Chapter 32

[Vee]

Ross greets me at his door in a pair of joggers and a white T-shirt, but we don't get much further than this entryway before his hands cup my face and he kisses me. His tongue rushes forward, slinking against mine as the kiss deepens.

"How are you feeling?" he mutters against my mouth.

"Good?" I giggle. Then, I realize he means my headache from last night. He already messaged me this morning to ask how I was feeling. "Better."

That answer satisfies him, and his mouth returns to mine, the kiss overwhelming. My tote slips from my arm, landing with a thud on the floor before I wrap my arms around his neck, leaning into the kiss more. Ross presses forward, pinning me against the front door, his large body flush with mine.

"This is quite the greeting," I tease, unprepared for such a welcome to his house and wondering what's gotten into him.

Ross stares into my eyes a second before leaning back and gently pulling me from the door by holding my hand. "Want a drink?" Still holding onto me, he leads me into his kitchen, and I stop near the large island, in the spot where I'd spent a few days finding inspiration to write within his home.

"This is where the magic happened." I whisper for some reason.

"What magic?"

"Words."

Ross stops abruptly as well and steps behind me. His arms wrap around my waist, and he presses his face into my neck, peppering me with kisses there. I tilt my head, the tender touch exciting.

"What do you mean?"

"I wrote. Right here." I point to the spot where I'd placed my laptop .

"Let's write another story." Ross hums against my neck. "I like you in my home." He tightens his hold, kissing me deeper along the column of my throat, sucking harder at my skin.

"You okay?" I ask, rubbing my hand over his strong, tattooed forearm around me.

"Rough day at the office," he mutters.

"How can I help?" I whisper, my senses overloaded by his kisses.

"Want inside you."

The request sends a sudden rush up my center. I've been the one to put the brakes on sex, yet my body is pedal to the floor prepared to speed ahead.

"Should we talk?" I murmur, as his kisses become more urgent against my skin. My head tips forward and he scoops up my hair, giving him access to my nape. He scrapes his teeth there and my knees buckle.

Holy shit, that feels good.

"Talk later?" he grunts, giving me an out when he doesn't want one. "Question three. For your research purposes. I can explain everything afterward."

"Okay," I moan, unable to speak my own name, unable to recall question three.

Ross hums at my ear. "Yeah?"

I sink my teeth into my lower lip and nod.

Ross lowers his hands and unbuttons my jeans, easily slipping a hand into them and beneath my underwear until he's cupping between my thighs. The first swipe of his finger, I jolt backwards, knocking my backside into the thick, hard, length bulging against his soft joggers.

I reach behind me, fumbling to feel him in my hands, noticing how thin the sweatpants are and easily disguising . . . "No underwear?"

"Let's get yours off."

"So bossy." But I'm quickly quieted as Ross removes his hands from my jeans and steps back, tugging my pants down, along with my underwear, in one fierce pull. I kick out of my flip flops and use my feet to pull my ankles free from my jean-underwear combination .

Bare from the waist down, Ross's mouth is on my neck again, as he presses my shirt upward and then over my head. He unclasps my bra, nudging the straps to slip free of my arms. Naked in his kitchen, with my hands on the countertop edge, Ross peppers open mouth kisses down my spine.

"God, I love your back."

Such a strange compliment. I can't see my back, so I don't suppose there is anything special about it, but with the attention he gives my spine, the sucking kisses along that ridge down the middle of my body, he makes me feel special. When he gets to my backside, he lowers to one knee behind me, spreads my legs apart and hitches one of my feet on the shelf of his leg. Open, and exposed to him, he leans forward and licks my center.

Mouth hungry. Hands roaming. Everything is happening so fast.

The first lap is quick and thorough before the tip of his tongue finds that tight nub, giving it all his attention. I lean forward, forehead resting on the countertop as Ross works his magic, melting me in the heat of his kitchen. My hands reach for the outer edge of the counter, needing something to brace myself as my hips rock with his eager attention to my core.

"Ross," I warn, surprised how quickly I'm rounding the bases, heading for a homerun. This isn't why I came here, isn't what I thought would happen. But who am I kidding? I want Ross as much as he says he wants me.

For research purposes .

Letting my thoughts drift and my body take over, I sink into the pleasure he's giving me. Licking. Lapping. Until his fingers are inside me.

I cry out at the sudden intrusion, relishing in the invasion, and dripping down his hand.

