Page 8 of Elevator Pitch

I can hear him scoot closer. “What kind of DMs?”

God, what kind haven’t I gotten? “I’m sure you can use your imagination.”

“Dick pics?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you return the favor?”

“Hell no. That stuff is forever.”

“No kidding.” I have a feeling there’s a story there. But before I can ask, he says, “Why not go to cooking school or work in a restaurant?”

“Good question. For one, I’m just an amateur cook, and second, I’m afraid if I do it for a living, I’ll lose the passion. Sort of like my current job situation, not that I ever had any passion for it to begin with.”

“Guess you won’t know unless you try. Sometimes mixing your passion with work is a good thing.”

He’s obviously referring to his own career. “So it’s a good thing for you?”

“Absolutely. I mean, it has its drawbacks.” He mutters, “Not being out, for one.”

“No doubt you have plenty of admirers too,” I point out. “How do you handle it?”

“It can be challenging. Teammates hooking up left and right with female fans. I flirt, but that’s the extent of it.”

“That would be tough.” I frown, considering the likely similarities between our co-workers, mine just happen to wear suits and ties all day. “I’m out at work, but I don’t really care what those idiots think. That said, I understand your dilemma in a sport that sounds homophobic, but is also very public.”

Plus, his salary is well above my pay grade. And that only makes me wonder how decked out his kitchen is. Or his bedroom, for that matter.

My gaze springs to the ceiling. “Hey, did you hear that?”

“What?”

“I think… I swear I heard something.” I stand up and find the elevator doors. “Help!”

When we’re met with silence, I scramble to think of a different way. “Can you lift me up? Maybe being closer will help.”

“Good idea.” I hear the squeak of his sneakers as he shifts closer. “I can definitely try.”

Now we’re standing nose to nose, and I can feel his breaths puffing against my lips.

“How should we do this?” he asks, a little breathless.

“Maybe, um, you grab onto me and lift me as high as you can? I can use your thighs for leverage if you bend your knees a little.”

“Sounds good.” He fumbles with something. “Let me use my flashlight again so we can see what the hell we’re doing.”

I blink as the elevator is dimly illuminated again, momentarily throwing me off. He sets the phone on the ground, the beam of light shining up at us.

“Wait, when did you take your shirt off?” I ask.

“Oh, a few minutes ago, the heat… and I figured since you did I… I can put it back on if it makes you uncomf?—”

“No need.”

His eyes briefly travel down the front of me, and I almost want to cover my chest with my arm, wondering what he sees. He’s the picture of athleticism with his chiseled abs and defined hip ridges that disappear under his waistband. I’m lean, but certainly lacking any sort of muscularity. But if he’s underwhelmed, he doesn’t show it. Instead, his gaze travels up to my mouth, lingering there a moment before he says, “Let’s do this.”

I blow out a breath and refocus on getting us out of here.

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