Page 99 of Elevator Pitch

“Dad said Verona is his good luck charm. When she sleeps here, the Anchors win.”

Uh-oh.

“What the fuck?” Landon blurts, turning toward his father. His folded arms slip to his sides, fists clenched.

“Hey.” Ross glares back at his eldest son, agitated as well. “Watch it.”

“Baseball players are so silly.” Harley waves at my girls, as if the playful movement can unravel the blooming tension.

“On that note, I think it really is time to go. Thank you for the pizza. It was great to meet you, Landon.” Although I’m not certain the sentiment is reciprocated.

“I’ll walk you out,” Ross states, stepping forward like he’ll follow us.

I hold up my hand, then awkwardly twist it like I intend to shake his, making the moment even more ridiculous. “We’ve got it.”

Ross stares at my outstretched hand, and for a second, I imagine him wanting to bat my hand away, cup my face, and kiss me senseless in front of all four of our children so I’ll stop acting so strange. Then again, kissing me in front of our kids would be even stranger, and the image quickly vanishes.

“I’ll call you later.” Ross ignores my hand, which I eventually lower.

Harley saves the moment by reaching for Laurel and then Hannah, hugging each of them before coming toward me.

“I messed up, didn’t I?” he whispers, but I shake my head when I pull out of his embrace.

Ross and I messed up as we don’t know how to define what we’re doing with each other.

Chapter 31

[Ross]

“Don’t you think she’s a little old for you?” Landon asks as soon as I close the door on that awkward as hell exit from Vee and her daughters. Sarcasm drips from my oldest son’s tone.

“Excuse me?” I glare at Landon, who was an ass the entire evening. His tense body language. His sharp responses.

“I mean, your tastes typically run younger and flashier.” His voice is full of accusation, one that expresses his displeasure.

My glare narrows even more, jaw clenching as I warn him, “Watch your step, son.”

Not backing down, he continues. “She’s almost . . . normal.” The comment clarifies what I’ve known about my son for a while. He hasn’t approved of me dating younger women, based on their age alone. A woman in her early thirties is closer in age to my twenty-two-year-old son. But I doubt it’s always been their age that bothers him. It’s their distance from him, as models, movie stars, and reality TV celebrities.

“She reminds me of Mom.” Harley says.

The truth hits me hard.

Vee doesn’t look anything like Patty, nor are they similar in personality. But I also understand what Harley means. Vee is sweet and considerate. Kind and gracious. She’s fun to be around, funny in many instances, easy going in others. And she believes in me, like Patty once did. Vee is just . . . spectacularly Vee.

Glancing at Landon, I realize that’s the crux. He’s angry that I’m with someone resembling his mother because she is more my age. Vee has lived longer than his mother, too.

Jesus. How do I tiptoe around this?

“Got an issue with me dating her?” I question, not that his opinion would sway me, but I’d still like to understand what his problem is.

“You do you,” he snarks and turns away from me.

“Hey,” I bark, causing him to pause. “What’s going on here?”

Harley is suddenly very still, head lowered, eyes aimed at the floor.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like being your son?” Landon rounds on me.