I'm a mess as I tip over the edge, a cresting wave crashing against a lakeside break wall. The thunderous roll of a rushing tide battering against the cement beach only blocks from this house. The release is quick, almost harsh, and over too soon .

When I finish riding the surf, Ross releases me, and I whimper at the loss of contact.

His knee cracks as he swiftly stands. I turn my head, watching as he shoves his joggers down his hips, freeing his hard length. Then, he's fisting himself and teasing my entrance with his tip.

I teased him about just the tip the other night, but Ross is on a mission. After a few swipes up and down the wetness coating sensitive folds, he awkwardly fumbles with the pocket of his joggers, down near his knees, before producing a foil packet.

"I like a man who's prepared," I kid, although I don't know why I'm making a joke. His preparedness should be a little disconcerting.

"I like you," he says, swiftly covering himself. The depth of his voice, the intensity of how he said what he said, has me standing upright.

I spin to face him, palming his jaw and drawing his attention to my face. "I like you, too, Ross." The words don't fully encompass how I feel. I like him more than I should. And when all is said and done, I'm certain I'm the one who will suffer a broken heart.

Ross's mouth comes to mine again, kissing me deeply, swiping his tongue inside my mouth as if lapping up my declaration.

I like you can sound so weak as a statement and yet still mean so much.

With his hands on my hips, he lifts me to his countertop and then lines himself up at my entrance again. I fall back, catching myself with my hands, bracing myself upright with my arms.

Ross concentrates, watching as he enters me. He pauses a second once deeply seated, allowing me to adjust. Except for the other night, it feels like it's been forever since we've been this close, this intimate.

With my mouth hanging open, his thumb and forefinger cup my jaw. "Fuck, do I like you a lot, sweetheart."

Me? Or this position? I don't ask. I can't think because he's sliding to the edge before surging inward again.

"When I'm with you, I feel . . . whole."

My breath catches as he's still cupping my jaw.

"Warm. Wanted. Home. "

With him buried inside me, my heart races from both his words and the after-effects of my first orgasm.

Ross pulls back, then rushes forward, filling me again, stealing my breath a third time. In the weeks that have passed, I cannot believe I've forgotten how big he is. How deep he gets. How full he makes me feel.

Whole. Warm. Wanted. Home.

"Oh God," I whimper. "I like all of that." What he's saying. What he's doing.

"Yeah." He chuckles, repeating the motion, taking his time, finding a rhythm. The movement happens in such a way the ridge of his cock drags along that sensitive spot, tingling from my first release, yet quickly spiraling toward a second one.

I don't know how he's doing what he's doing, but I don't want him to stop.

"Want to feel you let go around me." He kisses me, hard and fast. "Want to feel everything with you."

He grips one of my ankles, placing my foot on the edge of the counter to open me up for him.

Clinging to his biceps, I use his body to support mine as he fills me over and over again. His hands press against my lower back to steady me. His arms around me pins my raised leg to my side.

"Ross." I gasp, shocked at my body's sudden response to him.

As I let go, shattering a second time, Ross moves faster, plunging deeper within me. His pace picks up until a final surge forces him still. Only deep inside my depths does he pulse and jolt.

"Ahh," he grunts, letting go within me while tightening his hold on my lower back, pinning me to him.

Eventually, he buries his face in my neck, and I wrap my arms around his, holding him to me, wishing I'd never have to let him go. He releases my leg and I collapse against him.

Never wanting us to end. Never wanting him to ever think I don't bring him good fortune.

+ + +

We clean up by showering together, where Ross takes his time to thoroughly wash my body before I scrub his. We don't make it sexual, but we tease one another in sacred places. I'm spent and Ross seems like he has something on his mind. The same something he tried to rid from his thoughts when I entered his place.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" He asks, twisting side to side in the shower for a final rinse of the body wash I spread over his tight skin.

"Whatever that was when I entered your house."

"Good sex?" His eyes sparkle.

"Well, there was that, too, but something else was on your mind first." And unfortunately, I don't think it was me. Do I feel used for sex? Used as a means of distraction? Not really, but I'm still a little unsettled by the rapidness of what happened. "But something else seems like it's bothering you."

Ross shuts off the water and I shiver, my body sensing what my head hasn't caught up to yet. Is he going to break up with me? After what just happened, I don't want to question him, but he's clearly upset by something.

He pops open the shower door and reaches for a towel before rubbing it over my hair and swiping down my body then wrapping the thick material around me. He grabs his own towel, and strokes down his chest before wrapping it around his waist, then runs his hand over his hair.

