Page 102 of Elevator Pitch

Did I keep her up too late the other night? The play, dinner, her living room, and talking.

“Did you write today?” We haven’t discussed if our night together inspired her.

“The words can wait,” she states drowsily.

“Okay, sweetheart. You rest. Call me in the morning?”

“You got it, Coach. I’m mentally smacking your ass.”

Quirky. I chuckle, bidding her to sleep well, even if it is without me.

My bed is too empty without her. My heart full, though, whenever we talk. I love her ticks and teases. Her laughter and smiles. Even her awkwardness, like holding out her hand instead of hugging me goodbye earlier.

I love everything about Vee.

I think I love her.

The thought doesn’t hit me as hard as I expect. Not like a fast ball coming at you at ninety-seven miles per hour. Falling for her was more like a perfect hit. One where your eyes are on the ball. The timing. The speed. You know you can’t miss. And bam! It’s still a surprise but you’ve been anticipating this hit. Waiting for the right pitch. Hopeful. Eager. Longing for it. With the crack of the bat against the ball, you watch the ball soar and then you race. Run like hell for that first kiss, steal all the seconds for each touch. Marvel as you round third, praising all things heavenly for the opportunity, the chances, the freedom to be this close to her. Then you hit home plate, relief fills your chest, pride fills your heart. And love, so much love, and gratitude. I’ll be thankful for every day I get to love Vee.

She’s my homerun.

+ + +

The next day, I’m relieved to easily find Vee in the stands with Hannah beside her. The Anchors win, and when the game finishes I climb the dugout steps to the field, hoping to catch Vee’s attention. With her back to the field, exiting her row, I call her phone and watch as she stalls, grabs her phone from her bag, and checks the screen. She stops walking, allowing people to go around her as she faces the field and answers.

“Good game, Coach.” I hear the smile in her voice.

“Be a better game if you come to my place later.”

“Wow, that’s quite the invitation.”

“So, you’ll come.”

A heavy pause falls between us, and I consider what I’ve said.

“You know, I’m a romance author and that means my mind goes dirty places sometimes.”

I hum. “Definitely want to go dirty places with you, Vee.”

“Is this a booty call?”

I watch as Hannah’s head whips toward her mother and I chuckle. “Sweetheart.”

Vee laughs as well, perhaps knowing she just embarrassed her daughter.

“If you want this to be a booty call, it can be. Or I can just check out your booty from here, watching you walk up those stadium stairs.”

“Would you do that?” More laughter fills the question.

“Absolutely.” My grin grows. I meant what I told my boys last night, I like Vee, but the word doesn’t encompass my entire range of emotions. My feelings are so much more than just liking her, but I don’t want to scare her with their strength. We still have a few things to iron out between us first. “So you’ll come . . . over, that is.”

“Let me send Hannah off. What about Landon and Harley? Are they both still around?”

“Landon left this morning. Harley went back to this apartment last night.”

“Want to cook together?” she asks, not exactly mentioning my utter failure at making dinner yesterday, but it had been a disaster.

“I have a better idea. I’ll order in.”