Page 47 of The Virgin Rule Book (Rules of Love 1)
“And now presenting the award for the best sportsman or sportswoman is a woman I admire greatly,” Lily says. “A woman who fights hard for equal pay for other women in this male-dominated field, who’s making strides at bringing more women into sports and who has already brought a top team back to the Bay Area. She embraces community with her team’s involvement in local charities. I am so proud to welcome back one of our own with the return of the Hawks to San Francisco, helmed by Nadia Harlowe.”
I stride onto the stage, thank Lily, then head to the mic to present the award.
As I gaze out at the audience of team owners, reporters, athletes from all over the country, and plenty of fans, I smile, imagining my father watching over me. I send a silent wish to him that I’m honoring his vision, what he built from the ground up with the fortune that he’d amassed in other fields before pursuing his dream of owning a football team.
I am so lucky to have inherited it from him, and I want to always make him proud.
That’s what I hold on to so I can flash a smile at the crowd. My eyes lock ever so briefly on the friendliest of faces, and Crosby grins back at me, mouthing, You’ve got it.
I wasn’t looking for encouragement, but it sure is nice to know that man has my back. I haven’t felt that before in this setting, but I relish the sense of partnership.
It fuels me. It’s another first.
“It’s an honor to return to the city I love,” I say.
A boo rings through the audience. “Go back to Vegas with the showgirls!”
“Quiet down!” another voice shouts.
“Women can’t run teams.”
“Women do run teams.”
I simply grin. It is what it is. Even at an awards ceremony, there is heckling, and it’s a reminder of the work I need to do.
“I know to some of you the Hawks are still interlopers, but I fully intend to do this city proud. San Francisco is big enough for many sports teams. After all, I bet we have Cougars fans here. And Dragons ones as well.”
Next to Crosby, Holden claps.
“But this isn’t about me,” I continue. “This moment is about an award that means a lot to so many of us. That perhaps is the highest honor. This is an award for the man or woman who exemplifies giving back. And tonight I am thrilled to share that the recipient of the Best Sportsman award goes to . . .” I stop to slide a finger under the envelope flap, then take out the embossed card.
I grin when I see the name. One of Crosby’s good friends and teammates. “Grant Blackwood, catcher for the San Francisco Cougars, who exemplifies giving back with his volunteer efforts for several local charities, including supporting underprivileged young athletes and LGBTQ athletes. Congratulations, Grant.”
I clap as the catcher jogs to the stage, a grin lighting up his eyes. The man is damned handsome, all-American, from the dark-blond hair, to the sky-blue eyes, to his friendly, outgoing personality. I shake his hand once he’s onstage, but he pulls me in for a big hug and swipes a kiss onto my cheek. “Thank you. But keep your damned hands off my third baseman,” he says in a deliberately teasing tone.
I laugh, pat him on the shoulder, and say, “I promise to do my absolute best.”
I move aside as Grant gives a quick and heartfelt thanks from the podium. When he’s through, I clap for him once more, then head backstage with him before I exit into the crowd again, looking for Crosby.
Before I find him, though, a tall, dark, and handsome creature leans back from a clutch of athletes and agents, catches my eye, and winks.
“Declan!” I beam, closing the final feet to the tuxedoed shortstop for the New York Comets. He steps away from his crew to meet me.
“Future Baseball Team Owner,” he says in that sexy guy-next-door voice of his, then yanks me in for a hug.
I laugh, throwing my arms around him. “Why are all the men in my life trying to get me to buy a baseball team?”
“What?” he asks as we separate. “I’m not the only man in your life? Who is he? Who’s this other guy?”
I swat him as I roll my eyes. “Please. You’re the only one,” I say, teasing my friend, a guy who’s most decidedly only ever been a friend. We met a few years ago when I was in New York for business and hit it off, bonding at a party over a shared love for breakfast food and the same loud rock music.
“How long are you in town?” I ask.
He looks at his watch as if it includes his calendar. “I take off tomorrow afternoon.”
