Page 71 of Elevator Pitch

I shrug and correct myself. “An arrangement.”

“A fucking stupid one,” Cassandra tacks on. “And lots of good it’s done him to dump you. The Anchors lost their first three games. And look what happened today.” She wiggles her phone in the air, once more referencing the altercation between teammates.

“That had nothing to do with me.” I ignore the sting of her words about Ross. “The Anchors are just having a rough start. And he didn’t dump me.”

It was a mutual parting of the ways, right?

And today’s display between Sylver and Valdez looked like more than a bad patch of grass, though. More like black ice on a slick road on the top of a mountain where the lack of shoulder is due to a steep cliff.

“Besides,” I continue. “Are you suggesting I continue sleeping with Ross to save the team?” Even though she just called our arrangement stupid, she appears to be leaning in favor of continuing the practice.

“Look, sometimes you just have to take one for the team,” Cassandra says. “Or in this case take the team’s coach.” Cassandra sticks her tongue in her cheek, making a lewd motion which only causes me to laugh.

“So, I’m to continue having sex with Ross Davis to save the Anchors?”

“A woman has to do what a woman has to do.” Cassandra shakes her head, false sympathy in her expression. “And you know I’d volunteer as tribute, but something tells me you’re the ‘it’ girl.” With a hand at her chest, she sighs with mocking compassion. “Oh, the hardship of being you.”

I scoff. “Clearly, I’m not it. And I don’t want to be needed only for sex.”

Cassandra and I glare at one another before bursting into laughter.

Why am I even complaining about sex with an incredibly built and sexually talented man?

Wait, I know the answer to this one. Because my feelings are in the way.

“So, if Ross Davis knocked on your front door, and said he wanted to have sex with you again, you’d turn him away?”

“He’s not going to knock on my door and say, ‘I want to sleep with you, Verona’.” I drop my voice to imitate his rugged sandpapery tone.

“No. He might say, I missed you, Vee. I can’t live without you, Vee. I want you in my life, Vee.”

My responding chuckle is bitter and raw while the sting of her teasing turns into a piercing pain. “That won’t happen, so I don’t need to think about it.”

Because I have thought about those statements. For ten days. I’ve hoped for Ross to magically appear and wished for those sentiments to cross his lips. And nothing.

Silence.

The call button from the exterior of the building buzzes in my apartment and Cassandra and I both whip our heads in the direction of the front door. When our eyes meet, we break into laughter again, like schoolgirls high on adolescence.

“That was so freakin’ freaky,” she whispers, eyes still wide and focused on me.

“Probably mistaken delivery,” I state then ignore the buzzer a second time as I’m not expecting anyone. The delivery person will eventually get the correct button.

My apartment building is in your typical Chicago six flat with two apartments on every floor opposite each other. I’m on the first floor which is raised above street level and faces the postage-stamp sized yard.

“Anyway—” I start but an insistent knock on my front door has me holding my tongue. “What the heck?”

I step away from Cassandra and walk down the narrow hallway to the door. Peering through the peephole, because I’m a single woman living alone and I’d never answer the door for a stranger, I flatten against the barrier as if he can see me.

Because once again, the last person I expect to see on my doorstep is the person standing on the other side of this door.

“Who is it?” Cassandra asks, her voice a mysterious hush, while standing at the opposite end of the narrow passage leading from my kitchen to the front entrance. “Vee-Vee?”

“Cee-Cee,” I whisper, glancing down the stretch of the hall to her. “It’s Ross.”

“Well, it’s about fucking time he showed up.” With speed I hadn’t anticipated, my friend rushes toward me, shoves me out of the way and opens my front door wide before glaring into the interior hallway. With her hands on her hips, she says, “You’re late, mister.” Like she’s the one who’s been waiting on him.

“I-I’m looking for Verona Huxley.”