Page 53 of Elevator Pitch

That kiss knocked me on my ass. I’d thought I might see a few stars if I ever got to kiss Vee. Maybe a little fireworks-over-a-stadium kind of effect from her mouth meeting mine. Instead, I saw the sacred Northern Lights. Kissing her was magical and confounding.

I never expected one kiss from Vee to impact me so hard. Never expected how surprisingly right her mouth felt. How instantly turned on I was. How much I wanted her.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. We had an imaginary line that we never officially discussed, and it had not only been crossed, it has been obliterated.

Now all I can think about is kissing her again, and how much I’ve been missing her, especially our nights together. This isn’t only about the experiment. With every lost game, I found myself wanting to call Vee and talk to her. Just hear her voice, telling me something random or encouraging. Her little pep talks aren’t inconsequential to me. She believes in me, and I feel that faith in my gut. She played along with our arrangement, but she also has these tiny tidbits of advice. Or reminders.

I’m the manager. I’ve been in this position before. I’ve been a player on a team. Baseball is in my blood like writing is in hers. I got this. I just need more time to weather the kinks.

And thinking of kinks also reminds me of how I told her I might spank her if she ever smacks my ass again.

I want to touch her, and not just the smarting pain of a crack on her bare ass. I want to feel her skin, explore her breasts, experience her clit, and be inside her.

The rush of desire comes visceral and fast, but not out of nowhere, because I’ve been falling for her from the moment I met her in that damn elevator. Okay, maybe it was more likely when she was trying to get into my room, but still . . . I wanted to be close to her and I was slowly discovering all the reasons why I felt this pull.

The way she opens the door with a flourish, like she can’t wait to let me in.

Or that damn snortle that tells me she’s covering up what makes her want to giggle at forty-five years old.

Or the wistful sigh she has for memories of her dad or a romantic story she’s plotting.

There is so much more to Vee than sharing her bed. I want her to share herself with me.

And I fucked up.

After that kiss, I hadn’t panicked so much as pulled back before I did something rash like take her down to the tile floor in the entry way and dry hump her. My dick had been so hard, and my thoughts were so out of control the other morning, I had to escape.

Why did I stay away for nearly four days? Because I’d hoped the craving would pass. That the desire to be near her would subside with separation.

What’s that saying about absence makes the heart grow fonder? It sure fucking had, because I couldn’t take another minute of being without Vee.

I don’t need to spend the night. If she wants me to leave after dinner, I will. I just want a little more time with her. I want a little more of her.

“What did you get?” I whisper because I’m too choked up that she’s willing to let me linger.

“Sliced brisket. Coleslaw, French fries, and cornbread.” She sighs, a sad smile on her face while shaking her head. “I definitely over-ordered for one person but I’m an anxiety eater.”

Running my knuckles along her neck, I brush her hair over her shoulder. “I’m sorry if I am the cause of that, Vee.” Because I know I’m the reason she’s upset.

We should talk about that kiss, but when I glance down at the countertop and notice Vee has already set out two plates and two sets of forks and knives, I realize she intended for me to stay even while she was getting worked up.

“You sit. Let me serve you.” Pressing on her shoulders, I force her around the counter to one of the two stools. Pulling it out for her, I gently settle her onto the seat and reach over the counter to distribute the food.

She’s right. There is too much for one person and I quickly divvy up the brisket and side dishes. Then, I find glasses for the wine and pour a glass but stop before filling hers.

“Would you rather drink right out of the bottle?” In jest, I hold up the container.

“Don’t tempt me.” She smirks.

If only I didn’t want to tempt her into giving me more.

Kip warned me emotions would get in the way of this experiment, and I’d argued no such thing could happen.

But watching Vee sheepishly smile back at me, twirling her finger in the air giving me permission to continue pouring her a glass of wine versus handing over the bottle, I can’t help but accept my argument was a failure.

And I don’t want to fail Vee.

Chapter 17