Page 55 of Elevator Pitch

With Ross’s hand on my thigh, his thumb rubs my skin in the same way he pressed at the wine glass. With methodical strokes back and forth.

“Do I sound cold-hearted?” It’s a question I’ve asked myself over and over again. Then I remind myself I was willing to take Cameron back after he confessed his adultery. I told him we’d get counseling. We could work on us. He agreed but I’ll never know if he truly meant it. If he’d be dedicated or stray again. If he loved me at the end or thought of her instead.

The grieving woman in the back of the funeral home.

“No,” Ross interjects. “You sound like you’re being honest with yourself.”

“Well,” I chuckle bitterly. “I’ve had ten years to figure myself out.”

“And that’s when the writing began?”

“That’s how the writing started.” More than just scribbling in notebooks or typing notes on my phone. “It was time to do something for me and not make my life all about Cameron. Something inside me felt the separation from him. Maybe I was preparing for when I’d be without him.”

I don’t want to give Cameron credit for my creative mind, though. My writing desires came from me.

We sit in silence for a few minutes before Ross squeezes my leg.

“Okay, no more sad storytelling,” he suggests.

The other night he said we didn’t need to share our sexual histories. Somehow our marital ones feel just as fragile. A decade, or nearly a decade, has passed for each of us.

“Want to watch another movie?” I question.

“Sure. You pick.” He stands and picks up our plates, carrying them over to the sink. I follow, dumping trash into the bin. When I turn around, Ross is close, and he tugs me to him for a surprising hug. One I’m not reciprocating at first, until he holds on a little longer than I expect.

And when I’m finally giving in, I hadn’t realized how much I needed that hug. His hug. One that’s bear tight, and just as warm. As I melt against his chest, he kisses the top of my head, lingering in this position. We hold each other for a minute, letting our thoughts be random.

Maybe his remain on the sad loss of his wife.

As for me, I’m just grateful he’s sharing pieces of himself with me.

Chapter 18

[Ross]

I’m grateful when Vee allows me to stay the night.

Then, I wake in a risky position. My large body is practically over hers where she lays almost on her belly. Her legs are spread apart because my thigh is wedged between them, pressed against a spot that is warm and inviting. My arm rests across her chest, hand on her shoulder while her hand wraps around my forearm as if she doesn’t want me to let go of her.

I sense her waking as well. The way her foot runs over my shin. The way her backside brushes me just off center from my morning wood. I slip my hand to her throat and feel her swallow. She arches into me, as if seeking what I want to slip inside her.

Skimming my hand to her chest, I imagine what would happen if I slid lower. My mitt-sized hand would cover her breast, teasing her nipple, before lowering to her belly.

I press my face into her hair, inhale her fresh floral scent and rock my hips forward, just once. One tap. Then I drop my hand to her stomach, meeting her skin where her shirt has risen.

Vee moves her legs, tightening them around my thigh, holding me in place between them.

God, I want her. I want to feel where she’s warm and kiss where she drips. I want her wrapped around my hips, and my body jolts with excitement.

But my head gets in the way. Or maybe it’s my heart stomping on the brakes.

“Vee,” I groan, nuzzling my face deeper into her nape, pulling her closer while knowing I need to push her away. “I’m trying to be a decent man.”

“You are a decent man,” she moans as she arches her back, her fine ass jutting toward me, narrowly missing my rock-hard dick. I shift my leg, the thickness of my thigh firmly pressing against her center. She’s clutching my wrist, pressing at my arm, begging me to travel lower on her body. To take what I want from her. Or maybe give her what she needs.

Instead, I push off her and roll to my back, inhaling short, sharp ragged breaths and swiping both hands down my face.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Vee.” It isn’t that I don’t want her. It’s that I don’t know how to keep her. I’ve just started a new job, and things are rocky at best, near avalanche at worst. I value Vee in my life, and I don’t want sex to mar what we have. For once, I want to do things the right way, not make it about sex.