Chapter 30

[Vee]

I wake from the sudden click of my front door closing. Swiftly, I shift my head on the pillow. Ross is still beside me, snuggled up close to my side. His arm drapes over my middle as I lie partially on my back, the other part of me resting against him.

Movement in my kitchen which is just outside my bedroom door snags my attention.

"Ross," I whisper-hush. "I think one of my girls is home."

Ross leans into me, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. We did not have sex last night. Not the conventional kind, but clearly the oral variety.

After our moment in my living room, we came to my bedroom where we shyly watched one another undress. Ross took care in removing his dress shirt and folding his slacks over a hanger I offered him. I had trouble with the zipper on the back of my dress and he helped me lower it, reminding me of our first encounter. This time, his knuckles slid down my spine after the zipper was separated.

"I love your back."

"I don't think anyone has ever said that to me."

Ross Davis has been a first in many ways.

"Ross," I whisper a little louder. "My daughter is here."

His eyes ping open, startling me with their brightness. "And?" He tips up his thick brows.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Why not?" His sleepy voice is gruff. His deeply pinched brows expressing his confusion.

I've never introduced my girls to a man in my life. Never had a man worthy of being introduced to them. And Ross walking out of my bedroom with me would make quite a statement. One I'm not certain we're ready to make, even if we discussed an us only last night.

What I say instead is, "Because you didn't want anyone to know about us. "

"I never said that." His eyes widen.

Now doesn't feel like the time to argue with him, nor remind him that the first time we met, he said no one should know about our night together. We weren't public in Arizona. Silly superstition .

His pinched brows deepen. His eyes darken. "Lots of people know about us."

"Kip and Cassandra." A whole two people .

"You met Harley."

"That was different." Harley was an unexpected surprise in Ross's home. I realize that's not too dissimilar from whomever might be in my kitchen and just dropped something heavy on the floor.

"Well, I'm not climbing out the window." His tone is disgruntled, possibly hurt.

"Just . . . just stay in here until I can get rid of her." Another first. Something I never thought I'd say as a grown adult, before I scramble from my bed, rushing to slip on a pair of loose leggings. Not bothering to change the T-shirt I wore to bed, because whichever daughter is in my kitchen won't mind bra-less mom. I slip my fingers through my hair, conscious that Ross is watching me as I step around the bed.

He shifts quickly and efficiently, climbing up to his knees and snagging my wrist to catch my attention before I open the bedroom door.

"Hey," he whispers when I spin to face him. Proud chest on display. A thick wedge in his snug boxer briefs. "Good morning." He slips his hand to the back of my head and kisses me in a rough greeting that leaves me a little dizzy when he releases me.

"Stay," I warn, poking at his chest before I slip out my bedroom door, quickly closing it behind me.

Laurel tips back from behind the open freezer door. My brown-haired beauty's face lights up when she sees me.

"Hey," she greets me like it's perfectly normal for her to be standing in my kitchen, unscheduled or unannounced, rummaging through my freezer.

"Hey, baby. What are you doing here?"

"I was out of frozen waffles. "

"Uhm. So you came to my house?" Go to a freakin' grocery store .

"You were closer than the store."

"Do I even have frozen waffles?" I stopped food shopping specifically for my girls a long time ago unless their visits are planned.

"No." She sighs and shuts the freezer door before facing me. "The Syrup Tap?"

"Is this your way of asking if I'll take you there?" I laugh. She isn't asking me out to breakfast, she's asking me to take her to breakfast.

"I live on a teacher's salary." Her hand comes to the hip she juts out to punctuate her financial status.

"And I live on a starving artist's one," I tease. "But give me a few minutes and we can go." The excuse is perfect, allowing me time to change and slip out of my own apartment before I'm caught with Ross Davis in my bedroom.

Only, said bedroom door opens and out walks the man himself. Suit pants and dress shirt on, but shirt untucked with only a few buttons near his waist fastened. His shoes are in his hand, socks tucked within them.

Laurel's mouth falls open. She lifts her hand, twisting it at the wrist to point behind me.

"Mom." Her voice is a strangled cry of shock, like she's frozen by the sight of a great big hairy spider on the wall.

"Mom," she repeats, not blinking.

"Mom." She sounds like she did as an insistent child, as if she doesn't have my full attention. "Ross Davis."

I shift, glancing over my shoulder while Ross crosses the very short distance in my narrow kitchen from my open bedroom door to me. He presses a kiss to my shoulder.