"Let's talk in my room."

"That sounds ominous." My stomach drops again, a nauseous slosh rumbling around within me.

Ross leads me to his bedroom attached to the ensuite bathroom and rifles through a drawer, presenting me with a T-shirt. The soft white material does nothing to comfort the unease tickling up my spine. Ross is suddenly pensive.

I climb up on the edge of his bed, desperate to pull the thick duvet over my legs and curl into the covers as a means to hide .

Ross tugs on the joggers he'd been wearing when I entered his house, and he faces me.

"I don't think I'm a very good coach."

"What?" The tension in my shoulders lessens. "Why would you say that?"

"Valdez and Adler got into after the game today. In the tunnel."

"Why?" I sit up straighter.

"Valdez made a crack about Adler's wife."

"Bolan Adler? The new catcher? I didn't know he was married." And I don't know why I'm speaking in questions.

"They were married before the season started. Rather spontaneously."

"Is she pregnant?"

Ross's brows lift. "I hadn't even thought of that, but I don't think so." He pauses like he's considering what I've asked. "Either way, Romero called Ruth a mouse, and Bolan reacted. Then Romero had to take it a step further suggesting he was more man than Bolan in bed."

"What the heck? Men are so ridiculous."

"Yeah, Adler did not appreciate either comment. Pinned Valdez to the wall like he was a swatted fly."

I chuckle softly at the image. "How does any of that make you a bad coach?"

Ross flings his arms out to the side before slipping his hands into his jogger pockets. "Because my players are always fighting with each other."

I watch Ross a second, taking in his sunken shoulders and lowered head. He isn't a bad coach. In fact, the Anchors are having one of the best seasons they've had since he played for the team nearly ten years ago. He's doing something right.

"Did your boys fight as kids?"

He chuckles bitterly. "All the time. They're so different from one another."

"It's no different on a team. You have all these diverse temperaments and backgrounds. Think about it. Your boys came from the same house, and they are vastly different from each other, right? Which makes them unique."

I take a deep breath. "These men are like your children. Same house, same rules. But they aren't your children. You're in charge of them, but not their emotions. Not their pasts. Not their personalities. You're top dog over the team."

"Top dog?" His head lifts as his eyes widen.

"You're the alpha male."

His lids lower, eyes narrowing. "Is this a romance novel thing?"

Ignoring the tease, I continue. "Leader of the pack."

He stares at me.

"And as such, you decide who stays or goes. Who plays or sits."

"You're saying I should bench Valdez."

"I'm saying, he needs a lesson in teamship ."

"I don't think that's a word."

Forgiving his vocabulary correction, I carry on. "And as the coach, you need to mentor him. Teach an old dog new tricks."

"We're back to the dog allegory?" he teases, his mouth slowly crooking up on one side.

"Show him what it means to be a good team member."

"How?" Ross sighs. "Suggest not sleeping with your teammate's wife."

"He did that?" I sit taller, astonished by that news. Maybe I'd heard hints of such a thing happening, but who can believe what social media says, especially the clock app running rampant with rumors, thinking they created someone's fame and then undoubtedly ruining it.

Ross doesn't answer me, but his eyes confirm what I once thought was gossip.

"Well, in that case, off with his head." I chop the side of one hand against the palm of the other. "He's out of the pack. Left to starve on his own."

"Is this a pep talk?" Ross chuckles a little deeper this time. "Somehow, I don't think Valdez will starve. For attention or otherwise. "

"Babe, you're in charge either way. If he doesn't align with your goals for the team, or the professional image you want to portray, cut him loose."

"Say that again." Slowly, the corner of his mouth curls higher and he takes a step closer to the bed where I sit.

"If he doesn't align—"

"Not that part."

"Oh, was cutting him loose too harsh?"

Ross leans forward, his face drawing closer to mine as he spreads his arms and braces a hand on either side of me on the bed. His voice drops. "Not that part either."

I swallow at his nearness, inhaling the scent of his body wash lingering on him. "You're in charge?"

"I liked hearing that, too, but I meant the first word." He smiles wide, like the Cheshire cat.

"Babe?"

His grin holds. His eyes dance. "Now say it like you mean it."

"You want me to call you babe?"

He shrugs, lowering his gaze, and suddenly retreating from me, like he's embarrassed he wants to be called an endearment. His vulnerability has me reaching out and clasping the back of his neck, so he can't get too far from me.

