by Kate, Jiffy
She’s back to being all-business and that should get my head out of the gutter, but it doesn’t. Her take-charge attitude is sexy as hell. There are only eight days until I leave for Spring Training. Surely, I can keep myself under control until I leave.
Then, I’ll be gone for a month and a half and by the time I get back, all of this pent-up sexual tension will be behind me, my affairs will be in order, and Casey and I can go back to just being friends.
Chapter 4
Casey
As I walk up the steps to Ross’s front door, I place a hand on my stomach and will the butterflies to go back to sleep. You’d think after working with him in close proximity for the past five days I’d be past these feelings, but I can’t help it.
I was attracted to Ross when he was married. I never would’ve acted on my attraction. I just appreciated him from a safe distance, whether that was across the dinner table or from the stands of a baseball game.
Now that he’s divorced and I’ve been in his space, submerged in everything Ross Davies, my tiny, baby crush has grown. Even though I’ve told myself every day that it can’t. It’s like a defiant teenager and has a mind of its own.
And here I stand, with two bottles of wine in hand, getting ready to ring his doorbell.
He asked me to come over tonight so we can go over my progress and work out a game plan for when he’s gone to Spring Training. If I can just make it through tonight without making a complete fool out of myself, I’ll be in the clear.
In two days, he’ll leave for six weeks and I won’t have to see his gorgeous face every day.
Letting out a huff, I bring my hand up and hover over the doorbell. Not like it’ll matter that he’s gone, I’ll still be here, in his house, surrounded by his things, handling his business. But that’s what I signed up for and he needs me.
Before my finger can press the button, the door opens and Ross is there—disheveled hair, luscious beard, faded jeans, button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and bare feet.
Holy Moses.
“Hey,” he says, his eyes crinkling with a smile. Unlike five days ago when I showed up at his house, the dark circles aren’t as prevalent, and the smiles are more forthcoming. It’s as though me being here and helping him wade through his backlogged life has lifted a boulder from his shoulders.
He’s not completely back to the pre-divorce Ross, but he’s better.
“Hi,” I say, stepping into the foyer and smiling as I see the fresh flowers on the table. “I brought wine.”
The house looks better too.
After our first meeting, before I even made it to my car, I was on the phone with the lady who occasionally cleans for us, calling in a favor. Thankfully, she was able to move things around and clean Ross’s house the next day. As she scrubbed, dusted, swept, and mopped, I made my way through the house collecting every loose piece of mail.
I spent the rest of the morning and afternoon organizing. Then, Ross and I sat down to go over everything. He gave me passwords and access to his accounts. Things weren’t really as bad as they initially seemed. Most of his bills were set for auto-pay and he obviously has money in the bank, so that wasn’t an issue. The main areas of concern were the things Felicia normally took care of—cleaning, organizing, grocery shopping, and general maintenance.
She’d been the one to manage their finances and run their household, so Ross felt detached from it all. After we went through everything and I was able to put all of his expenses into a spreadsheet, I could visibly see him begin to relax.
“Smells amazing,” I call out, placing my bag on the hook by the door and following the sound of glasses clinking.
When I walk into the dining room, Ross is setting two wineglasses on the table. “I fired up the grill,” he says, glancing up at me. “Hope you like steak.”
“I love steak.” My mouth is already watering at the mere mention, like a Pavlovian response.
I also love a man who can cook, I think to myself, but quickly push that out of my mind.
“What can I do to help?”
He pauses on his way back to the kitchen and gives me a smile that makes my insides the consistency of a warm chocolate chip cookie. “I’ve got it covered. Just sit down and pour some wine.”
Between the way he looks tonight—relaxed and so sexy—the fact he cooked, and the way he’s doling out smiles like they’re candy at a parade, I need to sit because he’s making my knees weak. So, I return his smile and nod my acquiescence as I set about opening one of the bottles of wine with the electric corkscrew he left on the table. It’s fancy, like a lot of things in Ross’s house, but not him.
Ross is laidback and the most unpretentious person I’ve ever met. After working closely with him these past five days, it’s become even more apparent how down-to-earth he really is. While working through his finances, he made notes of superfluous accounts and expenses he wanted canceled, while instructing me on charitable organizations he’d like to send more money to.
All things that make me like Ross Davies, the man, even more than I already did.
Which is not good for my resolve.
This is just business, I repeat to myself as I pop the cork on the wine.
Eyeballing the three other bottles on the table, I pour myself a glass and take a sip. If he plans on us drinking all of this, I’m going to need some food in my stomach or I’ll be in trouble. I’m no lightweight and can definitely hold my own, but for some reason, wine hits me harder than liquor or beer. But hopefully, this glass will calm me down and allow me to focus on the job I’m here to do and not the man making my insides a jumbled mess.
Pace yourself, Casey.
Ross comes back a few minutes later with a sizzling plate of steaks. I pour him a glass of wine while he serves me a steak. He scoops up a spoonful of roasted potatoes and places them on my plate while I toss the salad.
We continue to work in tandem until our plates are full and then we dig in.
