Chapter 9

[Ross]

I can't believe she agreed to my plan. However, I could have leapt over the table, and kissed her for accepting it.

I know how it sounds. Kip told me I was being ridiculous. Hell, even she's said as much, but the fact she believes me, or believes in helping me, means the world to me.

Maybe it is preposterous to think spending another night next to her would change anything. She's right. I'm the coach. The beginning of the season always has bumps, especially as I'm new to the Anchors, and the team has undergone some major shifts in players.

The last-minute addition of Bolan Adler as a catcher.

The tension between Ford Sylver and Romero Valdez.

Not to mention the young, scrappy new guys, like Gee Scott and Caleb Williams.

There's a lot of raw talent to mold and seasoned talent to support us.

Still, the need for Vee has become almost an obsession. I just want to try. One more night.

Which says more about me and my desperation than her. She's just as cute as ever, wet stains on her shirt, pert nipples and all. Nice to see she reacts to me just a little as I'm the one who woke up next to her with raging morning wood last November.

Thankfully, she hadn't addressed the elephant in the room, and I'm not saying I'm large like an anaconda, but she couldn't have not noticed what she'd done to me with the way I was pressed up against her, taking a moment to grind against her firm ass tucked tight to my front. Vee had featured in my dreams that night.

Not to mention, that momentary action was the most my dick had seen in almost a year.

I hate that Vee saw images of me with Chandler. Hate that she assumed we were still together when I'd told her the truth. We separated during the playoffs last season. I would have broken things off anyway, after the season . She wanted me to call her my girlfriend. Something I wasn't willing to do.

The pictures Vee might have seen were a gimmick, as we both attended a fundraiser for a children's hospital separate from one another. An event scheduled long before we broke up, otherwise Chandler wouldn't have been in Chicago. I don't pay attention to social media, but I can imagine what the reports might have speculated. A reunion between us, which was never going to happen.

Chandler is not invested in anything other than her career, which is her prerogative. But her drive to advance came some faulty characterizations about her. Like images that appear as if she's compassionately speaking to a sick child in a hospital room when she's really grumbling to the photographer to hurry up and take the picture, and then muttering about a foul smell as she exits the child's room.

Or the fact she openly flirted with the younger members of my team when I brought her to a team function, but she'd staged photos of us to look like we were a devoted couple.

Vee, on the other hand, is a little more . . . real. Genuine. Curious. Quirky even, and I liked every trait. She's like complementary contradictions on a coin. Confident while not full of herself. Funny while thoughtful. She's sweet and sincere but I suspect beneath the wholesome vibe is a sensual, untamed wildcat. A good woman with a big heart and a dirty imagination. She's a winning combination.

Was I being selfish like Chandler, though? Possibly. I would definitely owe Vee.

She'd asked what was in this proposition for her, and I didn't have an answer. I'd been wracking my brain for a trade, but I couldn't think of anything she'd need as compensation from me—a grumpy, growing-older guy, with two college aged kids, and a professional baseball team in need of some spirit lifting. Not to mention, pressure to succeed from a front office giving me a second chance to prove myself and a fanbase with legendary love for the Anchors.

Nope, not much to offer her .

She mentioned spring training season tickets. Attendance at the games sounded more like a consolation prize and wasn't enough of an exchange. I needed something grander, but what?

There is no denying something powerful happened the night we spent together. Like tectonic plates shifting. It sounds absurd, but that night changed the trajectory of my life. Again.

I got the call from the Anchors within minutes of the Flash letting me go. Like, who would have even known I'd been released in the four-minute span? The news hadn't broken in the sports media. There hadn't been the typical chatter prior to the team firing me that would generate interest from another team possibly interested in hiring me.

Everything happened by chance. Happenstance .

And dammit, I haven't been this happy in a long time.

I firmly believed Vee was the catalyst for all that occurred. Maybe talking to her simply put my desires into the universe. That I wanted— no, needed —this second chance. This golden opportunity.

However, I didn't believe in that sort of thing, which was strange considering how much faith I had in superstitions, like thinking a woman sleeping beside me brought me good fortune.

+ + +

As I wanted to start this trial immediately, we agreed I'd come to her place around ten o'clock. She balked at the time, and I sensed it was later than she typically climbed into bed, but I had a game on the other side of Phoenix, plus tape to review, and dinner with the coaching staff before I could settle in for the night.

When Vee opens the door to her rental, she dramatically waves her arm, inviting me inside.

" Mi casa es tu casa . Or should I say, mi cama es tu cama ? My bed is your bed." She laughs at herself, as she shuts the door behind me. "That was just weird wasn't it." She blows out a deep breath. "I'm nervous. "

I take in her baggy pajama pants and oversized sweatshirt. Her hair is swept off her neck like it had been that first night. Her cheeks are sweetly flushed. Her eyes dance. When we met for coffee, only this morning, I remember thinking she's so pretty, and I have the same thought as we stand across from one another. I am greatly relieved and extremely grateful to be standing across from her.

