Page 75 of Elevator Pitch

I nod, agreeing with his friend and coaching partner.

“But the thing is, I’m better with you around me. Superstition or not, it feels right having you in my corner to talk to each night.”

He wasn’t saying holding me or sharing a bed together feels right. But should I split modifiers?

There’s something strangely comforting about Ross in my corner as well. He listened to me talk about writing and publishing. He showed interest in learning about my girls. He doesn’t mind my quirks, often finding them endearing.

“I want you in my life, Vee. How ever you’ll allow me.”

Is this some weird voodoo? He’s two for three from what Cassandra suggested he might say to me.

And who doesn’t need another friend in their life? If we take sex out of the equation, I can keep Ross in a corner, right?

“So, we chat each evening then. No bed required.” What do the kids call that? Talking to someone, in place of labeling their relationship status as dating. However, just like sleeping with Ross meant only sleeping, talking to one another is only going to mean we chat.

“If I’m the team manager’s uncertified superstition keeper, do I get a special uniform?”

Ross chuckles and arches his brow. “Someone still has a coaching staff jacket.”

Hmm. A souvenir I won’t be giving back.

“And what do I get out of this new arrangement?” Because while I didn’t ask for anything in return the first time, I want some reassurance this is a balanced proposal this round.

“What do you want?” His voice drops, a bit salacious, a lot sexy, but I’m not asking for sexual favors as false compensation.

“I want to pick your brain.”

His eyes widen once more. “How so?”

“Since I’ve returned home, I’m stumped again in my writing.” Could be that sometimes it’s difficult to write romance when you feel like your romantic life is flailing. Or that I suddenly have my own experience in superstition. Without a certain spring training facility, or possibly the head coach for that team in my life, I’m experiencing a different type of losing streak. A loss of words.

“I want to ask you questions, without judgment, for research purposes.”

“For your book?” His mouth quirks up on one side.

“Yes. You aren’t my main character, but I still want to better understand a man’s perspective.”

“Okay.” He draws out the word, as if hesitating to commit.

“On subjects like dating and sex. Not that the two are necessarily inclusive.”

His brows severely crease. “Is this another two-men-sharing-one-woman thing?” He chuckles but the sound is more like he’s being strangled and his bright eyes storm over. He almost looks angry.

“The semantics of that statement should be one woman pleasured by two men.” I dismissively wave a hand. “I want to know things.”

“Like?” Hesitation once again.

“How does it feel to kiss a woman? What emotion is involved? What’s it like to touch her for the first time? To place your fingers there.” I drop my gaze. “Or enter her.”

Heavy silence fills my small kitchen. An empty sound as thick as Ross’s fingers but as flavorful as our red wine. An electric energy crackles between us.

“Fuck, Vee.” Ross exhales hard and scrubs his palm over his face before staring at me. “And this is what you want from me? I spill guy-secrets in exchange for you just talking to me.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Sounds kind of detached, doesn’t it?”

Ross stares at me long and hard for a moment, then he slowly stands. “In order for it not to be detached, I might need to give examples to express my answers.”

With one step, he’s before me, turning my stool so I face him.