Page 114 of Elevator Pitch

Turning back toward Cassandra, I set down my glass. “Now enough about me. Tell me what’s going on with you?”

“Funny you ask.” However, her expression isn’t filled with humor as she starts her tale.

+ + +

Good luck, Coach, I text. I leave off the ass-slap, which really should be an emoji, when I send Ross the message that I won’t be at the game.

The Anchors game is rain-delayed by an hour. I predict the eight-ten start means the game won’t end until sometime near eleven. As I make the decision not to attend, because rain and cold don’t mix with my warm blood, I turn on the game on my television, and set the volume low as background noise while I work.

My writing has come in fits and spurts lately, and that’s not an intentional innuendo about my fictional hero and heroine. Still, the story stalls and starts at odd times and tonight seems to be a moment where clarity reveals itself.

But as the game nears its end and my characters need a break, I make another decision for the night.

I don’t let myself into Ross’s home because that borders on stalker-ish, not to mention, he trusted me with the code, but it didn’t give me permission to come and go as I pleased. So, I anxiously stand outside his door near midnight, while the rain hammers the pavement behind me. I’m grateful for the small roof overhanging the raised landing before his front door.

With a shaky finger, which is trembling from a combination of the cold night and my rattling nerves, I ring the bell, waiting as I assume Ross checks his security camera before answering the door. When he doesn’t answer within seconds, I ring the bell again. Waiting once more while second guessing my decision to be here, inventing scenarios why he couldn’t come to the door.

He went out with his fellow coaches.

He had other obligations after the game.

He met someone else.

Angered by the imaginary woman I don’t want taking my place, I ring the bell one more time.

As I wait what feels like long enough for a man to reach his front door or notice me through his security camera, I come to a final conclusion.

Three strikes. I’m out.

I turn for the stairs, watching the rain pelt the cars lining the dimly-lit city street. The heavy showers ripple up and down the street causing bursts of water to pop from impact with the pavement. Lifting my rain jacket hood, knowing a race to my car might be fruitless—I’m going to be drenched—I’m about to take the first step down Ross’s front stairs when his door opens.

“Verona?”

I spin to face Ross, who clutches a towel that’s wrapped loosely around his waist.

“Am I interrupting something?” Clearly a shower.

He glances beyond me. “I was taking a shower to warm up. I’m getting too old for rainy games.”

“Well, I’ll let you get back to—”

Ross steps out onto the covered landing, grips the front of my rain jacket, and tugs me forward, leading me into his house. The door slams behind me and he stares at me. We both drip on his entryway floor. He must have stepped out of the shower and walked directly to the door.

Not certain where to begin, I say, “I’m sorry about the loss tonight.”

“You should be.” His intention is clear. Without me in his bed last night, he faults me for the Anchor’s loss this evening. His good luck charm failed him.

Still, I’m instantly hurt. That open heart Cassandra suggested is instantly pierced and raw. I came here to apologize for my behavior but maybe Ross is finished with my antics.

I hang my head.

But Ross’s hand comes to my chin, his fist lifting my face so I look at him. His eyes search my face before his brows cinch.

“Vee.” He groans. “I’m not thinking of you as a damn good luck charm.” He begins as if he read my thoughts. “I’m not even mad that we lost the game. I’m pissed you ran off last night and didn’t talk to me about what you were feeling. I’m upset that you weren’t in my bed all night.”

He tilts his head. “Do you realize you have yet to sleep in that bed with me?”

Instantly, I recall how I spent an entire week in his bed without him. And the things I did in that bed, with him, while on the phone.