Page 39 of Elevator Pitch

His brows lift and our eyes meet again. “As in, you don’t mind that I cuddle up against you?”

My face heats, giving away an answer.

I don’t mind him cuddling up against me.

Chapter 12

[Ross]

Vee was the first person I thought of when we won. The first person I wanted to celebrate with. The first person I wanted to call. Only, when her text came in, I’d been tackled in a hug by Kip, who knew my secret, and couldn’t believe it worked.

My pitching coach was suddenly on board the sleep-beside-Vee ship. And I didn’t want to do anything to rock the boat.

Showing up at her place unannounced was a bit presumptuous. I didn’t want to assume she’d give me a second night while I was hopeful she would. Either way, I simply wanted to share a glass of wine and cheers the Anchors’ success.

Instead, we talked about her, which was like pulling a bone away from a lion. She was holding fiercely to her writing success secrets and I didn’t understand why. She wasn’t bashful about speaking once I prompted her to open up, but she definitely held back on the finer details, especially concerning that one book she’d mentioned writing back in November.

She never answered my question about if she’d been writing today. Instead, she told me about her walk at the local riparian preserve and I considered asking her if she’d take a walk with me one day. Then decided that might be crossing the imaginary line.

The one I can’t seem to help crossing because the pull to sleep close to her, to be closer to her, not just physically, but in a get-to-know her better way, was strong. The force of my eagerness hits me like a pitched ball giving in to the curve of a throw.

I didn’t only want to be strangers sharing a bed. I wanted to know Vee. To be friends.

Somehow, I didn’t like the descriptor. It didn’t feel complete, and there was something strangely fulfilling about spending time with Vee. The numbness I’d been feeling for a while wasn’t so crippling when I was around her, but I didn’t want to confuse our experiment with new emotions. As in, I didn’t want to develop feelings if this was only a fleeting arrangement between us.

My focus needed to stay firmly on the ball. And today, my head had been nowhere else during our meet up against Boston. When thoughts of Vee wandered into the dugout, I shut them out. I had clarity.

Devotion. Drive. Determination.

The motivation worked.

So had sleeping beside Vee.

I couldn’t dismiss the thought our experiment had been in my favor, but now I was out to prove it wasn’t a one-off moment. A second night with her had been necessary.

“So,” I clear my throat. “Another night?”

She sighs. Her lips pinch before she twists them side to side like a classic vaudeville comedian. And I only know what a vaudeville comedian is because of my son, Harley.

After a brief contemplation, she says, “One more night.”

She finishes her glass of wine while I re-cork the bottle and push it to the side of the countertop. The set up of her rental is cozy compared to my hotel room. Every year I tell myself I’m going to splurge on a short-term stay location and every year I end up in another hotel room for a month.

When Landon or Harley would visit during their spring breaks, they’d tuck into the room with me, sharing the space for the week. This year, Landon will be spending his spring break at school, opting to work instead of visiting his old man. Harley wanted a week in Philadelphia, to see friends from high school, missing them since they all went in different directions for college.

I’d gotten a text from each of my sons after today’s win. Surprising, since Harley doesn’t pay as much attention to baseball as Landon. Then again, Harley’s congratulatory message came after Landon’s which probably prompted him to respond.

I needed to check in with both of them soon.

However, tonight, my focus is another night of rest in Vee’s bed.

She rounds the counter and stops beside me where I’ve spun on the stool to face her. I want her to take my hand and lead me to the room, but the thought doesn’t feel fair. She isn’t trying to seduce me. She doesn’t need to seduce me. I’m going to follow her regardless. Still, I wish she’d take my hand, like we’re in this together, not just me selfishly asking her to give me time and space in her bed.

Instead, she smiles, bashfully lowering her lids. “I’m going to get ready for bed.”

As far as I can tell, she’s already ready, dressed in silk pajama shorts and another bookish T-shirt. This one reads: Will spread my pages for books. Earlier when I read it, I tried not to react, but reading the phrase had me imagining her legs spread wide, her delicate folds on display, allowing me to read her.

The image is too much, and I swipe a hand down my face in an attempt to cool down before heading toward that bedroom.