Page 77 of Elevator Pitch

Slow.

Better.

Horrible.

Decent.

Until one night I admit, “I think I need a change of scenery.” Like being in Arizona, specifically at the Anchor spring training stadium, where inspiration struck, I need a change of view.

For now, my characters are stuck. Literally.

I have him in her shower, and she thought she was being burglarized because she’d returned home to the water running. She’s entered the bathroom with a baseball bat in hand, instead of calling 9-1-1, like any rational woman. Then he pulls back the shower curtain, finished with the shower and naked as the day he was born, skin steamy and slick, looking sexy as fuck.

He screams. She screams.

And somehow, I was interrupted while writing this scene and can’t figure out what should happen next. The almighty, ominous question for two fictional characters attracted to each other—to have sex or not to have sex?

“Need a place to go?” Ross interjects, knowing I sometimes visit coffee shops or local libraries, just to get out of my apartment.

I shrug, although he can’t see me. “Got a recommendation?” My old haunts don’t seem to be sparking any new creativity.

“How about staying at my place?”

“What?” I choke on a sip of water. I’m sitting upright in my bed, comfortable in the same position I’ve been in each night when we chat. Like this is my therapist seat, although I was teasing about being his uncertified psychiatrist. Ross and I are friends. Friends who have carnal knowledge of one another, but friends, nonetheless.

“We play back-to-back out of state, so I’ll be out of town for the next two series.”

I hear sheets rustling. We don’t discuss our talking positions. Where we sit, or what we’re wearing, but I picture Ross laying in his bed, wearing only his boxer briefs. In my head, his room is dark, masculine, and moody.

“You could come here. Hang out. Use my place during the day or spend the night.”

“Ross.” I chuckle. “Aren’t you worried I’d go through your things? Invade your privacy,” I state, sounding eerie, as if I’d do such a thing when I wouldn’t. “That I’d sleep in your bed like some superfan with a crush on you.”

Oh, wait, I am that. And the idea of sleeping in Ross’s bed without him should not appeal to me.

Ross laughs, lighthearted and easy. “First of all, I told you, you already invade my thoughts, so I’m not worried about my privacy.”

My mouth falls open, surprised he remembered saying such a thing and wondering if he still feels the same way.

“And second, I want you in my bed, Vee. So permission granted to roll around in the sheets and do whatever you need to do to find inspiration.”

“Anything?” I snortle.

“Ah, there’s the sound I’ve missed. And yes . . .” He pauses. “Anything.”

“What if I want to bring two men to your bed?”

Ross chokes so hard, it sets off a coughing fit, and despite me continually asking if he’s okay, he can’t catch his breath for several minutes before he groans in a strangled voice. “Never.”

With a clearer tone, but still one that sounds rough, he adds, “I told you once I’d never share you, and I mean that, Vee. You’d be mine and mine alone.”

A greater question might be, would he belong to me?

“I’ll think about it,” I state. “About staying at your place, that is.” However, I already know I wouldn’t be comfortable going to Ross’s home without him present. The concept does feel like an invasion of his privacy.

“Consider it a vacation from your home, if you’d like.”

“What I’d like is some freakin’ inspiration,” I mutter.