Page 59 of Elevator Pitch

When we finally return to Vee’s place, she looks a little buzzed from two margaritas, and I’m drowsy from the physical exertion of the morning hike and the rays of sunshine, plus my two beers.

“Want to sit outside?” Vee asks, pointing toward the brilliant late afternoon sun shining on her balcony.

“Actually, lets nap.” I’m not typically a napper but I’m warm and comfortable as I toss myself on her couch. Plus, I want to be close to her again.

Vee stares at me until I turn on the television, set the volume to low and stretch out on my side. Then I hold out my arm and wiggle my fingers.

“Come here, beautiful.”

Vee chuckles softly, like a dismissive snortle. Like she doesn’t trust this position and I shouldn’t be teasing her. I shouldn’t be tempting either of us, but I just want to hold her for a little while and soak up the remainder of this day.

“Will this count as sleeping together?” she asks, still standing too far away from me, with her hands on her hips and her lip caught between her teeth.

“Sure.” I lug myself back off the couch. “Now get that fine ass over here.” Only, I don’t wait for her to approach me. I catch her around the waist and carry her backwards to the couch, tumbling us both awkwardly onto the cushions.

“That went better in my head.” I chuckle about my vision of a smooth transition to the couch versus her landing on my lap and then her head colliding with my chin before I wrestle us to our sides.

“I’m not certain we fit on this thing together,” she laughs quietly again.

With her settled, her back to my front, and my arm wrapped over her middle, I squeeze her.

“We fit together, Vee.”

And I mean it in more ways than one.

Chapter 19

[Vee]

We sleep for two hours.

The hum of the television. The margaritas in my system. The warmth of Ross at my back. I’m cocooned in comfort.

When I wake, I need to use the bathroom. Plus, I feel the telltale signs of Ross’s arousal and I can’t go through that kind of disappointment again. I shift beneath his arm, and he clutches me tighter.

“Where you goin’?” he mutters groggily.

The moment reminds me of the other day in bed. Same squeeze around my middle. Same question in his sandpaper tone.

“Bathroom.” Not exactly a flowery answer but everyone uses it.

When I return to the living room, I sit on the ottoman across from Ross who is lying on his back, face aimed toward the ceiling.

The day has been fantastic. Sunshine, warm hike, and excellent company. A real date. One that was different from your typical dinner and a movie.

Ross continually surprises me. Like that kiss to my head when he took a picture of us, or the times he took my hand and held on a little longer than just assisting me up a rock.

Even moments some might consider insignificant, like placing his hand on my lower back while we scanned the menu in the taco restaurant or how he pulled out my chair before I sat, were precious.

Ross is a gentleman, and I don’t think his attention was an act. He wasn’t trying to impress me. And we certainly didn’t have paparazzi following us with cameras where he’d need to put on a show.

But he also confuses me.

Why treat me like we are a couple when he wasn’t interested in more with me? Heck, why even ask me out on a date if he wasn’t attracted to me?

“What are we doing?” I finally ask, my voice lowered, my gaze aimed at my knees. Too often throughout the day, I had heart-eyes for Ross, turning moments romantic, when he might intend us only to be friends.

I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t think he understood that it hurt more to be rejected by him the other morning. Then again, I wouldn’t want him to do anything he didn’t want to do with me. I’d feel worse.