Page 62 of Elevator Pitch

“So you came back for a kiss?”

“I came back for you.” I kiss her again and lean over for the front door, shoving it hard to shut it. When it slams, I pull back again. “My room was too empty without you.”

“That’s . . . sweet.”

I’m tired of being sweet but I don’t mention that to Vee. Instead, I kiss her again, then lower my forehead to hers.

“I know you said you need to write, and I won’t press if you tell me to leave again but—”

“Writing?” Vee glances up at her me, her blue eyes round and dilated, sparking with her attraction. She tsks. “What are words to kisses?”

I chuckle, recalling her comment about men and rocks.

“Give me four more nights, Vee. Please.” Don’t say goodbye to me yet. I know I originally asked for only one night. Then pushed for two. How do we suddenly only have four remaining nights?

“Sleeping with some kissing tossed in?” Her eyes are bright as she digs her teeth into her swollen lips.

“Sleeping with some kissing.”

Then, I kiss her again.

Chapter 21

[Vee]

The Anchors record over the next three nights is up and down. Win. Loss. Loss. Despite Ross being at my place each night for sleep and kisses.

The last time I made out with a man so often I was in high school. And Ross is insatiable with his mouth and tongue. Our bodies press together when our lips meet—as we stand in my entryway, as we lean over the kitchen counter, as we enter my bedroom—but his hands never wander. And we never kiss while horizontal, like on the couch, or in my bed.

By Friday, I’m a mess of struggling hormones and conflicting emotions.

But my writing is off the charts. My female character pulled up her proverbial big girl panties and has been leading me in all kinds of directions for her whirlwind romance.

Being my last day in Arizona, I attend a final spring training game. It’s a beautiful desert afternoon, and with a margarita in hand, I settle into my seat. I’m wearing his classic Anchors jersey with the number 33 on it and his name on the back. My phone is also ready for any last-minute note-taking needs as it’s the final time to soak up some inspiration from this stadium.

Ross tips up his chin in distant greeting from his position on the field. The man standing beside him, turns his head and stares in my direction. Eventually, he lifts a hand and waves over his shoulder.

Kip Garcia is almost as good looking as Ross. Maybe too good looking with green eyes and tattooed hands. I wave in response, chuckling as I do. Ross must say something that has Kip turning his head to stare at his fellow coach’s profile. Then Kip laughs and turns back in my direction. Even from this distance, I see his wink.

Knowing they are discussing me, I should feel uncomfortable, but I don’t. Ross admitted Kip knows about our arrangement. I broke down and told Ross I’d mentioned the situation to Cassandra, who is sworn to secrecy as well.

Ross knew I was attending today’s game and asked me to wait for him afterward. Unfortunately, the Anchors lose again, and I watch Ross slap the hands of his players, defeat heavy on his shoulders, before I wander to the prearranged spot to meet him.

There, I wait and wait and wait, checking and then triple checking my phone until Kip Garcia exits the management building and sees me on the sidewalk.

“Verona?”

I smile weakly. “Call me Vee.”

“Vee.” He smiles wide, displaying white teeth, before his brows pinch. “Are you still waiting on Ross?”

“Yeah. He told me to meet him here, but it’s been a bit.” I glance toward the vacant grass parking lot, and the cars lining the road leading away from the stadium.

“Shit. There was another altercation in the locker room, and we had to handle it. He was chatting with Ford Sylver when I finally got the other player to leave the room.”

Romero Valdez, perhaps? I don’t ask, not wanting to give away I know a team secret or two.

“I could let you in.” Kip hitches his thumb toward the management building.