Page 34 of Elevator Pitch

Chapter 10

[Vee]

In the morning, a rousing call to hit it fills the bedroom, and I jolt awake. Ross is softly snoring behind me. At one point during the night, his arm was draped over me, but it is now removed from my hip. Instead, he lays flat on his back, wedged against me in a manner that doesn’t allow me to turn over.

“Ross,” I whisper, although what’s the point of whispering to a sleeping man you wish to wake?

As I attempt to roll, my elbow nudges his chest. And his phone drones on with Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock rapping about how it takes two people to make something right.

When Ross doesn’t budge with my elbow at his belly, I flip as best I can so I can reach over his chest for the phone. Only his phone is somewhere near the opposite edge of his pillow. He’s sleeping on mine.

I have no sense of what time it is, but I’m awake now, stretching over Ross, practically lying on him, to find his phone and turn off the sound that is apparently not waking the person intended to be awakened.

With my body draped over his midsection, I skim my hand beneath the pillow, reaching and seeking until my fingertips hit the edge of the device. My fingers are too short to grip the corner of his phone, so I’m up on my knees, preparing to climb over Ross when his hand connects with my side, just above my hip.

“What are you doing?” His voice is groggy, rough and sandpapery once more. His palm is warm against my skin exposed by my stretch for his phone.

I crane only my neck, glancing over my shoulder, and looking him right in the face where I’m met with bright blue eyes, fresh as a new day. Slowly, I blink, mesmerized by the color. Ross is also giving me a delicious, cheeky grin while watching me from his prone position.

Pulling back over his body, the movement causes my breasts to casually, accidentally, drag over his firm chest, sending a ripple of excitement throughout me and causing my nipples to pebble. Without a bra, my reaction to Ross is evident. “I was trying to reach your phone.”

Ross turns his head so sharply it’s a wonder I don’t hear his neck crack. His expression suggests he’s startled, like he doesn’t hear the thumping beat of the 80s rap. Slowly, he twists his body opposite the direction of mine, and I sit back on my knees.

“Still have something against my song?” he chuckles, deep and rich.

“Nothing against your song. I’m just more of a Marvin Gaye “It Takes Two” type of person.”

Ross rolls to his back again, phone in hand and taps off the alarm. “What?”

“Never mind.” We stare at one another for a long, quiet minute. His morning eyes are sleepy while alert. His mouth slowly curls.

“So, now what? Do you feel like it’s a winning kind of day?”

Ross blinks, stares up at the ceiling, like he’s considering the question, and then lets out a slow exhale. “I’ll say this. I don’t think I’ve slept so well since . . .” He moves his head just the slightest, eyes meeting mine. “Since we the night we met.”

My cheeks heat. “That’s sweet.”

Startling me, he abruptly sits upright, his face coming close to mine. For a half a second, I think he’s coming in for a morning kiss, but as my knees are close to the edge of the bed because he’d encroached on my side, I slip off the mattress. Ross catches my wrist at the same time my feet find the floor.

“Sea legs in the morning?” he teases as I wobble.

“More like someone hogged the ship.” I nod toward the vast mattress and Ross glances around, realizing one half of the bed hasn’t been slept in.

“Do you typically sleep on the left?” I question, wondering if he felt like he slept on the wrong side of the bed, thus encroaching on mine. Since Cameron’s death, I bought a new bed. For me, sleeping comfortably isn’t a matter of the right or left side of the bed, but a need to be closest to the door or exit. My Feng Shui is off otherwise.

Ross shakes his head, not commenting on his position while scowling at the empty space a second. Then, he says, “I should probably get going.”

He scrubs both his hands down his face before flipping back the covers and scooting out of the bed toward me.

I step back but suddenly, I’m panicked. “We did it wrong.”

Ross stills, standing upright in front of me. “We did what wrong?”

“Getting out of the bed. I went one direction. You went the other. We’re messing up the shui or the vibe or the jujubeans.”

“The jujubeans?”

“Whatever,” I snap, waving around him toward the bed. “What if this messes up your win?” If this sleepover didn’t work, Ross won’t be back. He won’t want to be friends if I don’t bring him luck. This could be the last time we sleep next to one another. And none of this should matter, but strangely, I feel my chest constricting. My breathing ragged with fear.