"Mom. Ross Davis just came out of your bedroom."

"I know." I sigh, a little embarrassed. Not by Ross but by the implication of what might have happened in my bedroom when nothing happened in there. It happened in the living room. In my bedroom, we talked more about Harley and then kids in general as they reach adulthood .

Which Laurel is clearly displaying she hasn't mastered, especially when she states in shock, "You're Ross Davis."

"I am."

"Coach of the Chicago Anchors."

"Yes," he says, slipping a hand around my back and squeezing my hip.

"Hot silver fox," she chokes.

"Uhm?" Ross chuckles.

"Laurel!"

"And you just came out of my mom's bedroom."

"Okay. I think Ross was just leaving and you and I can talk on the way to The Syrup Tap."

"Isn't that where you took Harley?" Ross asks, his voice close to my ear.

As I'm watching Laurel, her mouth gapes again before she says, "You went out with Harley Davis?"

For half a second, the announcement sounds like a reverse harem romance where the woman dates the dad and the son. Something I have no interest in doing, nor am I attracted to men young enough for me to be their mother!

"Laurel," I say a bit sharply.

"I think I'll let you explain that one." Ross chuckles behind me, then kisses my cheek. "I should probably go."

He steps away from me and addresses Laurel. "Nice to meet you." He doesn't offer a hand but tips up his chin. Laurel melts.

As Ross heads down the hallway leading to the front door, I hold up a finger to Laurel suggesting I want her to stay. Pinned to the hardwood floor, still in utter shock, I don't think she'd move if I asked.

"Wait," I call after Ross, quickly following him. He pauses near my front door and turns to face me. Lowering my voice, I ask, "What am I supposed to tell her?"

Ross stares at me a long minute. "Are you embarrassed by us?"

"No." I choke. "I just thought you wanted to . . . not be public. "

"Why wouldn't I want to be public?" His eyes widen and then narrow, suspicious. "Unless you don't want to be public?"

The thought of Ross Davis being my dirty little secret is almost laughable. Who would I be hiding him from? He's the one with fans and paparazzi.

Still, I don't answer his question. I don't know how, so I snap. "This was your sleeping arrangement."

"Let's be clear." Ross stands to his full height. "The only sleeping arrangement is me in your bed. Or you in mine. Us. Together. We're more than some arrangement, Vee." He lets out a loud huff. "So let's have all the kids meet. Clear the air in one breath. We're public." His eyes narrow at me. "Exclusive. Monogamous."

I swallow down his meaning. "Okay," I whisper.

"Dinner. My place. Tomorrow night."

"What?" I snap again, surprised by how quickly he wants to make us public with our kids. I also remind him, "Hannah is in Milwaukee."

"That's only an hour away. Ask her to come home. And Landon will be home tomorrow anyway. He's going to the matinee performance of Harley's play."

"Don't you have a game tomorrow?" It's almost sad that I have his schedule memorized.

"Day game. I'll cook dinner." Then Ross leans forward, kissing me a little longer than a quick out-the-door kiss, and I'm left breathless and staring at the back of the shut door after his exit.

"Mom?" Laurel calls from the opposite end of the hallway, clearly confused by Ross's presence.

Maybe even more flabbergasted by the fact he kissed me.

And now we've been invited to dinner at his place. As a family. So my girls can meet Ross Davis and learn that we're together.

Is this even reality?

+ + +

Thankfully, Hannah isn't put out by my last-minute request to come home for a night. My blonde-haired girl is even wearing a summery dress, unlike her typical wardrobe of athletic wear.

"I have somewhere special I want to take you." Can I say I have someone special I want her to meet? Doesn't that imply he's my boyfriend or something? Can I have a boyfriend at forty-something? Calling him a man-friend sounds even stranger. And the truth is simply not an option.

I'm sleeping with Ross Davis .

I'd asked Laurel not to say anything to Hannah yet, but I'd been doubtful she could keep this secret to herself.

When Cassandra called me, I laughed, suspicions confirmed about my eldest daughter and her secret-keeping ability.

"Can't keep a secret from Aunt Sassy, can we?" I'd teased Laurel after the call where Cassandra squealed with delight before admonishing me for not keeping her up to date on the Ross situation.

What was our status? Sleeping partners? Research assistants? Even I was confused. We've called ourselves an us , but what does that mean?

When we pull up in front of Ross's house on the lush, tree-lined side street in a posh neighborhood, the girls gawk at the narrow, three-story brick home.

