Page 94 of Elevator Pitch

“I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me.”

Ross Davis has been a first in many ways.

“Ross,” I whisper a little louder. “My daughter is here.”

His eyes ping open, startling me with their brightness. “And?” He tips up his thick brows.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” His sleepy voice is gruff. His deeply pinched brows expressing his confusion.

I’ve never introduced my girls to a man in my life. Never had a man worthy of being introduced to them. And Ross walking out of my bedroom with me would make quite a statement. One I’m not certain we’re ready to make, even if we discussed an us only last night.

What I say instead is, “Because you didn’t want anyone to know about us.”

“I never said that.” His eyes widen.

Now doesn’t feel like the time to argue with him, nor remind him that the first time we met, he said no one should know about our night together. We weren’t public in Arizona. Silly superstition.

His pinched brows deepen. His eyes darken. “Lots of people know about us.”

“Kip and Cassandra.” A whole two people.

“You met Harley.”

“That was different.” Harley was an unexpected surprise in Ross’s home. I realize that’s not too dissimilar from whomever might be in my kitchen and just dropped something heavy on the floor.

“Well, I’m not climbing out the window.” His tone is disgruntled, possibly hurt.

“Just . . . just stay in here until I can get rid of her.” Another first. Something I never thought I’d say as a grown adult, before I scramble from my bed, rushing to slip on a pair of loose leggings. Not bothering to change the T-shirt I wore to bed, because whichever daughter is in my kitchen won’t mind bra-less mom. I slip my fingers through my hair, conscious that Ross is watching me as I step around the bed.

He shifts quickly and efficiently, climbing up to his knees and snagging my wrist to catch my attention before I open the bedroom door.

“Hey,” he whispers when I spin to face him. Proud chest on display. A thick wedge in his snug boxer briefs. “Good morning.” He slips his hand to the back of my head and kisses me in a rough greeting that leaves me a little dizzy when he releases me.

“Stay,” I warn, poking at his chest before I slip out my bedroom door, quickly closing it behind me.

Laurel tips back from behind the open freezer door. My brown-haired beauty’s face lights up when she sees me.

“Hey,” she greets me like it’s perfectly normal for her to be standing in my kitchen, unscheduled or unannounced, rummaging through my freezer.

“Hey, baby. What are you doing here?”

“I was out of frozen waffles.”

“Uhm. So you came to my house?” Go to a freakin’ grocery store.

“You were closer than the store.”

“Do I even have frozen waffles?” I stopped food shopping specifically for my girls a long time ago unless their visits are planned.

“No.” She sighs and shuts the freezer door before facing me. “The Syrup Tap?”

“Is this your way of asking if I’ll take you there?” I laugh. She isn’t asking me out to breakfast, she’s asking me to take her to breakfast.

“I live on a teacher’s salary.” Her hand comes to the hip she juts out to punctuate her financial status.

“And I live on a starving artist’s one,” I tease. “But give me a few minutes and we can go.” The excuse is perfect, allowing me time to change and slip out of my own apartment before I’m caught with Ross Davis in my bedroom.