"I like when you call me sweetheart. And I'm happy to call you babe, babe."

"Now you're making fun of me." He scowls, leaning back against my hand like he wants to break free off my hold.

"Babe," I whisper. "Kiss me."

His smile slowly returns, twisting like he's fighting it. "Like a top dog?"

I laugh. "Like an alpha male."

Ross doesn't need a lesson in what that means because his mouth lands on mine in such a way, we're falling back on his bed, tangling together, and kissing like I'm his omega.

+ + +

After several minutes of heavy kissing and my relief that what was on Ross's mind was team related, and not personal, he suggests we crawl into his bed. He clicks on the television, orders us some dinner, and then asks, "Need any clarification on how it feels to have sex with you. For your writing purposes."

Right . For research purposes.

"I think I'm good on the basics."

"Basics?" Ross snorts. "There was nothing basic about the way you were perched on my counter, foot on the edge, open and wet for me, dripping to the granite."

"Ross," I moan.

"That pretty pussy on display and my hard cock slipping into you, getting deep."

"Jesus," I hiss, stirrings within me coming to life again. I swish my thighs together beneath the blankets over my lap.

Ross doesn't miss the movement and arches a brow. "Need more?"

There's no doubt I could go again but I don't want to be greedy.

For research purposes .

Saved by the doorbell, our food is delivered, and Ross asks me to stay in his bed. "We'll picnic." He disappears and returns quickly with the salad and pasta he ordered for us on a tray, plus a bottle of wine underneath his arm.

For the next hour we watch bad television and laugh, until Ross says, "Come to Philly next week."

The statement comes out of nowhere, and I snortle as a means to brush it off. "I can't just whisk off to Philadelphia."

With Ross perched up on his side, elbow supporting him, he gazes at me. "Yes, you can. I'll pay for your ticket."

"I don't need you to buy my ticket," I say a bit disgruntled. What I need is to understand where this invitation is coming from? Just like what happened earlier in his kitchen, this request feels sudden and a bit suspicious .

"What would I do in Philadelphia besides hang out in a hotel room?"

Ross frowns. "Why would you be in a hotel room?"

I huff. "Because we don't do this." Frustration builds. "We don't go out." While Ross said we can be public, I still don't know what that entails. Once again, we're hiding out in a bedroom. Mine. His. A hotel room. A rental. Does any of it make a difference? It's only us in seclusion. And it isn't that I don't want Ross all to myself, it's that I'm worried he's keeping me only for him. He doesn't want others to know I exist.

"We went to Harley's play."

He's right. His kid's play. And I'm not complaining. I actually think it was sweet he brought me to something so personal to him. I'm honored.

"We went to Hole in the Rock," he adds.

Now he's just being silly. So we've had two official dates.

"Aren't you worried the superstition whisperer will be revealed, though?" When people eventually ask who I am and how he met me, and then wonder what he's doing with someone like me compared to everyone else he's been with over the years.

A few years back a rather famous silver fox actor suddenly had a girlfriend who was closer to his age, and showed it with her gray hair, don't care, attitude. Jealousy prevailed in every negative comment about her while I cheered her on. Hail to the older gal snagging such a hot man. Or rather, praise to him, latching onto such a smart, accomplished, strong-minded woman.

I can't seem to apply the same principle to myself, for some reason.

"Our secret will be revealed."

"You aren't a secret." Ross scowls, his voice rising as well, and he lifts his body, using his arm to hold himself upright.

"Why would you ask me to go to Philadelphia?" The question is an honest one.

"Because I want my girlfriend to meet my sister. "

"Your girlfriend ? What? When did that happen?" When did I become his girlfriend? Not that I need some big declaration, but this is a large label to put on a sleeping partner, who only a few days ago became the other half of an us .

"Vee, I think we've established we're together." His tone is meant to soothe but it only prickles my skin.

We are together, but everything seems like it's happening too fast. I've gone from a sleeping arrangement with a stranger to a one-night stand of incredible sex to two dates and now I'm his girlfriend. He went out with Chandler more times than he's been out with me, and he refused to call her his girlfriend. The label seems like too much. Like it isn't reality when all I want is Ross and I to be real.

I should be honored but I'm off-kilter.

"What about Landon?" His son is only an excuse I'm using to stall. To process how we've arrived here so quickly.

"What about him?"

"He didn't seem too happy to meet me." We didn't have the chance to discuss his son's reaction to me because of my headache last night.

Ross lowers his gaze while a proud smile curls his mouth. "He was worried I'm using you."