I'm also anxious. Strangely, I hadn't felt this much nervous energy the night she rushed to her hotel room, slipping away from me after our elevator interlude, and I made the sudden decision to take my prized bottle of scotch to her room and ask her to share a drink with me.

This night shouldn't feel dissimilar, and yet, it feels monumentally different.

"Would you like a drink?" she offers.

"Are you having one?"

She slowly shakes her head. "Not this late. Hot flashes will haunt me."

Hot flashes? "You can't be more than forty."

A smirk graces her soft mouth. "You're sweet, and I'm forty-five."

My gaze roams her from tip to toes, taking in her blonde hair, the color of wheat in sunshine, and the curves of her body which are subtle like the hills near home. She only comes to my shoulder like a petite package, but she has spunk and spirit, and I like her. She reminds me a little bit of Patty.

"Honestly," she interjects before my thoughts race to my late wife. "It's past my bedtime." She softly chuckles. "And as lame as that sounds, it can't be any weirder than this arrangement." She waves between us.

I toe off my athletic shoes and nod. "Want to show me to your room?" I'm not sure I've ever asked the question in such a strangled tone or said it in a way that sounded so disconnected.

Vee offers a lopsided smile and tips her head, leading me to the left of the living room and kitchen combination. I should ask for a tour or take her up on that drink she offered, but I'm not here for more than a good night's rest. And hopefully some success at tomorrow's game because tonight's was a fiasco .

We lost when Bolan Adler's hit toward first base was an easy out and our final one of the night. Things were reaching an embarrassing level but as the leader of our team I had faith in our future.

Which is why I am here.

I follow Vee into the large primary bedroom with a raised king-sized bed that has a puffy headboard, matching nightstands on either side of the mattress, and a long, low dresser against the opposite wall. An ensuite bathroom is off to the left of the room. A sliding glass door that leads outside is to the right.

"Nice room." Slipping my hands into my black joggers, I sound like an awkward teen being taken to a girl's bedroom for the first time.

Vee walks to the left side of the bed and picks up a few of the numerous throw pillows. "I made the bed today, but I hadn't accounted for all these extra pillows." Slowly, she tosses them to the right side of the bed then pauses. Quickly, she glances up at me. "Actually, you'll be sleeping on that side, if you don't mind."

"You're doing me the favor." Could I sound anymore stilted? Maybe I'm more nervous than I'm letting on.

She rushes to the right side of the bed, picking up as many pillows as she can, which isn't more than two because of their size and shape, and stalks toward me.

"I'll just put these in the other bedroom." Her voice lowers as does her gaze.

Holding out my hands, I take the pillows from her. "I'll take them. You get ready for bed."

Her eyes leap upward to meet mine. "I am ready."

My gaze wanders down her once more, taking in the large sweatshirt and flannel pants she's wearing. Speaking of hot flashes . . . "Won't you be warm in that?" I nod at her attire.

I hadn't really considered what she'd wear. Not going to admit I momentarily fantasized about her wearing that Cool Girls Read Hot Books tee and another pair of loose-fit shorts. I also imagined her wearing the Anchors jersey she was wearing during the games she attended .

My replica Anchors jersey. With my name. My number.

She glances down at herself. "I didn't know what to wear." She scoffs. "What does one wear to a non-traditional sleepover date?" Looking up at me again, her eyes narrow. "Not that this is a date, it's just . . ."

"I'm nervous, too," I tell her as if this will reassure her. Maybe settle my own unease.

Our awkwardness is ridiculous. We've done this sleeping thing before. It shouldn't feel so different and on the tip of my tongue is a retraction, where I tell her I've made a mistake. But being here doesn't feel like an error.

Standing here, as tension filled as the moment is, feels strangely right. And now that I'm here, I'd have trouble pulling myself away.

"Why don't you get more comfortable?" I nod at her outfit. "Unless you are comfortable. Because the last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable." And now I'm the one being weird.

She laughs, the sound stressed but quiet and sweet. Placing her hand lightly on my forearm, she says, "I'll change. You get in bed."

I glance at the large mattress. One difference between then and now is the number of damn throw pillows on the bed. The other difference is we didn't climb beneath the sheets that night but remained on top of them. I hadn't thought about the logistics of our sleeping arrangement other than being next to her, but somehow crawling underneath the covers feels more intimate.

Still, I carry the pillows to the other bedroom and then return to pull back the duvet. Glancing toward the ensuite where Vee is changing, I still. Perhaps she doesn't realize she didn't close the door between the bedroom and the bathroom. With a second glance at the doorframe, I notice there isn't a closure. The shower and double vanity sinks are open to the main bathroom while the toilet is inside a closet.

With her naked back to me, I take in this enticing spot on her. A straight line cascades between her shoulder blades, like a beautiful riverbed, flowing to the swell of her ripe backside. I recall admiring her back when I helped her unzip her dress that first night. Her skin looks smooth. Her legs are toned.

Quickly, I glance away. Admiring her back has no place in our arrangement.

