doorway, his eyes catch on me, and he fights a smile. Standing before me, he wears snug jeans and a dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing the colorful ink on his forearm, and looking sinfully hot, while holding a bottle of wine and a large bouquet of wildflowers.

"Vee." Whispered like a breath of fresh air on a warm day, I hate how the sound of my name in his rough voice clogs with relief.

"Ross." My responding call is more like someone has a chokehold on my throat.

He clears his. "I got your message."

"What message?" I hadn't called or texted him, not wanting to look desperate or dejected. After the three-day threshold on phone calls had passed, I didn't think there was any way of appearing one way or the other if I'd reached out to him. Needy or hurt versus flirty and wanton. I was struggling to find the medium ground labeled indifferent.

Ross doesn't take his eyes off me, but he smirks while tilting his head. "Nightlight."

I stare back at him, completely confused. "Nightlight?"

"Yeah, nightlight." His smile grows larger, not a hint of remorse or uncertainty or caution .

I turn toward Cassandra, my brows severely pinched, like can you believe this guy ? Maybe he got hit in the head with a ball today.

"So," Cassandra drags out. "I'm the best friend." She extends her hand and Ross awkwardly shifts the wine bottle to the hand holding flowers to shake. "Cassandra Culpére." When their hands clasp, she holds a little longer than necessary and leans toward him. "Don't make me hurt you because you hurt her. Here's your second chance and only warning."

"Cassandra!" I croak.

She turns toward me. "Using my full name doesn't scare me, Vee-Vee." Then she wiggles her fingers in a wave and brushes past Ross.

"Cee-Cee?" My voice drops, confusion etched in the cry as I watch her descend the inner staircase.

"Keep the light on, Vee-Vee." She laughs to herself while Ross and I watch her disappear.

Like a lightbulb flickering on, the situation illuminates.

"Cassandra," I groan louder. What did she do?

"She's . . . fierce," Ross interjects, still focused on where Cassandra descended.

"You have no idea," I whisper, standing in my apartment while Ross remains in the hallway.

"So, your message . . ." He turns toward me.

"Was not from me." I glance toward the flowers in his hand which he holds upside down by the stems, wine bottle wedged between his fingers on the same hand. "I'm not sure what nightlight means, but it's evident Cassandra did something."

Ross softly chuckles before rubbing his knuckles underneath his chin, the move an anxious one. "So, you didn't send a message to tell me you were at the game or give me your address." He pulls a scrap of paper from his back pocket which I rip from between his fingers and scan.

My address is written in Cassandra's scribbled handwriting.

My mouth falls open. Speaking of killing people and turning them into ghosts, I'm going to unalive my best friend. What the hell was she thinking ?

"No. I think this falls to my former best friend." I huff and lean against the open door while Ross and I stare at one another. The seconds tick by. I can smell his spicy cologne and freshly showered scent despite the distance between us.

"So, you weren't at the game?"

"No, I was at the game."

"And you saw what happened?"

"Who didn't see it?" I remind him.

Between the attendees at the game, plus the streaming service's live coverage, and all the sports news channels sharing the scene, not to mention it's making the clock app where Cassandra had been watching the replay in various meme forms, I'm not certain there is anyone left who hasn't seen what happened at Anchor Field today.

Ross hangs his head and swipes his hand over his short hair. "Vee, can I please come in?"

Cassandra's words come back to me.

"So if Ross Davis knocked on your door, and said he wanted to have sex with you again, you'd turn him away?"

I'm not turning him away because I can be the bigger person, but I don't trust myself to let him in. Like the big bad wolf standing on my doorstep, the only thing I want him huffing and puffing is an apology, and the blowing thing should happen on a part of me he won't get near again.

"I'm not having sex with you to save your team."

Ross's brows lift so high his forehead furrows. "I'm not here for sex, Verona."

I snort.

"That wasn't a snortle." His brows shift to a deep divot, like he's disappointed.

"No, Ross. It wasn't a snortle, and this isn't an open door to sex." I wave at the space between us.

"I know. I'm sorry. Can we just talk? I miss you, Vee. "

The words instantly remind me of Cameron. His pleas. His regrets. But Ross isn't Cam. And I hate how my heart flutters. How he's repeating what Cassandra predicted. " He might say I missed you, Vee."

"Did Cassandra put you up to this?" I hate that I'm questioning him. That I distrust both his intentions and my best friend's generosity because I don't need a pity chat with Ross.

His eyes widen. "How could she put me up to anything? I just met her five seconds ago, and she threatened to cut off my balls if I hurt you."

"She threatened to kill you actually."

"Same thing," he corrects.

"You already hurt me. I'm sure your balls are still intact."

Ross's expression instantly falls despite my joke. Lowering his head again, the action one of shame, he pauses a second before looking up at me again. His eyes full of remorse. "I'm so fucking sorry, Vee. I shouldn't have let you walk away from me a second time."

My heart skips. I've heard apologies before from him. I want to be fierce like my best friend but I'm finding I'm weak when it comes to Ross giving me those sorrowful blue-eyes and slowly crooking up one side of his mouth, a weary smile taking over his face.

"Let me come in and apologize properly."

Properly would mean make up sex but we have nothing to make up. We didn't fight. We didn't even disagree. We came together as two consenting adults and then separated with an unspoken agreement. The sleeping arrangement contract was completed.

Still, there's something in the way Ross is looking at me. Hesitant while hopeful. Sheepish while sincere.

"Oh, fine." I press off the door and step aside, allowing Ross to enter my place, which strangely reminds me of all the other entrances he's made into my life.

Into my hotel room.

Into my Arizona rental.

Now, he's stepping into my home, and this is his last opportunity.

Strike three, and he'll be out on the curb.