"Don't be weird," I warn them both.

"I don't think this situation could get any weirder," Laurel mutters. She's disgruntled that I didn't expand further about my relationship with Ross, other than mentioning that we'd met in Houston last year, reunited while I was in Arizona, and then bumped into one another again in Chicago.

"Is bumping some new term?" Laurel teased.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, kid."

"You're the one who taught me to have a dirty mind."

"I did no such thing."

But my girls read romance novels, following my love for them. Plus, I write them. Romance novels are full of life lessons, dirty minds appreciated .

"Where are we?" Hannah asks, interjecting into my memory of the conversation with Laurel.

"You won't believe this," Laurel mumbles, cryptic with her sister as we approach Ross's front door.

I ring the bell although I know the code. When the door opens on a rush, Harley eagerly greets me.

"Verona." He eyes the girls. "And her sisters."

I blush but the girls stare at him. Hannah's forehead furrows, concentrating, like she recognizes the nineteen-year-old in front of us but can't place him.

"Ladies, this is Harley. Harley, my daughters, Laurel and Hannah."

"Physical therapy." He points at Hannah. "Teacher." He looks at Laurel.

Laurel's head swivels. "He knows about us."

"You're being weird," I whisper. She's acting like Harley is some kind of teenage rock star heart throb, instead of an average college kid.

Harley steps back, allowing us to enter the house. "Dad's in the kitchen. I've never seen him so nervous. Then again, we should be nervous. He never cooks."

The three of us follow Harley into the large kitchen where Ross is rushing between a pan on the stove and items on the countertop.

"Can I help?"

Ross spins at my voice. His hands are cupped, chopped mushrooms spilling over the edge of them. "Hey." His smile is filled with both relief and concern.

"What's wrong?" I rush to his side.

The flame beneath a second pan sparks bright orange. Something sizzles. Ross turns toward it. "Shit."

He dumps the mushrooms into the first pan and reaches for a wooden spoon, stirring the mixture.

"Like I said, we might be in trouble," Harley mumbles somewhere behind us.

Placing my hand on Ross's back, I peer into the first pan. Whatever is inside is boiling at a high heat and giving off a slightly noxious fume .

"Whatcha making?" I don't want to be anxious, or critical, but it doesn't look . . . appetizing.

"It's supposed to be mushroom risotto."

I glance from the pan to Ross. "Do you know how to make mushroom risotto?" Because I'm pretty certain it's not by boiling mushrooms, or with the goopy mess of rice inside the second pan.

"Not really." Ross lowers his eyes and rolls his lips. His broad shoulders fall. He's so disappointed in himself, it is endearing. He wanted to make us dinner. Me and my girls.

I reach for the stove and turn off the flames. "Maybe we should just order pizza." With my hand still stroking up his back, I try to sooth the blow to his ego while reassuring him pizza is a good idea.

"Are you . . . Ross Davis?" Hannah asks, echoing her sister's tone from yesterday morning, and reminding us of our audience.

I drop my hand, and Ross and I turn as one, watching Hannah's eyes widen. "You are Ross Davis."

"Brilliant. My family has strongly confirmed who you are," I mutter to him.

"And your mom is V. C. Hux," Harley states, sounding equally impressed by me when I haven't been the one to explain to him who I am.

I turn toward Ross. "You told him?"

"He asked questions."

"Kids have a nasty habit of doing that." I laugh.

Ross and I smile at one another until Hannah interjects again. "Are you two dating?" Her question is stated as if she can't believe it. Her mom. A famous baseball coach. Like how incredulous would that be?

"Who's dating?" The strong masculine voice comes from a dark-haired kid who is the image of his father in body stature. Height. Width. His face is round, but his eyes are molten chocolate.

"I think your dad is dating our mom," Laurel clarifies for the young man I assume is Landon.

"We aren't dating," I immediately state.

"We aren't?" Ross turns to me, eyes wide and hurt .

"Well . . ." How the hell do we explain ourselves to our kids? I'm sleeping with your dad? Only, it's not just sleeping anymore because he had his tongue, mouth, and fingers all over me last night, and yeah, that just does not need to be shared with the class.

Ross turns back toward his boys and runs his hand up my spine, squeezing the back of my neck. "Landon, this is Verona Huxley. Vee. And we are seeing each other."

"What does seeing each other mean?" Hannah asks.