I'm not typically a man who sleeps in sweats or a tee but out of respect for Vee I'll be wearing both tonight. I might experience my own hot flash at some point, but this overnight will be worth the heat.

I can already feel the positive energy buzzing around me.

Slipping beneath the sheet and light blanket, I turn my head when Vee pulls down the coverings on her side of the bed. She's wearing a graphic tee and loose shorts after all. Only a lamp on the nightstand lights the room, and she stretches to turn it off before settling to her back, her head against the long bed pillow. I do the same.

Silence ensues as darkness takes over the room and we both stare at the ceiling.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" Her voice is low, almost a whisper.

Rolling only my head, her profile comes into view. A sliver of light slips through the vertical blinds covering the sliding glass door and I can make out the jut of her chin, the straightness of her nose. What I want to see are her eyes.

"Of course." I might be opening a can of worms, but any conversation is better than this muted tension.

"When you spend the night with a woman, do you feel like you are cheating on your wife?"

I deeply exhale, feeling like a soft punch hit my gut. "Jumping into the deep end, are we?"

Her head shifts on her pillow, her face angled toward me. "Is that question too much?"

Again, I wish I could see her expressive eyes. Instead, I focus on her face in general. "No, it's not too much. And yeah, I guess I did feel a little like I was cheating on Patty. At first."

In the twelve years of my marriage, I hadn't been with anyone else but my wife. Up until the bitter end, she had been my heart .

"I didn't date for a long time," I explain. "Probably more than two years." However, I'd had sex in the interim. Random, one-night stands. Quicky hookups. Like a devil inside me had been unleashed. The anger and rage consuming me at the loss of my wife.

However, returning to casual sex in my late thirties did not offer the same thrill as the recklessness I'd indulged in during my early twenties. Instead, I fell in lust with several starlets and models of varying ages, resulting in short-term stints and several months-long situationships like Chandler.

"But at some point, I accepted that Patty wasn't ever coming back, and I had not cheated on her while we were married. I'd been faithful and loyal." I'd loved her. Until death parted us .

Silence falls between us for another painfully long minute. I wonder if Vee has fallen asleep on me. Then her head rolls, profile outlined once more. "My husband cheated on me during our marriage."

Fuck!

"And yet I'm the one who struggled to accept I was not cheating on him once he was gone."

"I'm so sorry that happened to you, Vee." Some men are such dicks. Women, too, as I've witnessed by Ford Sylver's ex-wife flaunting her affair with his fellow teammate. "But you got through those emotions, right?"

Is she feeling adulterous right now? I roll to my side facing her, wanting to reach out to her, wanting to reassure her that we aren't doing anything remotely similar to infidelity. But I'm afraid to touch her. Afraid she won't want my touch.

"Vee," I whisper. "When you spend the night with a man, you don't still feel like you're cheating, do you?"

With her face still aimed toward the ceiling, she brushes at her cheek. Shit . Is she crying? Did I press too hard? Did I push this arrangement too fast without thinking it through? Thinking enough of her?

"Vee." My voice cracks. I'm fucking this up and taking her down with me .

Slowly, I press up on my elbow, desperately wanting a better glance at her face. The light filtering in from the outside offers only enough illumination to see her cheeks are dry, her eyes not glistening, but she refuses to look directly at me, even knowing I'm staring at her.

She rolls her head back and forth on the pillow once. "I'm okay."

"But when you spend the night—"

"I don't spend the night," she cuts me off. Despite the dim lighting, I see her eyes flash momentarily to me, and then away, as if she's embarrassed or ashamed. "I've never spent a night with a man other than you."

The shocking reality is like the crack of a bat on a powerful hit.

"And no, I don't feel guilty. I was just curious."

Her eyes are still pointed away from my face. Her head even shifts, drawing away from my concerned gaze, but I remain pressed up on my arm, staring down at her. Taking in the line of her cheek, the shape of her nose again, and the roll of her lips.

"Good night, Ross," she whispers, putting an end to this confession.

I collapse back to my side, still watching her, mentally making out her profile. Her mouth when she smiles. Her eyes when they sparkle. Wishing for that snortle sound she makes to dissolve the tension between us.

I roll to my back, hyperaware of Vee's closeness and yet sensitive about the distance between us. Her arms remain on her chest, holding the blanket near her collarbone. I cup my forehead for a second, stunned by what she'd just admitted. Her husband's adultery and the fact she hasn't slept through the night with any man other than me. I'm honored in the strangest way.

Do I tell her her admission is important to me? Do I explain how I feel special? I don't speak. Instead, I lower my arm and slowly stretch for her with my fingers.

"Vee," I whisper, knowing she isn't sleeping yet. "Give me your hand."

There's something about her fingers that brings me comfort, and when she lays her palm against mine, I rub my thumb the length of her pinky. Then, I shift so I'm stroking down each digit, until I sense Vee relaxing beside me.

And while my body settles into the bed, my thoughts continue to race, wanting to know everything there is to know about Vee.