Page 32 of Elevator Pitch

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.