Page 18 of Elevator Pitch

His breakup with Chandler Bressler appeared to be an on-again off-again thing after last season’s end. Last I’d read, they were on-again. And I know all-too-well how someone can forgive and forget often in a relationship.

It was only one night.

Something clearly forgettable for Ross Davis.

A month ago, I mentally scolded myself for continuing to follow Ross Davis on social media, and I unfollowed him everywhere for my own sanity. My editor would tell me I shouldn’t be on social platforms anyway. I have words to write.

After the singing of the “National Anthem”, my girls return to our seats. Laurel flanks Cassandra while Hannah sits beside me. My blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl is an all American beach beauty with a strong mind, sharp wit, and tough personality. She’s my baseball girl, knowing more statistics than I’ll ever remember about past and present teams and players. My dad loved the sport and took the girls often to the stadium back home. When he died, I’d inherited his season tickets, and I didn’t have the heart to let the tradition pass as well.

Laurel helps me sell the tickets we can’t use, earning back the exorbitant fee for eighty-something home games. With brown hair and brown eyes, she’s the spitting image of her father with a lean build and average height. She’s more of a social fan, attending games to see and be seen, talking through most of the innings and taking a gazillion pictures of herself and her friends in the stands. She adores Cee-Cee like a big sister and tries to emulate her in many ways, including commenting on the cuteness of the players.

“That Caleb Williams is a looker,” Cassandra muses, chewing at her lower lip.

“He’s a hooker?” Hannah questions over me.

“No one says looker, Aunt Sassy,” Laurel chides.

No one says hooker anymore either, I want to chime in.

“He’s still fine like a straight line,” Cassandra continues.

“Are straight lines fine?” Hannah deadpans.

“Only if that straightness is his—” Laurel abruptly stops, catching her gaze on mine.

Cassandra turns her head, volleying glances from Laurel to me before bursting into laughter.

“Laurel Huxley, have you been reading your mother’s books?”

My twenty-three-year-old turns bright red and shakes her head. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you sure?” Cassandra scoffs playfully. “Because that comment sounded awfully close to a d—”

“Alright,” I cut off Cassandra, squeezing my brows together in warning. I’m not discussing dicks around my daughters.

Cassandra only chuckles harder while Laurel appears to shrink in her seat. My girl props her feet up on the back of the seat in front of her like Cassandra and dips her hand into the popcorn container, filling her mouth to prevent further comment.

“You’re such an instigator,” I mutter, chastising my bestie.

“And you’re a spoilsport,” she counters teasingly. Cassandra accepts that while I have an open relationship with my girls, hoping they come to me for anything and everything, that doesn’t mean we’re going to share cock comments with one another.

“Play ball.” The words ring through the stadium, drawing my attention back to the field.

Are there any better words to give me goosebumps?

In the first few innings, our pitcher is on fire and in perfect rhythm with the catcher. However, one of our long-standing stars is our centerfielder, Ford Sylver, who has made one error after another. A pop-up fly hit toward the scoreboard was missed despite his height and an impressive jump. Another time the ball dropped between him and Romero Valdez, our reckless short stop, who made a mad dash to the outfield to assist. The play looked like something from a T-ball game with both men staring at one another. Their body language suggested they were faulting the other.

I glance at Cassandra, whose brows are pinched with concern and curiosity as she stares at the field where the two players are still facing off. With her phone in her hand, she quickly looks up our center fielder.

“Did you know Romero Valdez is dating Ford Sylver’s ex-wife?”

Our shortstop, his teammate, is dating his former wife?

“Also, rumor has it, Ford is dating the country music icon, Cadence.”

Would not surprise me.

However, my attention snaps back toward the outfield, my eyes narrowing in sympathy. At thirty-eight, Ford Sylver has had a great career, along with a beautiful wife and three of the cutest little girls. And I’m sorry if their marriage ended because of adultery. My sympathy stands with him as I scan the stands as if I’d be able to pick out his ex or his girls in the crowd, which I wouldn’t be able to do. Still, I wonder if they are here. Family men on baseball teams often bring their spouses and children with them during spring training season.