It’s funny, I never thought of what a working relationship with Ross would be like. Before this past week, I just knew him as Ross Davies, the ace pitcher for the Revelers, and then Ross Davies, Bo’s best friend, and eventually, just Ross, my friend.
And then of course there’s that tiny, baby crush that we don’t speak of.
But this new dynamic is good too.
We work well together.
And that makes my mind go to places it shouldn’t… like how well we’d work together with our clothes off… which leads to thoughts of Ross naked. Thanks to ESPN’s Body Issue, I don’t have to use too much of my imagination.
Long, lean muscles.
Toned torso.
Washboard abs.
“Are you sure you’re okay with handling the remodel on the guest house while I’m gone?” Ross asks, thankfully pulling me out of my dirty, inappropriate thoughts.
Clearing my throat, I take a healthy drink of my wine before answering. “Yeah, absolutely,” I assure him as I cut off a piece of steak, which is so tender I hardly need my knife. When I moan at the burst of flavor on my tongue, it’s now Ross who’s clearing his throat.
We eat in semi-silence for a few minutes. Occasionally, I compliment Ross on the amazing meal and he deflects my remarks. When I peek at him from the corner of my eye, I think I even see him blush.
Maybe it’s the wine.
We’re both nearly finished with our second glass and I know after I’ve had two I’m usually pink-cheeked and comfortably loose. I know Ross is considerably bigger than me, but I don’t think he drinks much, so maybe it affects him in the same way.
And now I’m thinking about all the ways Ross is bigger.
Get it together, Casey.
“I’m sorry I’m leaving you with such a mess,” Ross eventually says, picking up a new bottle of wine and using the corkscrew to open it. I watch as his forearms flex and swallow hard. God, this was a bad idea. Working with Ross is one thing, but eating what feels like an intimate meal with
him, just the two of us, in his house, is another.
“No worries,” I tell him, shoving another piece of food in my mouth to give myself a chance to cool off. The heat from my cheeks is moving down my body at an alarming rate. “That’s what I’m here for and I’m good with messes.”
He chuckles and shakes his head as he pours us both a third glass of wine.
“I guess that comes with the territory of having a rockstar for a sister.”
Letting out a huff, I shrug my shoulders and take a sip of the new glass of wine. “Oh, this is good.”
“One of my favorites,” he says, bringing the glass to his nose and inhaling before taking a drink.
“I didn’t peg you as a wine connoisseur,” I tease. “You always come bearing a six-pack when you show up at the house for dinner.”
Ross laughs again and I can’t stop looking at the way his eyes crinkle and appreciating how beautiful his face is. I know, beautiful isn’t a term often used to describe a man, especially one as masculine as Ross Davies, but it’s true. I’ve always noticed it and tonight, I’m appreciating it more than usual.
Last week when I showed up at his house, he was not himself. So, seeing him peek out from under the debris that was his former life and watching his green eyes shine with amusement is more payment than necessary.
“I love wine,” he admits. “But usually when I come over to hang with y’all, which I must admit I’ve really missed.” He pauses and the sincerity on his face is disarming. For a second, I think he’s going to reach across the table and touch my hand or something, but then he continues. “It was usually for pizza.”
“Pizza and wine go great together,” I tell him, laughing and hoping it doesn’t sound as nervous as I suddenly feel.
The room seems to be squeezing in.
The air is thicker.
I pull at the collar of my t-shirt dress and fan it.
It’s hot in here.
So hot.
Picking up the wineglass, I down it in one gulp, hoping it’ll extinguish the heat blazing in my belly.
“Dessert?” Ross asks, standing from his chair and picking up his plate as he gestures toward mine. I’ve only eaten about half of what was on my plate, but I’m not hungry anymore. Well, I am, but not for anything that’s on the menu.
Because Ross Davies is not on the menu.
He’s the Ross Davies.
My friend.
Recently divorced.
My boss.
I continue to list off all the reasons why I should not be thinking about making him my dessert and while he’s gone, I help myself to another glass of wine.
When he shows back up, he’s holding a small King Cake from my favorite local bakery.
“Tis the season,” he says with a wry grin.
My mouth immediately begins to drool.
It’s the perfect distraction from the buzz of the alcohol and my incessant mind thinking about getting Ross Davies naked. “The more King Cake, the better,” I say, tipping up my wineglass and downing the last sip, along with my lust.
Ross sets it down in the middle of the table and instead of getting plates, he just hands me a fork and shrugs. “I figure it’s small and what we don’t eat you can take home with you or leave it here for tomorrow… or whenever.”
“Why me?” I ask, my voice going up an octave.
“Because it’s time for me to get on my Spring Training diet.”
Already going in for a bite, I have the fork halfway to my mouth when I stop mid-air. “Wait, you have a Spring Training diet?”
Ross smirks. “You didn’t think I got this six-pack from eating King Cakes and Twinkies, did you?” When he raises his shirt to drive home his point, I nearly drop my fork… and King Cake. Instead, I shove it into my mouth in the most unladylike maneuver ever.
Huffing a laugh around the bite, I inwardly cringe.
So attractive, Casey.