"I think it's like talking to ." Laurel crooks her fingers in air quotes. "You know, when someone isn't your boyfriend yet but you're exclusively talking to one another." Laurel turns toward us. "You are exclusive, right?" Her eyes narrow. Her question is direct and fired at Ross because my girls know their father cheated on me.

Thanks to the rather loud arguments Cameron and I once had, my girls heard things. Things I tried to delicately explain while not making excuses for their father. I refused to dismiss his adultery while attempting to forgive him.

What kind of example had I been for my girls, though? I wanted to portray fortitude in a marriage, but honestly, nothing would erase what he'd done. There hadn't been time for closure or forgiveness before he was taken from us. And, I should have shown my girls not to take shitty treatment, wedding band on your finger or not.

"We're exclusive," Ross states, squeezing my neck a little more firmly. Reminding me of what he said the other morning.

"And how long has this been going on?" Landon asks, his tone nearly as sharp as Laurel's.

"November," Ross says, when I say, "March." We look at one another.

He hasn't been with anyone since November? He explained the Chandler situation, but I still thought there had been others between our meeting in Houston and seeing each other in Arizona.

I glance back at four sets of eyes watching Ross and me. I've never been in this position before. My girls meeting a man. Or me meeting a man's children. The moment feels a bit surreal, especially if I add in that Ross Davis is who he is.

Hannah is still starstruck while Laurel is suddenly eyeing Ross with deeper concern.

Harley is smiling like he's been in on the secret for a while, while Landon crosses his thick arms over his chest and glares at his dad.

"How about pizza?" I choke out, wanting to derail the inquisition of Ross and me. And maybe wipe the scowl off Landon's face. Food can be a good distraction.

"Thank God," Harley dramatically states while Laurel pulls out her phone.

"What do you like?" she asks the room in general, taking over to scan for local pizza places. And suddenly four adult children are glancing at their phones, scrolling pizza options, and firing off ingredients they prefer, giving Ross and me a break.

"That went well," I mumble, turning in his direction.

"We aren't dating?" He scans my face, his eyes weary, concerned even.

"Ross," I warn softly. "Maybe we should discuss this later." We've narrowly gone unscathed just being in the same room as each other. I slip a quick glance at Ross's oldest son. "Landon doesn't look too happy."

Thankfully, the kids fall easily into conversation with each other, occasionally including the older adults in the room. Laurel goes into teacher mode, making certain everyone participates, keeping everyone engaged, while Harley has his theatre schooling on display. Hannah and Landon are a bit quieter but they each laugh at the antics of their siblings, and slowly any tension in the air dissipates until the girls and I prepare to leave.

"Don't you want to spend the night?" Harley teases. "You still owe me pancakes."

"I took you to The Syrup Tap," I remind him.

"What?" Hannah's head whips in my direction so quickly her neck must crack. Her offense is obvious in her tone. How dare I take someone to her favorite place without her .

"Tomorrow we can go there," I say to her.

"Why would you be spending the night?" Landon asks, his gaze going from me to his dad.

The conversation comes full circle.

"Because that's what Dad and Verona do," Harley continues. A smile graces his face, like what he's suggesting is no big deal. Adult sleepovers anyone?

"What do you mean, that's what Dad and Verona do ?"

"Dad said Verona is his good luck charm. When she sleeps here, the Anchors win."

Uh-oh .

"What the fuck?" Landon blurts, turning toward his father. His folded arms slip to his sides, fists clenched.

"Hey." Ross glares back at his eldest son, agitated as well. "Watch it."

"Baseball players are so silly." Harley waves at my girls, as if the playful movement can unravel the blooming tension.

"On that note, I think it really is time to go. Thank you for the pizza. It was great to meet you, Landon." Although I'm not certain the sentiment is reciprocated.

"I'll walk you out," Ross states, stepping forward like he'll follow us.

I hold up my hand, then awkwardly twist it like I intend to shake his, making the moment even more ridiculous. "We've got it."

Ross stares at my outstretched hand, and for a second, I imagine him wanting to bat my hand away, cup my face, and kiss me senseless in front of all four of our children so I'll stop acting so strange. Then again, kissing me in front of our kids would be even stranger, and the image quickly vanishes.

"I'll call you later." Ross ignores my hand, which I eventually lower.

Harley saves the moment by reaching for Laurel and then Hannah, hugging each of them before coming toward me.

"I messed up, didn't I?" he whispers, but I shake my head when I pull out of his embrace.

Ross and I messed up as we don't know how to define what we're doing with each other.