Page 69 of Elevator Pitch

With defeat in our hearts, the Anchors lose the game after the reckless display of poor sportsmanship between teammates.

While I refuse to let panic settle into my bones, panic is settling into my bones.

“Fuck,” I mutter as I wait for the team to clear out of the dugout before following them through the tunnel to the locker room. I’d wanted one final glance around the stadium in hopes of locating Vee, but the scan was hopeless in a sea of retreating fans. I had no idea where her season tickets were placed anyway.

In the somber locker room, I address the team with what went well and what we need to work on with a final word of encouragement.

“Let’s remember that we’re a team.” I glare at Valdez who has the grace to lower his head, but his mouth curves into a smirk. I narrow my gaze at him, knowing I’ll have to deal with him privately when what I’d really like to do is kick him off the team in front of the other members, making an example out of him and his shitty behavior. His actions are inappropriate and intolerable. “And as such, that means we play together. Our opponent is the other team, not each other.”

I don’t need to remind them collectively, but as spirits are divided, I want the men to rein in their loyalties.

“Your dedication is to the Anchors.” With a heavy exhale, I add, “However, any good thoughts or prayers for our teammate are welcome.”

I won’t speak out yet about Ford’s ability to return or not.

First, I have a contractually obligated press conference to attend.

Then, an ass named Romero Valdez to chew out.

Then I’ll be able to check on Ford.

And after all that, what I really want is to find Vee and snuggle in a bed beside her, where she might remind me this is what I wanted—to coach the Anchors—and then she’d give me one of her pep talks.

One that might end with more than just words, but with our bodies tangled together.

+ + +

In the medical room with Ford, a messenger who looks no more than sixteen-years-old knocks on the door. Anxiety is written in his expression and his voice quivers when he says, “Coach, I’ve got a message for you.”

Fuck. I’m assuming the front office wants “a word” about the unsportsmanlike conduct that occurred on the field today. A reminder that they took a risk on me, or I’ve been given a second chance, blah-blah-blah. Although, I’m not so cavalier about the position I’ve been granted.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “What is it?”

The poor kid swallows hard and lowers his eyes, fiddling with a slip of paper in his hands, before saying, “Tell him nightlight was here.”

“What the fuck?” Kip chuckles, having found his way to the medical room as well.

“Women come up with all kinds of crazy shit.” Max Bernard, the head trainer, huffs.

I arch a brow at the young messenger. “Was it a woman?”

He nods.

“Nightlight?” Max grunts. “Sounds like a stripper name.”

Eyes wide, I glare at Max. He knows I’m not into that kind of thing. Respect to the women who do it, and whatever to the men getting off watching them, but that path isn’t my pleasure.

Max clears his throat. “Or like the kind of thing you plug in at night so you can see in a dark room.”

With gritted teeth, Ford adds, “My kid needs one of those to sleep at night.”

Instantly, Kip and I meet eyes.

“Shit,” Kip mutters, lowering his gaze while smiling.

And my heart rate soars when the messenger hands me the slip of paper.

Vee had been here.