I lift my head and blink at Ross.

He chuckles to himself and lifts his head as well. "He was upset with me, not about you." He quickly explains the disadvantage to being a child of someone famous.

"Oh." That's kind of sweet. "But we haven't discussed the whole dating, not-dating awkwardness from last night." I suddenly feel raw and exposed, unable to navigate the vulnerability swirling inside me.

For research purposes , echoes through my head again. The sex was for motivation.

"I think we can safely say we're dating." Ross looks at me, hesitation in his eyes as well. "Maybe we can't have a ton of typical dates during the season, but I'll try my best."

Typical. Non-typical. Traditional. Non-traditional. Wasn't I the one arguing I didn't know there were definitions to the types of dates .

"Did other women meet your sister?" I shouldn't care. I shouldn't ask. Why am I making a big deal about this invitation?

"No." He hesitates. "I haven't declared anyone else my girlfriend, either." His statement reminds me again that Chandler broke things off with Ross because he wouldn't call her his girlfriend.

"Do you not want to be my girlfriend?" The vulnerability in his tone should have me doubling back, reassuring him I absolutely want that honor.

Instead, I say, "I'm so different from anyone else you've dated."

Ross slowly smiles. "That's what I love about you."

My eyes widen.

"I love that you don't want something from me. That I can surprise you." He watches my face, seeing how truly surprised I am by everything he's saying. "I love how you listen to me and then offer advice. Your pep talks are one of my favorite things." His smile widens.

"How you laugh. Your wit. Your smarts." Ross reaches out and brushes my hair back over my shoulder. "I love that you're a writer. You see things differently, creatively."

For research purposes .

"It just seems like meeting your sister is . . . a step."

Ross tilts his head, trying to read me. Trying to understand my hesitancy. I don't know why I'm struggling. I'm being juvenile.

"You met my boys. That's an even bigger step. I want to take all the steps with you, sweetheart." Ross kisses my shoulder. "What am I missing?"

His sister is important to him. I should be thrilled by the invitation. I don't know what's wrong with me.

Or maybe I do.

I'm out of my depths here, overwhelmed by his raw honesty, afraid to believe in it. I haven't been in any kind of serious relationship since Cameron and look how that turned out. And I'd been in the same position when my relationship with Cameron began. I'd pined for him as a young, foolish girl. Crushed on him until he noticed me. Then I gave him my whole heart and he crushed me .

Gah. Even in death, I'm allowing Cameron to mess with my head and my heart.

"I'll think about it." I pluck at the blanket over my lap.

"That means no." Ross rolls from the bed and bends over it to collect our leftovers, still present on the tray he'd set on the mattress. As he hastily picks up a crumbled paper napkin and reaches for his empty wineglass on his nightstand, I shove the bedcoverings off my legs.

"I think I should go home."

He quickly lifts his head and freezes. "I don't want you to leave."

But I don't want to stay. Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe I'm panicked. From the moment I've entered his home tonight, it's been a rush of emotions.

Sex in his kitchen. For research purposes .

A playful shower. A pep talk. A picnic on his bed. And now this . . . I'm his girlfriend?

The title doesn't hold the weight I thought it would. Or maybe it holds too much weight because I can't get it out of my head that everything started on a simple crush and a silly arrangement.

"I'm going to go." I need some space. Some air. I don't think clearly with Ross close to me. I make rash decisions, like wanting to sleep curled up next to him, or wanting to have mind-blowing sex with him.

Wanting to believe he desires me on some deeper level, like calling me his anything.

I wish I was a crier after sex, letting all the emotions rush out of me in a physical manner, releasing this tense overwhelm and sudden self-doubt.

"Will you be at my game tomorrow?" he sheepishly asks, displaying further vulnerability that only pisses me off.

The game . I don't want to believe all he cares about is baseball and winning. That all he cares about is his stupid idea that I'm some talisman, and now perhaps a novelty girlfriend for a little while.

I'm new and different from who he gravitates toward. The novelty will wear off, like Cameron's loyalty rubbed off. I'm a shiny coin, bringing good luck, but once worn, like stroking a talisman over and over again, the brilliance disappears, the newness gone, and a new lucky charm is sought.

Ridiculous, I know, but rational thought has flown out the window as I race to collect my clothing, that Ross neatly placed on a chair in his bedroom.

"We'll see," I respond, giving my mom-speak non-commitment answer.

I just don't know if I can stomach more baseball.