Page 16 of Elevator Pitch

This man is a mystery, full of secrets, and some serious superstitions. Or maybe it’s just that he’s holding onto history, afraid to let go.

“So, it’s time for you to hit it.” I follow my poor attempt at mimicking the rappers by throwing out my arms before crossing them in front of my chest which has him chuckling. Then, he slides off the edge of the bed and stands.

Instantly, this strange bond with him breaks. Like he’s left the sacred island of the rumpled sheets and too many pillows, and I’m going to be stranded here alone.

Tossing my own legs over the opposite side of the bed, I stand as well, and we face off across the deserted land between us.

Ross anxiously scratches underneath his chin.

Deciding I need to be the one to break the sudden awkwardness of the morning after, I step toward the short hallway that leads to the door.

“It was a pleasure sleeping with you, Ross Davis.”

He chuckles deeper, before slipping his phone into his pocket, and reaching for his shoes and sweatshirt. He picks up the bottle of precious booze, then rounds the bed, walking right up to me. Opening his arms, he tugs me to his solid frame. Held firmly against him, he squeezes tight like he doesn’t want to let me go.

Or maybe that’s just me wishful thinking.

The word fan comes from fantasy. Or fanatic.

I’ll always be one for Ross Davis in his role as a player and a coach. But as a man, Ross has shown he’s only human, flawed and complicated, real and fascinating.

“Thanks for last night,” he mutters near my ear before slowly releasing me. He swallows hard and meets my eyes. “Maybe we’ll meet again.”

“Maybe.”

Stranger things have happened.

Like getting stuck in an elevator with my baseball boyfriend.

Or spending the night with him. Only sleeping. Sharing pillow talk and private thoughts.

Silently, I hope we do meet another time.

Happenstance, perhaps.

Chapter 5

March

Spring Training

[Vee]

“There he is, Vee-Vee,” my best friend teases as she sits beside me in the stadium seats.

Shortly after my night with Ross Davis, sports media announced that he had been released from the Flash and picked up by the Chicago Anchors to manage the team. When I heard the news, pride swelled within me. Ross had accomplished what he wanted. He returned to Chicago to manage a team with deep history and passionate followers. He wore red and royal blue once more.

Presently, I’m attending a spring training game in Arizona where the Anchors practice pre-season. The field is full size, but the stadium is closer to the size of an exhibition team setting, with limited rows of seats from left field to right. A grassy berm, appropriately named lawn seats, lines the edge of the outfield. Fans out there bring their own blankets and sit where they can find space. The overall atmosphere in this springtime setting is less chaotic than the grandeur of the home field. This place is more old-school, almost small-town, and all-around full of excitement for another year of baseball.

Maybe this will be our year.

My two daughters, Laurel and Hannah, are on their spring breaks, and we’ve traveled here with my bestie, Cassandra Culpére. Cassandra is the sister I never had, and my girls lovingly call her Aunt Sassy, which she requested when they were younger. At twenty-three and twenty respectively, my daughters maintain the tradition, while I call Cassandra Cee-Cee complementing her nickname for me, Vee-Vee. Besides, Cassandra does not like her name. She says it sounds too aristocratic and uppity. I’ve argued it’s beautiful and classic, like a historical romance heroine.

“Okay, Cee-Cee, chill.” I pat her forearm patronizingly as she sits with her feet up on the back of the seat in front of her while her body slouches down in her own chair. Months ago, I’d made the mistake of telling Cassandra about my night with Ross. Not all the details but the basics.

The elevator stop. The drink in my room. The fact he slept in my bed.

Just slept.