Page 113 of Elevator Pitch

“Do you think I used him?” I question. “Is he fulfilling some fantasy in my head?” I wave beside my head. “My real-life crush turned into a boyfriend.”

Cassandra narrows her eyes at me, but I continue. “Have I made an original boyfriend into a book one?”

My best friend groans. “Vee, you’ve never used anyone in your life. You wouldn’t know how. Plus, he called you his girlfriend first, right?” Her point is made.

“What’s the real issue here?” she asks, tilting her head, further assessing me.

“I don’t trust myself with him.”

“You didn’t trust Cameron.” Her tone turns sharper. “That’s what’s tainted your faith.” She sighs and lowers her voice, reaching for my hand across the table. “You had conventional, Vee. You married your high school sweetheart who turned out to be a dick.”

“Cee-Cee,” I moan, hating when she speaks ill of the dead, even if she’s correct on some level.

“He cheated on you, Vee. He broke your marriage vows and your heart. And I tolerated him, because you’re my friend, but he was kind of a dick in general. So, screw conventional. Or better yet, screw Ross, a hot silver fox who fills out baseball pants very nicely, and a man who called you his girlfriend, because he wants more than a sleeping arrangement with you.”

I giggle weakly at her enthusiasm.

“Vee, you do trust yourself. You believe in Ross, right?”

“I do.” I trust Ross, just not my feelings for him.

“Listen to your gut.”

I don’t think Ross would intentionally hurt me. He’s too vulnerable himself at times. I lean forward, the ache in the pit of my stomach almost viable. “I messed up, didn’t I?”

Cassandra smiles, squeezes my hand and releases it. “I think you just panicked because you don’t trust that good men are out there. You had one not-so-great guy, and then a slew of poor dates.”

“Sound familiar?” I tease. She’s broken in many ways as well, and her perpetual bachelorette-hood is a front for that heartbreak. She’s also stronger than me with her love-’em-and-let-them-be attitude.

“You aren’t me,” she continues, emphasizing how opposite our personalities are regarding relationships. “You crave stability. Something solid and secure. Trust is necessary for those attributes, but you’re afraid to believe it exists in others. But believe in yourself. Hand over your heart.”

“What if my heart breaks again.” What if Ross wakes up and realizes the novelty has worn off, like I thought last night. What if he realizes I’m not good luck. I didn’t change the trajectory of his team’s wins and losses. I’m just an average woman, like he’s a man.

“Hearts mend,” Cassandra says, her voice turning more serious. “And you should allow yourself a little romantic reality from the fantasies you write.”

“Most people want to escape reality and live through romantic fantasy.”

“Live the reality.” Cassandra leans across the table, placing her hand over my wrist. “You deserve your own happily-ever-after, Vee. And maybe that starts on a baseball field.”

I glance toward the window. I haven’t decided if I’ll attend tonight’s game or not. I’m a bit of a fair-weather fan, and a downpour and cold temperatures will definitely keep me away from the stadium. May can be so unpredictable in the Midwest.

“Isn’t there some baseball saying about you don’t score unless you swing at the ball?” Cassandra sips at her Bloody Mary and then signals for our waitress.

“You mean if you don’t swing, you’ll miss one-hundred percent of the balls?”

“I like my saying better. Go for the balls, Vee. You might score.” She wiggles her brows. “Love and forty.”

“Those are tennis scoring terms, not baseball ones. And that was all euphemisms, wasn’t it?” I laugh.

“You know it.” She lifts her empty Bloody Mary glass and taps against mine resting on the table. “I’m a sexual-innuendo-aficionado.”

I shake my head, laugh at my friend. She’s something alright, and unfortunately, she’s right.

What I’m most afraid of is the heartbreak that could rest on the other end of Ross’s season. However, if I don’t go for whatever this is with Ross, I’ll never know if my already damaged heart could eventually mend.

“Isn’t that Romero Valdez?” Cassandra interrupts my musings.

Turning my head in the direction of the couple seated two tables away, who are standing to leave the restaurant, I answer her. “I think so.” However, I’m not great at recognizing players outside the context of the ballfield.