No, you know what. Actually, this is good. It’s not like I’m trying to be attractive to Ross. I shouldn’t be trying to get him to notice me. As long as I can keep my thoughts and feelings to myself tonight, he’ll be gone in two days and I won’t have to worry about it anymore.
By the time he gets back from Spring Training, I’ll have myself under control, along with his personal affairs, and we’ll go back to business as usual.
Ross and Casey.
Casey and Ross.
Crap.
Why do I like the sound of our names together so much?
“What’s wrong?” Ross asks, his brows furrowing as he takes another bite of cake.
“Nothing,” I say, brushing a strand of my hair behind my ear and using my fork to stab at the delectable goodness. Nothing, other than the fact, I want you. Like more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my entire life.
That has to be the wine talking.
“You sure?” he asks, his expression going serious. “No second thoughts about this gig or anything?”
“No,” I tell him with a small smile. “No second thoughts. And don’t worry about anything while you’re gone, I can handle it. Just focus on kicking butt on the mound.”
Ross rakes his teeth over his bottom lip and I don’t think it’s meant to have the effect it does on my body, but God, does it ever. My stomach flips and my core aches.
Needing a moment to get a grip, I excuse myself and go to the bathroom. Staring in the mirror, I take inventory of my flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. I’m not sloppy drunk, but I’m not merely tipsy. If this was any other night, if I was just at home having a wine and movie night with my sister, my current state wouldn’t be a problem. I’d say I’m perfect… in that blissful state between not remembering and not caring.
But I’m not.
So, I splash my face with water, give myself a brief pep talk in the mirror about minding my manners and keeping my hands to myself, and walk out.
When I get back to the dining room, Ross has already cleared the plates and is in the kitchen. There’s water running and music playing in the background. It’s soft and low, but just loud enough I can make out the words and soulful melody of a Chris Stapleton song. It’s not my normal choice of music, but I can appreciate it and somehow, it’s so Ross.
Gritty.
A little rough around the edges.
But so well defined and precise.
Calm.
Mellow.
And so sexy.
Leaning against the entryway to the kitchen, I just watch for a minute, taking him in and admiring the view.
I should leave.
I should tell him I have to get home and walk out that door, but I don’t and it feels reckless but I can’t find it in me to care. He’s leaving in two days and I’ll miss him. Call me crazy, but over the past week, I’ve gotten even more attached.
Like a magnet to steel.
Pushing off the wall, I walk over and give him a nudge. “You cooked; I’ll clean. That’s the rule at our house. If Charlotte cooks, I clean. If I cook, she cleans. She might be a bigtime rockstar, but when she’s inside the walls of our house, she’s just Charlotte Carradine, my big sister.”
Ross smiles down at me and I realize that’s something I love about him too. Inside these walls, he’s just Ross Davies, a regular guy who’s trying to respond to the curveball he was thrown and figure out what this new season of his life is going to look like.
We lock eyes for a long moment and I’m forced to swallow down the lump in my throat. Just when I’m getting ready to avert my gaze, Ross raises his hand... and flicks me with soapy water.
“Oh,” I say on a screech. “You did not just do that.”
“Yeah,” he says, his voice dropping low and gravely. “I did.”
I laugh and so does he and the next thing I know, we’re having a full-fledged water fight in his kitchen. My hair is a mess as strands begin to stick to my face. When I go for the big guns and pull out the sprayer from the sink, Ross holds his hands up in surrender.
“Okay, okay,
” he says, still laughing and the rumbling sound stokes the ember that has settled in my stomach. “Truce?”
“I don’t think so, Big Shot,” I say, mocking him with his nickname from college. Yeah, I’ve looked up everything there is to know about Ross Davies. I know his stats from high school to the big leagues and everything in between.
“Big Shot, huh?”
In one ridiculously athletic move, he braces his arms on the island that’s between us and launches himself over. The next thing I know he’s standing in front of me, chest heaving and brushing against mine, sending a bolt of need straight to my core.
“Ross,” I murmur, bringing my hand up and placing it on his chest, right between his pecs. He’s so hard, everywhere, except right under where my palm resides. His heart is anything but hard and that’s probably the sexiest thing about him. He could be cold and jaded, but he’s not. He’s still himself, even though he’s still a little broken, but he’s still there… and he’s standing right here in front of me, exposed and vulnerable and so real that I can’t help myself.
Pressing up on my tiptoes, I brush my lips against his.
“Casey,” he whispers. My name sounds like a plea and I want to give him whatever he wants, unless he’s getting ready to ask me to leave… I don’t want that. But I will, if he asks me to. If this is too soon or if we’re not on the same page…
“I can go,” I tell him, leaning forward and kissing his cheek.
“Don’t you dare.”
We stand there for a moment, breathing the same air, giving ourselves a chance to catch up and bail, but neither of us does. When I feel his hands grip my hips tightly, I respond by wrapping my arms around his neck and crashing my mouth to his, taking what I’ve wanted all night.
The way Ross kisses me back is straight out of a romance novel.
He doesn’t just kiss me, he claims me.
