Chapter 25

[Vee]

For the next week, Ross and I talk after his games which is late at night compared to spring training. The Arizona games were typically played during the afternoons, but the season games are more often in the evening, especially during the week.

By the end of the first home series, the Anchors had won two of three games and social media is breathing easier on the team's potential for success under their new leader.

Additionally, these are Anchor fans who will be loyal no matter who they hate or admire on a team, and it's become clear many people are not in favor of Romero Valdez and his antics. He's been suspended for his actions toward a teammate.

The announcement also came that Ford will be on the injury list for a few months, citing surgery and recovery time as the reason.

Of course, Ross told me most of this himself. He opened up to me about his concerns for his team's morale. His personal dislike of Romero's attitude. His heartbreak for Ford Sylver.

"He's a good guy. One I looked forward to coaching because of his leadership as well as his skill. Plus, I know what it's like to go out on a fizzle instead of in a blaze of glory."

Ross left pitching the year the Anchors won the pennant. He went out with a flaming inferno. Then again, his personal life had been smoldering embers while Ford's circumstances sound like a dumpster fire. I don't mention my concern that he's falsely compared the differing scenarios. Instead, I listen.

And every night Ross surprises me by asking, "How's the writing going?"

And I begrudgingly offer a variety of adjectives.

Slow.

Better.

Horrible .

Decent.

Until one night I admit, "I think I need a change of scenery." Like being in Arizona, specifically at the Anchor spring training stadium, where inspiration struck, I need a change of view.

For now, my characters are stuck. Literally.

I have him in her shower, and she thought she was being burglarized because she'd returned home to the water running. She's entered the bathroom with a baseball bat in hand, instead of calling 9-1-1, like any rational woman. Then he pulls back the shower curtain, finished with the shower and naked as the day he was born, skin steamy and slick, looking sexy as fuck.

He screams. She screams.

And somehow, I was interrupted while writing this scene and can't figure out what should happen next. The almighty, ominous question for two fictional characters attracted to each other—to have sex or not to have sex?

"Need a place to go?" Ross interjects, knowing I sometimes visit coffee shops or local libraries, just to get out of my apartment.

I shrug, although he can't see me. "Got a recommendation?" My old haunts don't seem to be sparking any new creativity.

"How about staying at my place?"

"What?" I choke on a sip of water. I'm sitting upright in my bed, comfortable in the same position I've been in each night when we chat. Like this is my therapist seat, although I was teasing about being his uncertified psychiatrist. Ross and I are friends. Friends who have carnal knowledge of one another, but friends, nonetheless.

"We play back-to-back out of state, so I'll be out of town for the next two series."

I hear sheets rustling. We don't discuss our talking positions. Where we sit, or what we're wearing, but I picture Ross laying in his bed, wearing only his boxer briefs. In my head, his room is dark, masculine, and moody.

"You could come here. Hang out. Use my place during the day or spend the night. "

"Ross." I chuckle. "Aren't you worried I'd go through your things? Invade your privacy," I state, sounding eerie, as if I'd do such a thing when I wouldn't. "That I'd sleep in your bed like some superfan with a crush on you."

Oh, wait, I am that . And the idea of sleeping in Ross's bed without him should not appeal to me.

Ross laughs, lighthearted and easy. "First of all, I told you, you already invade my thoughts, so I'm not worried about my privacy."

My mouth falls open, surprised he remembered saying such a thing and wondering if he still feels the same way.

"And second, I want you in my bed, Vee. So permission granted to roll around in the sheets and do whatever you need to do to find inspiration."

"Anything?" I snortle.

"Ah, there's the sound I've missed. And yes . . ." He pauses. "Anything."

"What if I want to bring two men to your bed?"

Ross chokes so hard, it sets off a coughing fit, and despite me continually asking if he's okay, he can't catch his breath for several minutes before he groans in a strangled voice. "Never."

With a clearer tone, but still one that sounds rough, he adds, "I told you once I'd never share you, and I mean that, Vee. You'd be mine and mine alone."

A greater question might be, would he belong to me?

"I'll think about it," I state. "About staying at your place, that is." However, I already know I wouldn't be comfortable going to Ross's home without him present. The concept does feel like an invasion of his privacy.

"Consider it a vacation from your home, if you'd like."

"What I'd like is some freakin' inspiration," I mutter.

"You'll find it."

"Is that your idea of a pep talk?" I tease.

"It can be any kind of speech you want, sweetheart. Just as long as you're still talking to me. "

I melt a little into the pillow at my back, slouching down further beneath the bedcovers.

"Good game today," I remind him, needing a change of subject.

"I didn't see you there." Ross now knows my seats are to the right of the dugout, off center from home plate, and roughly behind the WAGs—wives and girlfriends.

Laurel went to the second home opening game. I gave a set of tickets to Cassandra although I told her I wasn't speaking to her. She only laughed and told me I could make her my maid of honor at my second wedding. She's a funny one.

"Next one," I promise him. As he said, he'll be gone for a week with away games.

"And you'll be sleeping at my place while I'm gone," he reiterates, like it's a done deal.

"We'll see." I sound like I did when my girls were little, giving them the canned response when the real answer was not going to happen .

"I'll share my address with you. And send you the code to enter the place."

Something about the ease in which he shares both these things with me settles deep within my chest. Because Ross is showing he trusts me. He's telling me where he lives and offering me a key.

And his blind faith has me eventually accepting this generous invitation almost as easily as when I first agreed to sleep with him.